Innsbruck

This time last year I had the privilege of visiting Innsbruck, and I still think about it more than I expected to.

Two days. 

You wander along the river, where the winter light had that soft, amber glow that makes even your worst thoughts seem poetic. The water was fast, clear, and cold. Carrying light like a ribbon. Every now and then, stop and just stare, no camera, no plan, just present.

In the streets, the languages blended together. German, yes, but also Italian, Spanish, Dutch, Australian... echoing off café walls. 

Innsbruck’s not a big city, but it feels like the world brushes past you here. Like everyone’s on their way to somewhere else, but nobody’s in a hurry to get there. 

It felt oddly freeing. 

The next morning, the city was hushed under jet streams carving across a pale blue sky. Along the river again, scarf pulled tight, breath visible, the mountains glowing with first light like they were lit from within. 

A quiet kind of joy in knowing I’d been somewhere that asked nothing of me, and gave everything. 

Two days. That’s all it was. But Innsbruck doesn't need more time to leave a mark. Some places get under your skin not because of what you did there, but how you felt while standing still. I left with flour on my sleeves, wine on my breath, and the cold still tucked into my coat. 

And a small part of me never really boarded the flight home.