A woman, alone, abroad.

On March 25, 2026

I, Julia, stepped off the plane and onto the tarmac, immediately flooded by unfamiliarity. I had already booked my trains from city to city, starting tomorrow morning, but for now it was past my bedtime and I had no idea how to get to my hostel in the center of Warsaw.

Some signs were in English, but more were in Polish. The only Polish words I had truly learned before my arrival were jabłko and mleko and chleb (apple, milk, and bread, thank you Duolingo).

After a quick look at Google Maps, I decided the best course of action was to follow the crowd of people from my flight to the bus stop, which was a different location than where the app said it would be. But sure enough, the bus with my destination came at the time it was supposed to. I managed to secure a seat and stared at the trails of rain racing down the large windows, my earbuds pressed inside my ears, doing that thing where you pretend you are oblivious to other people but in reality you are noticing every little detail about who is where and doing what. Speaking in Polish, a woman placed her young son in the seat next to me and stood over him protectively. A part of me felt something close to flattered that she deemed me a presence to have near her child. We were packed into the bus.

I’ve been eating a lot of tinned fish recently–trying new things was one of my goals for 2026. So far, I’ve been pretty good at sticking to my goal. For starters, moving to a small city in Italy for a spring semester study abroad. But I also cut my hair (I chopped off about half of it), went to a latin dance class (I’ve never been very coordinated when dancing with a partner), and, well, am attempting solo travel.

So there I was, in Poland by myself.

I had committed to a trip of four nights and five days, staying in hostels (and, for one night, only because it was somehow cheaper, a private room in a shared apartment). I had never stayed in a hostel by myself. But, I reasoned, I was going to have to get used to it–after my study abroad program ended, I had committed to spending just over three weeks traveling solo around Europe. What was I thinking? Poland was going to be a test run, even though I was going to have to travel solo later, whether I enjoyed it or not.

One thing about me: I am dedicated. Once I say I am doing something, I am doing it.

After I (thankfully) got on the right train, sat (surprisingly) in an otherwise empty car, and arrived in Warsaw, it hit me that I was really, truly, in a new country, by myself, far from even the country I had familiarized myself with a bit over the past two months. For a central station, Warszawa Główna was quite empty, despite it being only about 10 p.m. After exiting the train car, following a small group of people towards what seemed to be the exit, and finding myself in an underground corridor of shops, I finally reached the exit to the street. Aside from the warm glow from the Żabka on the corner, no other businesses were open. A cool wind tousled my hair and left my lips mildly numb. A man stood by the wall of a greyed building, alternating between deep inhales from a cigarette and low, rattling coughs. He did not look at me; his eyes expressed that he was elsewhere in thought. I pulled the straps of my backpack up my shoulders and began following the directions to my hostel on my phone.

As I held my phone tightly in my hand, trying to discern the correct street name in the dark, my heart pounding, I suddenly felt a sense of calm wash over me as I realized–I felt safe. And being a woman, alone, at night, is usually not a situation in which I would feel safe. I made it quickly to my hostel, where the man behind the counter greeted me as Yulia and showed me to my room with two other already-sleeping women. I spent a total of seven hours there that night before I had to wake up and catch my train to Poznań. I never saw the other two women awake.

Lost in translation.

I had purchased the student-price tickets, as I had a special student ID for my study abroad. It was fine at first, but then a different ticket person came by and asked to see my student ID.

“This one?” I asked, pointing to the digital card on my phone.

She grabbed it from my hand with long, spindly nails.

She then proceeded to tell me, in Polish (the woman sitting next to me, kindly, translated between us) that I would have to pay for a full price ticket, and get a refund for my student ticket at the help desk within the station when we arrived. After a bit of back-and-forth, my speaking English to the passenger beside me who spoke Polish to the ticket person who spoke Polish back to the other passenger who spoke English to me, I determined that trying to explain and defend my student ticket was not worth the hassle. So I paid for a full-price ticket and, when we arrived, I attempted to obtain a refund. But there were complications, and eventually I decided it wasn’t worth the additional stress to try to figure out, amidst the translations and fine print, how to get a refund.

As I finally left the train station, I had no plan. I couldn’t check into my hotel yet, and though I had marked a few places on Maps, I hadn’t actually decided how to spend my time. And, wow, it was freezing. So, armed with my backpack, all the layers I had brought shoved under my jacket, and a cloud over my head from the inconvenience of the ticket mishap, I wandered into the city center. I found a bench in a park and debated my next move, still feeling grey. But you know what? WHY am I letting this get to me? I’m in a cool new place. I can do whatever I want. I can’t let this one little moment define the rest of my trip.

And so I stopped feeling sorry for myself and started looking for a place to grab a bite.

I wandered around Poznań until I found a streetcar-style food cart, where I ordered bułka z pieczarkami, a hot dog bun filled with sauteed onions and mushrooms and topped with some kind of sauce, I believe ketchup and mayonnaise of some sort (I didn’t bother to ask the exact ingredients), for the equivalent of about $3. The flavors were exactly what I needed and I was licking my fingers after just two minutes. It was an oily, savory mixture I had never before tasted. I ended up recreating it (or something rather very similar) when I returned to my Italian apartment after the trip and it was only slightly less delicious than the first.

