This article was automatically translated from the original Turkish version.
As summer arrived, a long-suppressed desire to travel and explore stirred me into action. My journey began with a trip to Azerbaijan with a group; after this seven-day Caucasus experience, I redirected my route toward Europe. I undertook a nine-day journey visiting Croatia, Slovenia, and finally Italy. This trip gave me invaluable experiences. In Azerbaijan, I did not limit myself to the capital but had the chance to visit many cities, and sharing this experience with a group was truly enjoyable. In Europe, continuing the journey alone was a completely different experience. What I encountered in Azerbaijan was truly unique, but I will recount those details later; for now, I leave the story to my European adventure, as I want to record some of the people I met and small incidents I experienced. The purpose of writing this is not to promote a destination or entertain the reader, but to document certain events so that one day I may reread them and say, yes, I did this too...
When I arrived in Zagreb, my first stop, I felt utterly exhausted. I had not planned ahead how to reach the city center. At the airport, I met Dicle, an Erasmus student from Turkey. While traveling to the city by Uber, I made a major mistake: I got off at the same stop where she did. Yet, despite appearing close on the map, there was nearly an hour’s distance between her drop-off point and the center. I immediately jumped onto a tram and visited a mosque before reaching the center, captivated by Zagreb’s architecture. Unfortunately, the rude attitude of the mosque attendant slightly dampened my spirits. I then headed to the city center hoping to visit the Turkish Consulate, but it was closed. When I checked my list of places to visit, I realized I could only see one or two sites due to it being the weekend and many locations undergoing heavy renovations. Frankly, my first day was a complete failure. In the evening, I walked around the square, bought a few souvenirs, and visited the Tie Museum. The most beautiful moment of the day was the helpfulness of the female staff member at the museum. Even with only ten minutes left before closing, she tried to explain everything to me. I wanted to buy a tie there, but I wish I had checked the price beforehand! With so many places closed, I had no desire to stay longer in Zagreb and decided to leave the city that evening.
With my first ticket in hand, I found myself on my way to Ljubljana. As I wandered the city’s streets in the morning, I truly felt peaceful. It was an old place, not dominated by modern construction, centered around a clear focal point. Although there were new buildings, the central area had an impressive historic texture: a pink church, a river flowing through its heart, Albanian-style cobblestones... Everything felt so natural and harmonious. The only thing that disrupted this charm was the artificial rain show in the city center. I explored the entire city on foot. People were cycling, and I wanted to try it too, but I did not want to struggle with the mobile app. On the day I visited, markets were set up everywhere. I made my purchases at the first stall and did not look at the others; this was a mistake, as later stalls offered more eye-catching products. After walking the city from end to end, I climbed the castle on the hill. The view was beautiful, but the ascent was somewhat tiring. After spending two hours at the castle, I returned to the center. I spent about three hours simply observing the people around me. Their cheerfulness eventually led me to wonder, “Do these people have no worries at all?” I circled the same area repeatedly, photographing the places I needed to see. One day was enough for this charming town. My next stop was Venice, but Ljubljana had already impressed me more than enough. However, with so little left to see, I began my journey to Venice.
My plan for Venice was ready: wake up early to capture the quiet landscapes, spend the first day exploring the islands, and if necessary, reserve a third day for Venice itself. When I arrived in the morning, I immediately sensed a completely different atmosphere. I wandered randomly through the streets until noon, then visited the islands of Murano and Burano. First I crossed paths with some Colombians, then with two Polish friends. I walked the islands until evening, encountering a few Turks along the way. By nightfall, I was completely drained. Since my hotel was on the opposite side of the canal, I boarded a vaporetto and settled into my room. While silently wishing to meet a Turk, I was delighted to encounter a Turkish academic. We went out together, sat on a bench, and watched the opposite shore. A Japanese woman was with us. I wanted to have a long conversation with her, but we chose to cross over and walk instead. The Japanese woman asked me, “Which city has affected you the most so far?” When I replied, “Perhaps Vienna or Budapest,” she smiled and said, “Really, when you have Istanbul?” My academic brother and I walked for an hour or two, explored the city, ate pizza, and admired architectural details.
On the way back to the hotel, we met a kind Turkish couple who were academics in Germany; we had a brief conversation before retiring to our rooms. The next morning, I would explore Venice, while my academic brother was heading to Naples. We had breakfast together and said goodbye. I walked through Venice step by step, leaving no alley unexplored. When I became exhausted, I sat at the top of a staircase and heard a very familiar voice again. (In Turkish) Two young friends had come to travel; I chatted with them briefly. Then I visited various churches and historic buildings. It was truly a day of heavy walking. In the evening, I returned to the Rialto Bridge, where I had admired the morning view. Everyone wanted to take photos there, so I took many as well. I met a friend from Singapore and arranged to have dinner together. Since I was unsure whether the food was halal, I only drank coffee. After enjoying a pleasant evening at a restaurant right by the canal, I prepared to depart for Milan. Two days in Venice had been sufficient, but upon arriving, I realized I could have easily chosen to stay longer.
