In the final episode of Season One, I spend my last full day in Rome doing what I do best: wandering with vague purpose, accidentally catching beauty at the edges.

I leave St. Peter’s just in time to witness someone try to sneak a yappy dog into the church (unsuccessfully), climb more stairs than any single person should — including the Spanish ones — and take a full Coliseum tour that turns out to be one of the absolute highlights of my trip.

From there, it’s off to a food tour through Trastevere, where I eat well, drink better, and fall briefly in love for the last time this season. Then, in classic Monotone fashion, I make it to the airport bus with one minute to spare… only to arrive three hours too early.

A soft landing to a season of slow travel, quiet chaos, and the kind of stories best told just before sleep.

In this episode, I finally make it to Rome — six hours later than planned, emotionally weathered, and just in time to miss my long-awaited Sistine Chapel reservation, courtesy of the ongoing Stow Your Bags situation back in Florence.

I recover by visiting the Coliseum at night (10/10, would gaze again), wandering until I find the kind of spaghetti that makes me think Chef Boyardee wasn't a chef at all, and descending into the depths of a Roman train station so far that I think I need to equalize when I ascend again.

Later, I visit Vatican City, see St. Peter’s Basilica from the roof down, and I find the holiest coffee I've ever had.

A gently chaotic trip through ancient ruins, missed reservations, and pasta-induced peace. Told slowly, so you can drift off somewhere between the roof of the Vatican and the basement of the Metro.

Still in Florence — still waiting on answers. In this episode, the AI-powered suitcase storage saga escalates. The calls are getting weirder, the tone more desperate, and the updates… less encouraging. I’m beginning to suspect my bags are either stolen and sold on EBay, or have become self-aware.

In between cryptic phone calls, I attempt to enjoy more of the Renaissance charm around me, sip beers while trying to act unfazed, and wonder if this is how sci-fi horror movies begin: very slowly, and with good company.

A quiet unraveling of luggage logistics, artificial intelligence, and mild existential dread — told softly, so you can sleep through the stress.

Still in Florence, I start my day with Michelangelo’s David — and despite trying to stay emotionally detached, I’m thoroughly impressed. He’s nearly 17 feet tall, beautifully sculpted, and yes, a lot of people are just quietly staring at his butt.

I climb to the top of the Florence Cathedral dome far too early for something that vertical, wander into an Irish pub featuring an optical illusion of a wall, and I get a call from the AI-powered luggage storage room — with an update that is less helpful than it is unsettling.

A mellow meander through Renaissance art, questionable architecture, and the slow unraveling of my trust in robot customer service. Sleep softly.

In this episode, I arrive in Florence and check into a hostel that may or may not be fully abandoned. Luckily, the hot water works — which, frankly, is enough to keep me from fleeing. I make pasta from scratch (and immediately assume I’m Italian), explore some Renaissance masterpieces, and get to the bouncer "guarding" Michelangelo's David.

A meandering stroll through pasta dough and questionable hospitality — all delivered at a pace designed to lull you gently to sleep.

In this episode, I explore Venice — a city built on water, held together by charm, and seemingly engineered for both romance and mild disorientation. I walk the entire circumference (because why not), sit through half of a hauntingly beautiful Vivaldi concert, visit a glass-blowing island where I was reminded to stop, drop, and roll, and drink more Aperol Spritzes than I intended to admit publicly.

It’s a softly meandering journey through canals, music, molten glass, and that special brand of chaos only Venice can offer — all told at a pace designed to slow your heartbeat and gently knock you out.

In this episode, I find myself in Zermatt, Switzerland — where the fondue is dangerously good, the air is thin enough to slow your thoughts, and the Matterhorn looms like the world’s most photogenic traffic cone.

I ski into Italy before lunch, then glide back into Switzerland by the afternoon. It’s one of those rare days where everything feels soft-edged and cinematic, like your life has a soundtrack — and you’re narrating it in your head, very slowly, just for the vibes.

A warm, alpine dream of cheese, sunshine, and international ski diplomacy — told in tones mellow enough to melt snow.

In this episode, I head to Liechtenstein, where I attempt to visit the prince’s castle — and am gently but unmistakably asked to leave. Naturally, I respond in the most reasonable way possible: by getting a tattoo.

Then it’s on to Bern, where I may have fallen in love. Or at least into something resembling it. Hard to say — we didn’t speak the same language, but there was a vibe. Probably.

A quiet tale of royal rejection, spontaneous ink, and maybe-love — told slowly, softly, and just boring enough to lull you to sleep.

In this episode, I wander through Luxembourg — where fortress walls are tucked into cliffs, the streets feel suspiciously peaceful, and I somehow end up chatting with the U.S. Ambassador. I spot Nancy Pelosi just before she makes headlines, find a life-changing doughnut, and finally, quietly, try beer for the first time.

Then it’s off to Zurich, where I attempt to open a Swiss bank account, have lunch in a building older than most nations, and share a moment with Einstein. I end the day at what might be my favorite bar on Earth: The Old Crow.

A slow-motion travelogue of diplomacy, pastries, and quiet chaos — told softly, so you can fall asleep somewhere between the cliffs and the cocktails.

This time, I wander through Ghent — a city where medieval towers lean over hushed canals, and every turn reveals something charming, crumbly, or quietly magical. I try nearly every Belgian beer I can find, explore castles older than most family trees, allegedly leave some graffiti, and encounter a mustard so spicy it resets my whole personality. Which some would argue, is a big win.

A slow and slightly boozy stroll through one of Belgium’s most underrated gems.

So lie back, close your eyes (unless you’re walking), and let the world get just a little fuzzier around the edges.