It Started at an Après-Ski Bar in Austria

Winter has a way of making everything feel repetitive.
Snow. Shifts. Boots by the door. The same conversations, the same tired bodies.

That’s where I met Johanna.
We worked at the same ski resort. We knew of each other before we really knew each other — passing glances, shared breaks, small talk between long days.

One night, at an après-ski bar, something shifted.

The music was loud. The air smelled like beer and melting snow. We were laughing, not thinking too much, when one of us said it — What if we just went to Asia? It was meant as a joke. Light. Almost careless.

But the joke stayed.

We didn’t talk about dreams or long-term plans. It wasn’t that kind of decision. It was more instinct than intention. A way out of winter. Out of routine. Two seasonal workers saying yes because staying felt heavier than leaving.

A few weeks later, we traded snow boots for backpacks.

On the Road

Traveling with Johanna felt natural from the beginning.
Away from the resort, away from structure, we unfolded differently. She trusted moments easily. I observed, hesitated, learned. Somewhere in between, we found a rhythm.

Asia didn’t arrive all at once. It came in fragments. Crowded streets. Quiet temples. Long bus rides where time lost its shape. Some days we wandered without direction. Other days fell apart completely.

We learned to adapt. To laugh when plans failed. To slow down when our bodies asked for it.

Being two women far from home made me more aware — of space, of energy, of instinct. But with Johanna beside me, I felt grounded. We looked out for each other without speaking. A glance was enough. A shared feeling of this is fine or it’s time to go.

What Remains

There are moments that return without warning.
Warm evenings after months of cold. Food we couldn’t name. The quiet realization of how far we were from where it all began.

There were difficult days too. When comfort felt distant. When the road felt endless. Those moments didn’t break the journey — they shaped it.

That trip changed me quietly.
Not dramatically. Not all at once. I learned how little I needed. How spontaneity can turn into courage. How something decided in laughter can become something lasting.

When people ask how it started, I never say it was a dream.
It was a question asked without expectation, in a noisy bar, at the end of winter.

Sometimes, that’s enough.