I was sitting on a hillside above Oeschinensee, cows grazing around me and a turquoise lake stretched out below, when a thought landed so clearly it almost made me laugh: this is what I’ve been needing. For twelve days I had been moving through loud, crowded cities. Now there was nothing but cowbells, a light breeze and a calm mind. I felt completely grounded. Then, unexpectedly, I felt proud.

Let me rewind. Thanks to a LEAP grant from Pembroke, I spent three weeks travelling solo through Greece, Italy, Switzerland and Spain: eleven cities, one backpack, and a lot of hostels. Not long ago, a trip like this would have felt impossible. Looking at the lake, I thought about how much I’ve grown since starting university, and how far I’d stepped outside my comfort zone to get there.

The route wasn’t random. In second year I studied European anthropology, and I kept being drawn to the Mediterranean side of it. It also felt personal, because the region echoes the Middle Eastern culture I come from. So I chose mostly Mediterranean places, curious to see what I’d recognise. Reading about Mediterranean hospitality is one thing. Experiencing it as a solo traveller, far from home, is something else entirely.

I started in Athens, where I hiked up to the Acropolis and ate gyros the size of my head. Rome, Florence and Pisa followed. The Trevi Fountain and the Colosseum were beautiful by day, but Rome at night was its own experience, and cycling around at midnight I felt truly alive and free. What stayed with me most were the in-between moments: working out which trains to catch, realising I’d been scammed at a currency exchange, and walking 20,000 steps a day to get anywhere. Each one taught me resilience and how to solve problems on my own. Milan was where I ate the best pizza of my entire trip. I won’t say where, because I’d like to go back and have it again. A stop at Lake Como gave me my first taste of calm after the cities.

Hostel life was its own education. I shared rooms with strangers, some lovely and some, let’s say, less hygienic than I’m used to. In one hostel, my roommates and I found a cockroach. What followed was a team effort that would have impressed any rescue mission: four adults, one cup, and a plan that fell apart when the cockroach vanished. We sat up until 3am, too scared to sleep, because it was hiding somewhere in the room. We never found Sausage, the name we’d given our new roommate. It’s a funny story now, but it taught me that you make friends fastest over a shared crisis.

Living out of a backpack and moving every two days was the hardest part. At home I can be fairly high-maintenance, with my own routines, space and comforts. On this trip I couldn’t be. I had to pack light, adapt quickly, eat what was available, sleep where I could and keep moving. It was a lifestyle completely new to me, and I surprised myself by managing it. I tested my limits constantly by staying in hostels, travelling alone, starting conversations with strangers and exploring cities with only Google Maps and my own judgement.

Then came Switzerland, which changed the whole trip. From Interlaken I took several trains and a cable car up to Oeschinensee, and stepped out to a lake so turquoise it looked unreal, framed by steep, rocky peaks. I had no idea which trail I was meant to take, so I chose my own route, wandering down to the water before hiking up the mountain. Sitting among the cows, their bells ringing at every movement, I realised something I hadn’t expected: I don’t actually love busy cities. I’d spent days ticking off famous sights, but what made me happiest was peace, water and mountains. It was the most useful thing I learned all trip. I came home knowing something real about what I want from my life, which felt like a bigger discovery than any monument.

After the Alps, I headed to Spain. I loved the versatility of Barcelona, with its warm beach and lively city. Valencia was calmer, and Seville had my favourite atmosphere of all: big gardens, street artists and flamenco dancers gave it a warm, welcoming energy I still think about. By then I was a much more confident traveller than the person who’d left Athens, navigating trains, hostels and new languages without a second thought.

If I had to sum up what the trip gave me, it would be independence I can actually feel. I now know I can plan my own route, solve problems alone and talk to strangers with confidence. It also showed me which environments I thrive in, which matters as I think about my future adventures and where I want to explore. And as an anthropology student, it was a reminder that books only get you so far. Seeing how people live, eat, argue and welcome strangers across the Mediterranean made what I had studied feel alive.

I’m hugely grateful to LEAP and Pembroke for making this possible. To any student thinking of applying: do it. You won’t always be comfortable, but you’ll learn something real about yourself.