I was pointing my camera with a telephoto lens toward the Arenal Volcano Costa Rica, an active volcano visible far away on the horizon. As I searched for a better angle, I slightly shifted the lens and suddenly noticed the cutest little sloth hanging lazily from a tree. My reaction, filled with excitement, was: “OMG look over there! He’s there!” This immediately caught my husband’s attention.

For the next twenty minutes, I photographed that lovely sloth slowly moving from one tree to another while my husband patiently waited, enjoying an engaging conversation with a staff member at the hotel where we stayed, Nayara Gardens.

Sloths are truly Costa Rica’s treasure, strictly protected, and among the most iconic symbols of the country. That sloth was the only one we saw moving during our whole stay, which, as we later realized, is quite lucky. Most of the time, they are just sleeping or slowly munching on cecropia leaves or other foliage. Whenever we walked around the hotel, I kept an eye out for them and yes, most were sleeping or chilling in their trees. So, be prepared to practice patience if you want to see them in slow-motion action. And believe me, the wait is worth it, they are irresistibly cute.

When I first saw the Rock of Gibraltar, it was the afternoon of our very first day in Spain, and that moment, although quiet and almost accidental, stayed with me much longer than I expected.

The apartment we had rented for a week was meant to be a temporary landing place, a peaceful pause after an intense year of planning, followed by several especially demanding weeks of packing and moving overseas from the United States to Spain. It was the kind of space where you finally allow yourself to exhale, to sit with the reality of what just happened, and to slowly begin absorbing a completely new environment.

What neither of us expected was the view.

From the terrace, almost unexpectedly and without any prior mention in the listing, the Rock of Gibraltar appeared in the distance, as if it had always been there waiting, quietly included but never announced. I was immediately mesmerized. There was something about its shape: rising, defined, almost sculptural that drew my attention in a way that felt both instinctive and impossible to ignore. It simply held my attention for a moment where I felt almost indifferent to everything else around me, as if the usual flow of thoughts had briefly stepped aside.

I first visited Miami in 2023 during our Thanksgiving vacation. We drove all the way from Atlanta, where we were living at the time. The journey, which we had estimated at seven hours, took fourteen hours, thanks to holiday traffic. By the time we arrived at our Airbnb apartment, we barely had enough energy for dinner before collapsing into bed.

The next morning, after a relaxed breakfast at the hotel-like area of the apartment building, we rushed out to explore the city. My husband had been to Miami multiple times for business, but for me, it was entirely new. And I loved it.

For a photographer like me, who likes to explore, Miami architecture is a visual feast. From the very first steps on the streets, the city’s light, colors, and corners pull you in. Its architecture is distinct, modern, and even somewhat futuristic. Each neighborhood tells a different story: the pastel Art Deco in South Beach, Streamline Modern and high-rise Modernist towers downtown, and mid-century gems hidden in residential areas.

Miami is a city of contrasts, modern yet historical, posh yet playful. Its architecture can mesmerize or repel, depending on what you love. Traveling helps you discover your personal preferences, and for me, walking these streets, craning my neck to the tops of enormous skyscrapers, was a creative and inspiring experience.

“How do you eat this? What is this product? Is it good?”

These are the types of questions I find myself asking, sometimes out loud, sometimes through Google, every time I go grocery shopping in Spain. And while it may seem like a small, almost trivial detail, it actually represents something much bigger: the everyday reality of relocation and the process of learning how to settle in abroad.

Thanks to technology, overcoming culture shock, at least when it comes to understanding food and daily essentials, has become easier. But even with all the tools available, the experience itself still requires time, patience, and a willingness to feel unfamiliar.

During the first several months after starting over in a new country, there were moments when I would stand in the middle of the aisle in the grocery stores just a little longer than usual, holding a product in my hands, trying to understand what it was and would it feel familiar, or would become part of my routine.

Trial and error becomes part of the process.

Choosing what will become your favorite food, what fits your routine, what feels comforting, it all takes longer than you expect, and that’s part of adapting to expat life.

It was my first morning in Barcelona, and I left the hostel early, stepping into the streets to begin exploring this modern, enigmatic city on my own, not fully knowing yet what the day would bring, but already feeling a quiet sense of anticipation that comes with solo travel.

I was staying in the downtown area, walking distance from La Rambla, and the noise of the street immediately washed over me: the sounds of cars, scooters, motorcycles moving in constant rhythm, conversations in Spanish and Catalan blending into the background, and bakeries already open, serving those who needed their morning coffee and something soft and warm to begin the day. And instead of feeling irritated, as I would have been in a city I lived before, I felt unexpectedly energized by it.