Burano (Yahya B. Keskin)
I collected my belongings from the hotel and went to the Mestre Train Station, where I began waiting for my bus. There was nothing to see in the Mestre area. I considered waiting at a café, but as expected, most places were closed. Just as I was about to enter the only open café I found, I met two Turkish students again. We would board the same bus but head to different destinations. These friends from ODTÜ had completed their travels and were preparing to return home, having seen only a couple of small towns. We had a pleasant conversation, but there was still an hour until the bus departed and the café was closing. We searched for a place to sit and ended up waiting outside in the cold. One of them studied economics, the other statistics. We talked about various topics, and as the weather grew colder, we walked a bit. Among the few people waiting for the bus, the three of us Turks formed the majority — it was a funny evening.
As the bus approached its departure time, I noticed a young man leaning against a pole with a deeply saddened expression, as if he were lifeless. We spoke loudly about him, unaware that this friend would soon help me. I boarded the bus, found an empty seat beside me, placed my bag on the adjacent seat, and prepared to sleep — when someone tapped me from behind: it was the young man leaning on the pole! I met Çağan, who turned out to be Turkish. He was truly an exceptional person — at least, his conversation was. He explained he was upset because he had missed his previous bus. Çağan was studying economics in Milan. After exchanging a few words about the education system, he gave me advice and tips on what to do in the city. But he looked me in the eye as if asking, “Why did you come here?” He also did not neglect to say, “Don’t raise your expectations for this city.” Unfortunately, I would later come to realize how right he was.
Early in the morning, I stood in front of the Milan Cathedral. It was a magnificent structure. Yet I did not yet know that I would spend the entire day wandering around it, because if you are not a shopping enthusiast, there is truly very little to do in the city. It was indistinguishable from an ordinary city. I sat on the bench-like stairs opposite the cathedral and spent a long time observing the building and the square without crowds. I lingered in this area for a long time and had many conversations with numerous South Americans. They asked me about Turkish culture and, naturally, wanted me to tell them at length about Istanbul.
Many places in the city, like Zagreb, were either under renovation or required tickets booked months in advance to enter certain museums. This situation made me feel trapped. The scarcity of things to see in Milan overwhelmed me. I noticed everyone was cycling, so I figured out how to rent one and immediately began touring the square. But after an hour, I grew bored and wanted to return it. However, all the drop-off points were full. I searched the app for empty spots, but everywhere I looked was occupied. An Italian friend, who used the bike to get to class, told me he disliked it due to these kinds of problems. He helped me find an empty spot, and we returned the bike. Since the system charged nearly one euro every half hour beyond the first hour, our total time on the bike had lasted at least two hours.
A Turkish restaurant caught my eye on the map. I went there and started charging my phone. My phone’s charging port had a problem, which I later realized was due to dust from Istanbul. This caused me great difficulty: every day I had to search for a café or ice cream shop just to charge my phone. The Turkish restaurant was excellent and packed to capacity. The only problem was Milan’s suffocating boredom. Both exhaustion and boredom left me with no desire to do anything.
In the afternoon, I returned to the same spot and spent a long time observing the cathedral. A voice inside me whispered, “Don’t go back.” I opened the app to book a flight — Milan had truly worn me out. I messaged a friend living in Florence: “I think I’ll return.” He replied, “Absolutely do not return without seeing Florence and Rome!” Since I had already planned to visit both, I wanted to see them — I simply could not stay longer in Milan. Spending two days in Milan would be a big mistake. That evening, I began searching for the fastest ticket to Florence, determined to leave the city before nightfall. I had seen the castle, a couple of churches, and historic sites — I was ready.
Performances in Milan (Yahya B. Keskin)
Just as I was preparing to leave, I met Kevser, another ODTÜ student. We had a brief conversation. At that moment, something unusual began happening in the square: a group of people suddenly gathered and started a demonstration with Palestinian flags. Although I had seen flags everywhere, this was my first encounter with a protest in Italy. This deeply affected me. I approached these well-intentioned people holding flags and banners written in six different languages, including Turkish. Most were Italians. I spoke with those who knew English, and their hope moved me. They were there not for political gain, but for humanity. One of them said, “We are here every evening from 6 to 10 p.m.” They had stood for hours. I talked with them and watched. One person took the Palestinian flag and waved it from the balcony of a nearby café, shouting, “Freedom! Freedom!” The crowd responded in unison. This scene deeply moved me. It was not a simple or ordinary moment. In Milan, where I had considered leaving, this event felt like a comfort, redeeming the day. There I met a father whose family still lived in Gaza and who worked in Italy; he was talking with one of the demonstrators. I spoke with them too. Despite everything, they radiated a remarkable sense of surrender and unwavering hope that things would end well. I still remember the expression on their faces. We stood and talked for half an hour. Everyone who arrived took a photo with the group. It was a silent act. Everyone stood, holding Palestinian flags and signs with messages, watching the crowds rushing to enter the cathedral or take photos, silently trying to send them a message. I had even forgotten to check for my Florence ticket — I was simply living that moment deeply.
