Mołtawa Canal, Gdansk, Poland, August 2026

There are journeys that begin long before the car actually leaves the driveway.

This one certainly did.

For weeks, Giovanni and I had been talking about travelling north from Poland, crossing the Baltic countries and eventually reaching Sweden. The original plan had been to leave in July, but life had other ideas. The earthquake in Venezuela changed everything. Travel plans became irrelevant almost overnight, and the journey had to wait.

Eventually, in August, the moment came.

We left Nowy Sącz by car, beginning a long loop through northern Europe that would take us across Poland, Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia, briefly into Finland, across the Baltic Sea to Sweden, and finally back to Poland by another overnight ferry.

For me, there was something particularly enjoyable about travelling this way with Giovanni. Much of this part of Europe was new to him, and I found myself experiencing familiar places differently simply because I was showing them to someone seeing them for the first time.

Our first significant stop was Warsaw.

It felt like the natural beginning: the Polish capital, reconstructed after almost complete destruction, simultaneously familiar and constantly changing. We walked through the centre and the Old Town, and I enjoyed that curious sensation of being both at home and a little bit of a tourist myself.

Then we turned north-east and crossed into Lithuania.

In Vilnius, we discovered a city that moves effortlessly between different centuries. There was the Baroque Old Town with its churches, courtyards and narrow streets, but also the much newer Vilnius across the river, with glass towers and the skyline of a modern European capital. Walking between the two felt almost like watching the city tell two versions of its own story.

From Lithuania we continued towards Latvia, but not directly.

The beauty of travelling by car is precisely this freedom to interrupt the straight line.

We stopped at the extraordinary Hill of Crosses near Šiauliai, where thousands upon thousands of crosses have accumulated over generations. It is difficult to describe the place without reducing it to either religion or history. It is both, of course, but standing there feels like something more: individual memories and private prayers gradually transformed into a landscape.

Then came the Baltic coast and eventually Riga.

Riga surprised us with its contrasts. We walked rather than cycled, which turned out to be the right decision: it allowed us to disappear into churches and buildings whenever something caught our attention. We wandered through the medieval streets, climbed above the rooftops for views over the city, explored the enormous Central Market and later moved into the elegant Art Nouveau districts. A boat trip through the canal and onto the Daugava gave us yet another perspective.

And then we continued north to Estonia.

Tallinn was different again.

Its medieval centre can sometimes seem almost impossibly well preserved: towers, walls, steep streets and old houses gathered above the Baltic. But Tallinn also brought something much more personal.

There I met an old friend with whom I had once worked in South Sudan.

One of the strange privileges of a life spent moving between countries is that friendships become scattered across the world. Years pass, careers move on, people end up thousands of kilometres apart—and then, unexpectedly, a journey brings two paths together again. Meeting in peaceful Tallinn after having known each other in the very different reality of South Sudan was one of those encounters that quietly reminds me how interconnected the different chapters of my life have become.

And Estonia gave us another unexpected possibility: Finland.

We took the ferry across the Gulf of Finland to Helsinki, turning what could have been an ordinary day into a small international excursion. After the ornate medieval atmosphere of Tallinn, Helsinki felt spacious, restrained and unmistakably Nordic: the harbour, Senate Square, the white cathedral rising above it, broad streets and the relationship between the city and the sea.

There was something rather wonderful about having breakfast in Estonia, spending the day walking around the Finnish capital, and returning across the Baltic to Tallinn in the evening.

Before leaving Estonia for good, we also drove east of Tallinn, away from the capital and into a quieter landscape of forests, villages and coastline. We visited Kaberneeme, looking out over the Baltic from the Estonian shore, and stopped at Jägala Waterfall before turning back towards Tallinn.

Then it was time for another ferry.

This time we did not come back.

We drove the car aboard and sailed overnight from Tallinn to Stockholm, crossing another stretch of the Baltic and waking up in Sweden.

There is something I have always liked about travelling on overnight ferries. You drive into the belly of a ship in one country, leave the car behind, have dinner, watch the coastline disappear, sleep—and the following morning the doors open onto somewhere entirely different.

Stockholm was waiting for us.

After the compact medieval centres of Vilnius, Riga and Tallinn, Stockholm seemed to spread itself across water. Islands, bridges, ferries and boats became part of everyday movement through the city.

We walked through Gamla Stan, but also deliberately went beyond it. We visited the remarkable Vasa Museum, standing almost beneath the enormous seventeenth-century ship that sank on its maiden voyage and emerged from Stockholm harbour centuries later. We spent time on green Djurgården, explored Skansen and crossed the water on local ferries. We also discovered other sides of the city—from Södermalm and its viewpoints to the quieter spaces away from the historic centre.

Having our own car meant that Sweden did not end at Stockholm.

When it was finally time to head south, we left the capital early in the morning and began the long drive towards Karlskrona.

That final Swedish road was one of my favourite parts of the journey.

At Brahehus, we stopped among the ruins high above the enormous Lake Vättern, with the water stretching towards the horizon below us. Then came Gränna, with its wooden houses, small-town atmosphere and famous red-and-white polkagris sweets.

From there we continued through the forests and lakes of Småland. Sweden became progressively quieter and more rural as the hours passed: trees, water, farms, small settlements and long stretches of road.

Eventually we reached Karlskrona, the historic naval city scattered across islands on Sweden's southern coast.

And there, once again, we drove onto a ferry.

This time the destination was Gdynia.

Another cabin. Another night at sea. Another invisible border crossed while sleeping.

By morning, we were back in Poland.

But the journey was not quite finished.

We continued to Gdańsk, a city whose history has always seemed inseparable from the wider history of Europe and the Baltic. After days of changing languages, currencies, ferries, roads and hotel rooms, there was something comforting about being back in Poland.

And perhaps the most appropriate ending of all was not another monument or viewpoint.

It was a family dinner in Gdańsk.

After so many kilometres, countries and cities, the journey ended around a table—with conversation, food and family.

Only afterwards came the long road south towards Nowy Sącz.

Looking back at these photographs, what stays with me is not simply the number of places we visited. Yes, there were capitals and medieval streets, Baltic beaches and waterfalls, ferries and forests, museums and castles. In a relatively short time we crossed Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Finland and Sweden.

But the geography is only part of the memory.

I remember the pleasure of showing Giovanni places that were new to him. I remember looking at familiar parts of Europe through his eyes. I remember sitting with an old friend in Tallinn and suddenly finding South Sudan, Estonia and years of shared history at the same table. I remember the brief crossing to Helsinki, the nights aboard ferries, waking up in another country, driving through Swedish forests, and finally sitting down with family in Gdańsk.

Perhaps that is what I love most about travelling overland.

There is no abrupt disappearance from one place and appearance in another. You watch the landscape change. Languages change on road signs. Architecture changes. The light changes. One sea keeps appearing from different shores.

And gradually, almost without noticing it, the road itself becomes part of the story.

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