Some trips are remembered not because of how far you go, but how deep they sink into your memory. In March 2015, my husband and I set off on a European road trip that still makes me smile when I think about it. It wasn’t our longest or most extravagant holiday, but it had something that made it unforgettable—a sense of freedom, a bit of surprise in each city, and the soft, comforting texture of French breakfasts. It was a birthday trip, planned around my love of traveling to new places on that special day each year, and it turned out to be the perfect blend of cities, culture, cozy sleepovers, and open roads.
We had our trusty Polo with us, compact and reliable, and only my husband was behind the wheel the entire journey. I don’t have a driver’s license, so he took care of all the driving while I navigated, managed our itinerary, and of course, kept our playlist running. There’s a certain rhythm to road trips when you’re not the one driving—watching the landscape change through the window, counting down kilometers to the next city, and hopping out for quick photos or softdrink breaks whenever the mood strikes. We had booked some places to stay ahead of time, but much of the trip was driven by the flow of the road and the curiosity of the moment.
Our journey began in Germany, our home base, with the first official stop being Luxembourg City. It was March 10, still a bit chilly, but the skies were clear and the excitement of the road trip ahead kept us warm. Luxembourg was our introduction to the route, a quick stop where we stretched our legs, wandered the center, and admired the picturesque architecture that seemed both stately and charming. We didn’t stay the night, just enough time to walk around, take some photos, and have a relaxed lunch. It was a good start—smooth roads, scenic countryside, and a glimpse of something different just across the border.
That same day, we continued on to Metz, France, where we had our first overnight stay. The place we booked through Booking.com had the feel of an Airbnb—cozy, personal, and tucked away in a residential neighborhood. It wasn’t a hotel, but that’s exactly why we loved it. What truly made the stay memorable were the French breakfasts. There’s something magical about waking up in France to the smell of croissants, coffee or tea, fresh juice, and fresh bread. We sat at a small kitchen table, shared soft-boiled eggs, and sipped the fresh juice while the morning light filtered through the windows. It felt like staying at a friend’s house—quiet, slow, and full of character. Metz itself was beautiful. Its yellow stone buildings and the majestic Saint-Stephen Cathedral gave us more than enough reason to wander slowly and snap dozens of photos. It was calm, not crowded, and had that blend of history and elegance that defines so many French towns.
The next day brought us to Nancy, another French gem that we passed through without staying overnight. Nancy felt a bit more modern than Metz, but still carried its own historic charm. We parked near the city center, took our usual walk around the old streets, admired Place Stanislas with its ornate gates and open square, and soaked in the atmosphere. We didn’t rush, but we also didn’t linger too long. Just enough time to get a taste of the place, enjoy lunch, and get back on the road.
Straßbourg was next, and this time we stayed the night. It felt like a necessary pause in our journey—not just because we needed rest, but because Straßbourg demands more than a quick look. It’s the kind of city that pulls you in with its half-timbered houses, its canals, and its mix of French and German influences. We strolled along La Petite France, admired the Strasbourg Cathedral with its striking spire, and spent the evening walking through streets that seemed lifted straight from a storybook. There’s a romance to the city, not in the cliché sense, but in the way it invites you to wander with no destination. The air was still chilly, but we kept warm with mulled wine and hearty Alsatian food.
The next day we crossed into Switzerland, heading for Basel. I still remember how the border felt both casual and significant—no dramatic signs or change in scenery, but a subtle shift in how things looked and felt. Basel surprised us with its blend of classic and modern. The Rhine split the city in two, and we walked along its banks, watching locals on bikes, students chatting by the river, and tourists like us enjoying the calm.
Basel had this quiet dignity to it. We stayed two nights and had time to visit a few museums, wander the Old Town, stroll through the elegant shopping streets, and admire the colorful Rathaus (Town Hall). The way Swiss cities manage to stay so clean and organized while still feeling lively was something I noticed right away.
At one point, we grabbed lunch at McDonald’s—mostly out of convenience—but were shocked by how expensive it was. The exact same meal would’ve cost nearly half in Germany. It really drove home how costly Switzerland can be compared to its European neighbors. Prices are high across the board, mostly due to the strong Swiss franc, high wages, and the country’s overall standard of living. Still, despite the sticker shock, everything from the public transport to the streets felt impeccably maintained, like you’re paying for quality—and order.