The warm Spanish sun played with the streets in a way that felt very intentional, shifting through the leaves of the trees and casting moving patterns of light and shadow, creating a sense of liveliness. And in that moment, I realized something very clearly.

I wasn’t alone.

Even though this was, in every practical sense, a solo travel experience, I did not feel alone, because in a city that is alive from early morning to late at night, solitude takes on a completely different meaning, one that feels full rather than empty.

The first time I walked into a grocery store in Spain wasn’t during my solo trip back in 2013, it happened years later, after we moved to Marbella from the last year.

It was late in the evening, right after a long overseas flight. Tired but needing a few basic groceries, we headed to the closest store, one whose name I still remembered from my earlier travels in Spain: Mercadona.

I wasn’t expecting anything special. But within minutes, we found ourselves standing in front of a seafood counter I couldn’t stop staring at, surrounded by an incredible variety of products and wondering how everything could look so fresh and still be so affordable.

That small, ordinary moment turned into my first real glimpse into everyday life in Spain and it stayed with me.

If you’re planning a move to Spain or simply curious about what shopping in a grocery store in Spain actually looks like, this guide will give you a closer look. Based on my personal experience living in Marbella, I’ll walk you through the main grocery stores, what surprised me the most, and what the cost of life in Spain looks like when it comes to food.

When my husband and I first started planning our move to the Costa del Sol, Marbella was not actually our first choice. Initially, we focused our rental search on Estepona, attracted by its charming old town and slightly quieter atmosphere. But after weeks of searching, we simply couldn’t find a rental that matched both our preferences and our budget.

So we expanded the search area, and that’s when Marbella unexpectedly opened many more possibilities.

From the very first time we started browsing rental listings in Marbella, we noticed something interesting: there were simply more options available. Marbella offers a wide range of housing, from luxury apartments near Puerto Banús to more relaxed residential Urbanzaciones that feel calm and local.

At the beginning, however, everything felt confusing. When you’re looking at a map from afar, many neighbourhoods seem scattered across the coast and the mountains, and it’s difficult to understand what daily life there would actually feel like.

Now that we live here, things are much clearer. We’ve had time to explore different areas, drive through neighbourhoods, and observe which ones feel lively, peaceful, luxurious, or family-oriented.

Based on that experience, I wanted to share an overview of some of the best neighbourhoods to live in Marbella. In Spain, these residential areas are often called urbanizaciones, which are essentially communities or residential complexes with shared amenities.

After moving to Spain last year, I found myself naturally wanting to refresh many parts of my daily life, including my skincare routine. Something about living in a new place makes you notice your habits a little differently. The light is different, the air feels different, the rhythm of the day slowly shifts. Even small routines that once felt automatic suddenly feel open to change. Over time I’ve learned that when life enters a new chapter, it’s often the small everyday rituals that evolve first. A morning coffee in a different kitchen, new walking routes through unfamiliar streets, or a slightly updated skincare routine before starting the day.

So one afternoon I walked to El Corte Inglés, Spain’s famous department store, and spent several hours wandering through the skincare section, particularly the part dedicated to dermatologically approved cosmetics. And OMG… there is a lot to choose from. Sometimes I feel that with every passing year it becomes harder to choose skincare products. The number of brands keeps growing, new formulas appear constantly, and every skincare product promises something slightly better, cleaner, or more innovative than the last.

But while I enjoy exploring new products when I’m at home, travel is a completely different story.

If you are visiting Marbella only for a single day, you might easily skip Museo del Grabado while rushing between the beach, restaurants, and the charming streets of the old town. But if you are planning a longer stay on the Costa del Sol, I would definitely recommend adding this museum to your itinerary.

A visit fits especially well into a slow morning. After enjoying a traditional Spanish desayuno — perhaps toasted bread with tomatoes and olive oil, or a slice of tortilla Española, finished with a fresh café — you may feel perfectly energized to wander through Marbella’s historic center and explore one of its quieter cultural treasures.

Ever since I first saw an advertisement for a Candlelight concert, I dreamed of attending one. Back when I was living in Atlanta, life was full of a hundred distractions and endless tasks that kept me from booking the experience. But after relocating to Spain and embracing a slower, more intentional way of living — which I wrote about in my article “Slower Pace, Deeper Meaning. Emracing Slow living after moving to Spain” — my husband and I finally booked our tickets for a Candlelight concert in Marbella, where we currently reside.

After a little research, we decided on A Tribute to Hans Zimmer. I’ve always loved many of his compositions in films like Interstellar, Inception, The Dark Knight, Gladiator, and Pirates of the Caribbean and the familiarity of his music promised an intimate and deeply enjoyable experience.

