Adventures & Travels
Because staying in one place is so last season.
Welcome to the part of the blog where I pretend I know how to pack light, navigate foreign public transport without crying, and make jet lag look glamorous. These are the tales, the mishaps, the “wait, where am I?” moments — all from the times I wandered beyond my usual tea shop radius. Buckle up (or don’t, I’m not your airline safety video), and let’s go explore.
🧳✨
A Weekend Wrapped in Green - Ardennes 06/06/2025

“Not all those who wander are lost — some of us just forgot the map and followed the smell of pastries.”
A Breath from the Ardennes
Last weekend, I escaped once again to the Ardennes, Belgium — my unofficial second home and a place that’s basically nature’s love letter to the soul. There’s something undeniably romantic about wandering beneath whispering trees, wrapped in the soft hush of the forest, where even the birds seem to gossip sweet nothings.
Living in the Netherlands has its perks, but let’s be honest — mountains here are about as common as unicorns. So, whenever I get the chance, I lace up my boots, ignore my knees dramatically protesting like a grumpy old lover, and head for the hills. After some hiking, a bit of trekking, and a generous helping of sore muscles, I’m reminded that chasing this kind of peace (and maybe a little adventure) is absolutely worth it — even if my legs threaten to file for a restraining order.

Home Away in the Hills – Les Tilleuls
Tucked in the heart of Vielsalm, where time slows down and the air smells like pine and peace, lies Les Tilleuls — a B&B that feels less like a hotel and more like a warm hug wrapped in countryside charm.
From the moment we stepped inside, we were welcomed not just by lovely decor (think rustic meets heartwarming), but by people who treated us like old friends — the kind who hand you a cup of tea before you even ask. The house itself feels like it was made for quiet joy: cozy corners, soft linens, and that kind of bed that hugs you back after a long hike and whispers, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
And the breakfast? The kind that makes you want to write poems about fresh bread, local cheeses, and perfect coffee — fuel for another day wandering the hills and falling a little more in love with the Ardennes.
The whole place radiates good energy — like it’s been collecting smiles and storing them in the floorboards. I’ll definitely be back. Possibly for the weekend. Possibly forever.
💛




Downward Dog & the Dutch Language: A Journey Through Yoga and Joint Pain
Adventure doesn’t always mean passport stamps and exotic street food. Sometimes, it means rolling out a suspiciously thin mat, dusting off your dignity, and launching yourself into the unfamiliar world of yoga… in Dutch.
It all started because my knees—aged 53 and loudly proud of it—decided they’d had enough. The physiotherapist, a cheerful torturer in disguise, suggested yoga. “Gentle movement,” they said. “Mindful flow,” they said.
So there I was, twelve years post-last-yoga-attempt, walking into a studio filled with flexible Dutch people who looked like they were born in lotus position. The class began. The teacher spoke. In Dutch. My comprehension level? Somewhere between mild panic and interpreting ancient runes.
While everyone melted gracefully into poses with names I couldn’t pronounce, I was in full alert mode, one eye open even during “relaxation.” Because who can relax when you might accidentally namaste into the wrong dimension?
My knees creaked, my back protested, and every stretch felt like a reminder that I am not, in fact, made of rubber bands and peace. And yet—I kept going. I wobbled through Warrior poses, sweated through stillness, and bravely did my best to copy the woman in front of me who definitely knew what she was doing.
The next day? I moved through the house like an extra from The Walking Dead. My body was both offended and confused. Muscles I didn’t know I owned sent hate mail directly to my soul.
But here’s the thing: it was still an adventure. I showed up, I breathed (loudly), I tried, and I didn’t run screaming from the room—despite my knees’ heartfelt wishes.
…So here’s to awkward poses, open eyes during “meditation,” and learning that sometimes the bravest travels are the ones that happen just a few centimeters off the ground.
And call me crazy—or just persistent—but I’ve already booked another lesson.