After Basel came Zürich, where we spent two nights and two full days taking in the city’s quiet charm. Zürich has a graceful, understated beauty. It’s organized and polished, yet never cold or distant. There’s a welcoming ease to it, the kind that makes you want to slow your pace without even realizing. Everything seems to hum along gently—the trams, the river, the people. It’s a place that doesn’t try to impress you, but gradually wins you over with its calm and balance.
We didn’t arrive with a list of must-see places. Instead, we let our days unfold naturally. We wandered through the old town with its narrow, cobbled streets, where buildings leaned slightly into each other and small shops invited us in with quiet charm. We paused often—at a café with a warm interior and homemade pastries, at a tiny bookstore with creaky floors and handwritten signs, at benches along the Limmat River where the water shimmered in the light.
Lake Zürich was a highlight. The water was clear and still, gently catching the color of the sky, while a few boats passed unhurriedly. Far off, the Alps lined the horizon in soft outlines, adding a sense of space and calm. We spent a while just sitting by the lake, watching swans drift past and people stroll by, wrapped in their own moments of quiet.
There was a rhythm to Zürich that felt different from other cities. It’s a place that doesn’t push or pull—you’re simply invited to be part of it. The sounds of the city were soft: the murmur of conversations in Swiss German, the ding of passing trams, the distant ringing of church bells. It felt peaceful, yet never empty.
What made our time in Zürich so memorable wasn’t any single landmark or sight, but the feeling the city gave us. We felt present and unrushed, free to notice the small things—the way sunlight hit a fountain, the smell of roasted chestnuts from a street cart, the kindness of a stranger giving directions. Zürich offered us a pause, a gentle reminder that sometimes the most meaningful travel moments come from simply being still and open to wherever you are.
Our next destination was Heidelberg, and driving through the landscapes that led us there was a joy in itself. The Polo was doing great, and the German roads were smooth and efficient as always. But Heidelberg wasn’t just a random stop—it was a place I had seen countless times during my years as a copy editor. The name “Springer Verlag, Heidelberg” was printed on so many articles I worked on, it became almost mythical to me. I always wondered what the city behind that line looked like. Seeing it in person felt like closing a quiet, personal loop.
Heidelberg welcomed us with its romantic old town and the imposing castle that looks over the city from its perch above the Neckar River. We spent the night here and gave ourselves time to properly explore. We walked the Philosophenweg, which offers the best views of the city, and crossed the Old Bridge to see the city from different angles. There’s something timeless about Heidelberg. It’s academic and youthful, thanks to the university, but it also feels steeped in centuries of stories. It was one of the highlights of the trip for me—quietly beautiful and rich in atmosphere.
Our final stop before heading back home was Frankfurt. We didn’t stay overnight, just enough time to have a look around the financial center of Germany, grab lunch, and stretch our legs before the final leg of the drive. Frankfurt was more urban and busy than the other cities, but it still had its charm—especially around the Römerberg, with its reconstructed medieval buildings and lively square. Compared to the calm elegance of Straßbourg or Zürich, Frankfurt felt modern and bustling, but that variety was part of the fun.
By the time we got back home, we were tired but happy. In just a few days, we had crossed into four countries, slept in five different cities, and gathered countless small memories along the way. It wasn’t just about the places we visited—it was about how they fit together, how each night offered a different view from the window, and how every breakfast felt like a reward for the kilometers we had covered. We learned to travel light, to adapt quickly, and to find joy in both the planned moments and the unexpected ones.
Looking back now, years later, that 2015 road trip feels even more precious. Travel has changed, and so have we, but those few days remain frozen in time—clear in my memory, vivid in the photos, and warm in the way only a shared adventure can be. We didn’t visit every museum or check every landmark. Sometimes we just sat and watched the world go by, and that was enough. And maybe that’s the real magic of road trips. You don’t just see new places—you carry a little piece of each one with you.
I’ve had other birthday trips since then, and I hope to have many more. But 2015 set a standard that’s hard to beat. It was a simple idea—a few cities, a car, and a birthday—but it turned into something far more lasting. It gave me a feeling I now seek in every trip: the blend of motion and stillness, discovery and rest, distance and closeness. It was one of those rare travels where everything aligned—not just the route or the weather, but the feeling of being exactly where you were supposed to be.
And so when March comes around again, I often find myself remembering Metz’s breakfast table, Zürich’s lake, Heidelberg’s castle, and the little red Polo humming along the roads between them. That birthday, that road trip, remains one of the best gifts I ever gave myself.