Poznań.

The rest of my time in Poznań consisted of much wandering; discovering various churches and historical places. Centrum Szyfrów Enigma is a small but interesting museum dedicated to the ciphers and the Enigma coding machine from World War I and II, where I spent a couple of hours–one of two visitors in the museum that afternoon. After that I took myself to Kawiarnia U Przyjaciół, a dimly lit cafe tucked behind a theater in Old Poznań. The walls were covered in old film photos, and with the dark-stained wood and maroon cushions, the place felt like somewhere from a dream. I claimed a small table for myself, a single seater, and ordered grzane piwo, a hot, dark beer with ginger syrup. I was about half a page into this writing session of this novel I’ve been working on when the waitress returned with a large, steaming mug of the beer. It tasted of a nostalgia I had never known. I sat and sipped until the cup was dry and my journal contained an additional ten pages of plot. Wrapping my scarf tightly around my neck, I left the cafe feeling full and quite a bit tipsy.

Any loneliness I may have felt in the apartment was soon overcome by a sense of novelty. The windows of my room looked directly out over the beautiful colors of the Old Town. I laid in bed watching an old movie and ate pierogies I had bought on my way back.

I awoke just after sunrise and watched the stillness outside my window. Early sunshine reflected off the windows of the charming old Polish architecture, and there was not a soul to be seen aside from a couple pigeons cooing in the corner. After a few minutes of observation, I had to run out the door and–literally–run (partially) to the train station across the city to catch my train to Oświęcim.

Oświęcim.

Oświęcim is the Polish name for the town that is now perhaps better known by its German name, Auschwitz. As a part of my family is Jewish, and the Holocaust was such a significant, terrible part of history, I knew coming to Poland that I wanted to see the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camps. Going on the guided tour was informative, but also heartbreaking. I cried a bit there and I cried a bit later when I was trying to tell my roommate about it. To go there alone meant I had no one to reflect with, and I took myself to purchase Polish candy from the grocery store before my train in an attempt to cheer myself up a little.

I arrived that evening in Kraków.

Kraków.

I had mapped out a course of action to see some little places before checking into my hostel for some much-needed rest. Walking through the streets of Kraków, I immediately noticed how different of a vibe it was from Poznań. It felt old but vibrant, intriguing in the soft mist of the night. I first stopped at Dwa Kolory Cafe, and treated myself to a little bunny-shaped pastry made from marshmallow, coconut, and mango. It was almost too beautiful to eat and I felt a bit guilty biting into its sweet, tropical ears. It did little to fill my stomach and did more to satiate my tastebuds.

Then I went to Królicza Kawiarnia, a bunny cafe just down the street, and pet bunnies for a half hour or so. Two bunnies in one of the pens napped curled up against each other, and others hopped around. I was not supposed to feed them from my cup of bunny food but I quickly became distracted by their softness and they were greedy connoisseurs; they devoured the chamomile flowers and left the straw and would not eat it when I tried to feed them further. Watching the bunnies feast, I suddenly realized I was absolutely starving, having eaten nothing of substance aside from a cheese and onion sandwich from a Żabka in Oświęcim.

Travel hack: spend a couple hours browsing random businesses on Google Maps. You will likely find a shit ton of hidden gems if you take the time. I had done my research and therefore took myself to the dimly lit, plant and art filled, cafeteria-style restaurant called Chimera. Everything I chose for my plate was bursting with unique flavors, and my meal cost around $10. It was like a Thanksgiving dinner if Thanksgiving was in February and also in Poland.

Walking to my hostel in Old Town, I came across the few vendors that were still open in the rainy nighttime in the main square. Little did I know that Kraków had an Easter market, and seeing as I was there just before Palm Sunday, I was just in time. The sweet smell of roasting nuts and sausage filled the air. I wandered for a bit before settling into my hostel bed and falling fast asleep.

Old Town.

The next day I had planned ahead both to wander around but also to stop by a few places I had screened on Maps. My itinerary looked something like this:

After:

• the Bazylika Mariacka

• a visit to a gift shop next door to purchase [Polish] Saint Pope John Paul II gifts for my grandparents

• the Easter markets during the daytime & a cup of mulled wine

• a cup of hot dark chocolate from Karmello Chocolatier (can you tell I like sipping on yummy things?)

• a browse through the racks at a vintage store

• a visit to the dragon statue

I settled on a bench by the Vistula River. Sipping the hot chocolate and watching boats and pedestrians walk by, I decided I did, in fact, love Poland.