I stayed with those people in the square until late at night.
That evening, there was only one bus left to Florence. It was already one o’clock, and I needed to go to a different point within Milan. A voice inside me said, “Go back to the hotel,” but my heart refused to return to the city, so I took the metro to the bus stop. The place where I would wait was far from safe: fake ticket sellers were everywhere, seating was scarce, and most people waited outside. Inside, everyone guarded their seats. It was already two in the morning, and I would wait for another hour. Despite being exhausted, there was nothing I could do. Again, I met two Turks and had a brief conversation. After they left, I sat in their place.
To my right sat a Panamanian student; we talked for about an hour. Most people were from South America or Africa. I met another Moroccan and chatted briefly, but the bus was delayed — which was very unpleasant. I stepped outside, felt the cold air, and returned inside. The atmosphere was truly strange. I opened the app — it said I still had thirty minutes to wait. An Argentinian sitting nearby was going to the same destination; he was traveling with a large group and chatting with other South Americans inside. Some asked where I was from. When I said I was Turkish, they wanted to talk more. Just then, the bus arrived.
I sat near the front, by the window. A woman from the previous group came over and wanted to chat during the journey. I wanted to sleep, but I didn’t want to be rude. I talked with Melissa, a Costa Rican, for the entire trip. She told me it was her first time traveling alone, usually traveling with her family and children. We talked about Turkey and South America. After getting off the bus, we took the metro to the center, reached it together, and then went our separate ways.
Michelangelo Hill (Y.B Keskin)
In the morning, I went to the hostel. The atmosphere was wonderful — people from different countries were chatting at the tables. But I was so tired that I immediately went to my room and slept. Yet another voice inside me whispered, “You sleep everywhere, but this is Florence — get up and explore!” After resting a bit, I went out near evening and walked toward Michelangelo Hill.
Young people were singing, enjoying the view. Everything felt delightful. I regretted missing the sunset only because darkness had fallen. I would return tomorrow. I returned to my room in the evening. I would be sharing the room with four others — it was more fun than being alone. The room had a German, a Frenchman, a Mexican, and a Turk. We had long conversations and went to bed late. I was the last to wake up the next morning. I explored the city in every detail, visited museums, but because I was not an EU citizen, I paid much higher prices than usual.
By evening, I had seen many places, but Michelangelo Hill remained in my mind. Many spots had impressed me, but I was determined to see the sunset. As I climbed the hill toward sunset, I met a Korean friend; we talked for about thirty minutes. Then a group of singing young people arrived, creating a beautiful atmosphere. But soon after, it began to rain, and everyone slowly left the area. I waited a while, but when the rain didn’t stop, I ran off. In the evening, by chance, I met four Tunisians studying at a university here. We walked together, had dinner at a Turkish restaurant, and then parted ways.
That same evening, I set off for Rome. I arrived very early and, before going to the hotel, immediately wanted to see the Colosseum. I observed and walked around the structure thoroughly before the crowds arrived. I had a wonderful moment with coffee and a croissant. I left there and went to the hotel, intending to rest, but I heard a rumor: Vatican entry was free that day. I rushed to the metro and moved quickly. I waited in line for about an hour and a half. Just twenty minutes before I could enter, the doors closed because the time limit had expired. But perhaps this was better — I’m not sure — because I met Hümeyra and Ayda, who were just one or two spots ahead of me in line. We toured together for two days. They had also come from Ankara for Erasmus. On the first day, we visited many places. They wanted to drink coffee from a famous café, but it tasted no better than an ordinary one, so we bought snacks instead. We sat in a café, ordered coffee, but were turned away because we brought our own food. After finding a suitable place to sit and chat, we began a day of walking over fifty thousand steps. First, we listed all the free sites and spent a long, walking-heavy, photo-filled day. By evening, everyone was extremely tired.
Trevi Fountain (Yahya B. Keskin)
After parting ways, we met again at the Colosseum the next morning and continued visiting the places on our list. We had another truly enjoyable day. In the evening, I said goodbye to them. I had a flight the next morning — my journey was over. I reached the airport, exhausted. I watched a series, read a book, and fell asleep. After about an hour of sleep, just before my flight departed, I met Davide. We were both returning to Istanbul on the same plane. He was wearing a Trabzonspor jersey. At first, I thought he was Turkish, but when he spoke, I realized he was Italian. He had come to Turkey through Erasmus and loved it. He was moving from Istanbul to Ankara. We talked about Italy and Turkey. When I asked about his team, he said it was very similar to Napoli and that he supported Napoli. I liked that very much. We made a plan to meet one day in Napoli and Trabzon, and I returned to Istanbul. I won’t travel anywhere else until December.