In 2013 when I first told my parents that I was planning to travel solo in Mexico, they were in mild shock.

At that point in my life I had already been living independently for over ten years far away from home. I was not a reckless teenager chasing adventure without thinking, I was a grown woman with experience, responsibility, and common sense. And yet, parents are always parents. Their first reaction was worry.

“OMG… but it’s dangerous.” – they said.

And I understood exactly where that reaction came from. News headlines. Dramatic films. Stories that highlight the extremes but rarely show everyday life.

Mexico, in international media, is often portrayed in black and white, either luxury resorts or crime statistics. Very little in between.

But life is always in between.

What started as a solo trip for me turned into nine years of living in Mexico. I built my photography business there. I created a life there. I traveled through different regions, sometimes alone, sometimes with my ex husband, and I learned what it really means to travel solo in Mexico as a woman.

This article is not based on a one-week vacation experience. It is based on nearly a decade of living, observing, adjusting, learning, and yes sometimes making mistakes.

What if I told you that some of the most beautiful stories of Spain aren’t in majestic palaces or museums but hiding in plain sight, on doorways, staircases, and walls?

Traveling and exploring is about noticing little details that create a bigger picture. Walking through the streets of old towns like Marbella’s Casco Antiguo, you’ll notice decorative elements that elegantly add a personal touch to buildings. They appear around doorways, along stair edges, framing balconies, or lining walls. They are so present yet often overlooked, rarely promoted as points of interest. But if you look closely, spotting each tile can feel like a treasure hunt, a little prize hidden in the maze of streets.

These tiles are called azulejos, and they come in countless colorful designs: geometric patterns, floral motifs (like Peaceful Bloom), or intricate storytelling scenes. When you start paying attention to these small details, a city shifts from being a backdrop to becoming a story. It’s in a chipped azulejo by a doorway, a faded ceramic street sign, or an iron balcony casting patterned shadows in the afternoon light. Big landmarks impress, but small details pull you in. They slow you down, spark curiosity, and make walking the streets feel like a personal discovery. Even the quietest street suddenly feels alive.

On my very first solo trip to Spain, which was also the first time I ever flew on a plane, I was determined to experience as much Spanish food as my budget would allow. I had imagined myself sitting at a charming café in Madrid, confidently ordering something authentic, tasting olive oil that felt like liquid gold, and beginning a lifelong love story with the country through its cuisine.

But my first meal in Spain was… at McDonald’s in Madrid.

Yes. I know. You’re thinking: Really? Flying all the way to Spain for fast food?

Part of it was culture shock. I had barely slept the night before, spending long hours at the airport in Helsinki before my flight to Madrid. I arrived exhausted, overwhelmed, excited, slightly anxious and suddenly surrounded by a language I barely spoke. After checking into my hotel and rushing out to explore downtown Madrid, I exited the metro, looked around at the unfamiliar signs, menus, and crowds… and chose the easiest option.

Recognition feels safe. Familiar brands feel comforting when everything else feels new. Anyone who has worked in sales and marketing understands this — recognition builds trust.

And McDonald’s was the first place I recognized.

But that first meal also became a turning point.

I promised myself – no more playing safe. From now on only Spanish food. And I kept that promise.

Like many interesting and adventurous stories, this one began with a single intention and unfolded into something much richer.

On a cloudy day, I walked into downtown Marbella with one clear plan – to visit the Archivo Histórico Municipal de Marbella. According to the information I found online, it was located inside the Centro Cultural Cortijo Miraflores. I working on an article about one of Marbella’s old buildings and hoped to find books, documents, or photographs that might be available for public use.

While I didn’t get to view archival materials that day, I did gather enough information to continue my research later. My visit had already served its purpose, and I was almost ready to leave.

Almost.

As I walked toward the exit, a small table tucked into the corner of the hallway caught my eye. Beneath a glass cover lay a few books and objects, quietly waiting to be noticed. Curious, I asked the kind woman at the reception desk, who had already patiently answered several of my questions, what it was.

I had arrived expecting to spend no more than ten minutes in the building.

Her answer changed that completely.

What followed was nearly an hour of unexpected exploration and warm conversation with the people who work there. Instead of leaving, I found myself drawn into a small but thoughtful exhibition dedicated to olive oil production and archaeological finds from the Marbella area, some dating back to BC times.

It felt less like a formal museum (like High Museum of Art in Atlanta) and more like a place for a quite discovery, modest in size, but rich in meaning.