I tossed my empty cup into a trash can and wandered back up into the Old Town through the park. Three people walked ahead of me chatting, and I noticed how well-suited they were to be in each others’ lives based on the complementary vibes of their outfit choices. A young couple pushed a stroller with one child and held the hand of a slightly older one. An older pair, silver hair and smile-lined faces, chatted to each other, pointing at the floral plantings in the earth. As I was thinking about relationships of various kinds, I heard a faint singing growing closer and closer. I stepped to the side of a pathway to let the procession through; they were dressed in seemingly traditional outfits and one woman holding a large stick tapped me on the head with it. I looked up after they had passed if there was any specific meaning to it. Google said it might have been a parade that typically happens on Easter Monday. I’m still not sure.

I went to the Czartoryski Museum and got a ticket for 3 złoty (less than $1 USD). After dropping my things off at the coatroom I placed my earbuds in my ears, turned on a mid-century modern playlist, and wandered through the rooms. They were filled with curiosities including items from Napoleon, gilded cups made with shells, and the painting Lady with an Ermine, one of few da Vinci paintings. I also discovered a new favorite, Sirens, a piece by Teofil Kwiatowski.

Contemplating the art with an adequate soundtrack, the afternoon felt like a scene straight out of a film. I ended the day by collecting my things from the cloakroom and striding over to the train station.

Right Back Where We Started From.

I arrived back in Warsaw that evening. My hostel this time was located a bit further from the city center, and again, my hunger made itself known. The train station was connected to a mall, and so I stopped in a grocery store and purchased a box of sushi, some seaweed salad, and a can of Kasztelan. I sipped the beer throughout my walk to my hostel. The night air was warm. Whether it was a buzz from the beer or my adventure thus far, I’m not sure, but I felt incredibly alive in that moment. I ate the sushi and seaweed in my hostel lobby.

A ringing woke me up at about 8 a.m.–my alarm. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, repacked my bag, and set out on the city.

Warsaw (Warszawa) [again].

It was my final day in Poland. I would make it count.

Sidewalks led to more sidewalks, which led to a cafe where I purchased a bagel sandwich and a strawberry-basil iced coffee. I took this to a park and read a bit more of my book–how could I forget–there had been a copy of A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara in the lending library in my study abroad office, so I borrowed it and brought it for some [light] reading. I was extremely into the novel and read it every moment I wasn’t writing or wandering.

A line of young armed forces stood in uniform in the park. I watched them march into a plaza and listened for a moment to a musical performance and something ceremonial said in Polish. With a goal of observing architectural details, I then headed on to the Old Town. I found a number of interesting flourishes in the old Polish buildings that lined the neighborhood, as well as its famous mermaid statue. Each Polish city I visited seemed to have a mascot of some sort–the goat for Poznań, the dragon for Krakow, and the mermaid for Warsaw. This detail, in my mind, gave the cities a little extra personality. Not sure if the Polish feel any particular way towards these icons.

The Palace of the Commonwealth was the one museum I chose to visit in Warsaw during this trip. It appealed to me because a) it’s free to visit and b) it houses many old manuscripts. Arriving just before it opened, I was the first visitor of the day. True to description, it housed a sizable though not overwhelming amount of beautifully decorated manuscripts. One room contained works from Chopin.

It was just me in the room. I took my time, sitting on the chair in the corner to listen to the crackling composition playing from a speaker.

Oh, to exist in a room alone with Chopin’s work!

After admiring the different works I collected my bag and my thoughts and set off for lunch. W Ogrodzie is located in Ogród Saski, a park located slightly more centrally. The employees must have judged me a bit as I entered; I carried my large backpack and dressed less intentionally than the other patrons. Nonetheless, I was seated in the covered patio, at a table typically for four. Despite my slight anxiety that I was being judged, I pulled out my journal and wrote a bit more of my novel. The waitress came and I ordered and consumed a Lithuanian herring toast and the most delicious beet salad I had ever tasted. It absolutely hit the spot. To eat in silence by yourself, in a nice(r) restaurant, I learned, was not as nerve-wracking as I had previously imagined. It helped to have something to do with my hands.

Did I mention [I suppose not] Poland loves matcha? Studying abroad in Italy was wonderful for so many reasons, of course, but it had been difficult to find good matcha in the city of Reggio Emilia. Therefore, I drank matcha like water in Poland and overall found it to be highly satisfactory. I had the best coconut matcha of my life at Hood Cafe in Warsaw, a quick detour as I meandered down to Łazienki Park. Back and calves aching, I made my way south through the city as I sipped on the matcha. When I arrived at the park, I was astounded at how large it was–and how many things there were to see. Sadly, I did not make it through the whole thing as my time was cut short by a need to catch the bus to the airport. But I found it quite lovely to sit and watch people enjoying the park. I could’ve spent hours there, I’m sure.

The bus to the airport, and the flight back to Bologna, were the perfect scenes for reflection and contemplation. Despite at times wishing I had someone to turn to for conversation or even mutual familiar existence, I quite enjoyed doing the things I wanted to do, when I wanted to do them, at my own pace. Not only had I loved my time in Poland, but I now felt confident I would be ready for the three weeks at the end of my program to be a woman, alone, abroad.

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Julia Francis is a writer who covers topics such as travel, literature, culture, and food. She also writes poetry and is currently working on her first novel.

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