Choosing Our Own Speed: On our Way to Germany

We had not planned to fall in love with Girona

The idea was simple enough: drive in, see the cathedral, take a short walk, maybe get an ice cream, and move on. Two hours, perhaps a little more. Girona was supposed to be one of those places you briefly touch on the way to somewhere else.

Instead, it stopped us.

There are cities that impress you, and there are cities that quietly change your plans. Girona did the second. Within the first two hours, we already knew we had judged it wrong. What we had treated as a short stop became a good dinner, a city tour the next day, a second night and the kind of unhurried enjoyment that makes you wonder why you thought you needed to hurry in the first place.

That, in a way, became the theme of our goodbye to Iberia: choosing our own speed.

We had loved so much about these months in Spain and Portugal, the people, the food, the small picturesque towns that never needed to shout to be memorable. By the time we reached Girona, we had already seen places we cared deeply about. Sevilla had left a strong impression just the week before. But Girona surprised us even more. We fell for it quickly, and perhaps because we had expected so little, the feeling landed even harder.

What caught us first was the old town. The Jewish quarter in particular drew us in, with its narrow lanes, worn stone steps, sudden turns, and hidden connections between one street and the next. In the soft light, the walls seemed to hold both warmth and shadow. Laundry hung above some passages, shutters opened and closed, voices drifted through the alleys, and every few meters the city seemed to fold in on itself and open again somewhere unexpected.

On the tour, we learned that some of these small routes had only later been reopened and rediscovered. As I understood it, they may also have served, at times, as discreet escape paths for Jews when danger made that necessary. I do not want to overstate the history, but it is impossible to walk there and feel only postcard pleasure. These streets carry something more. They are intimate, steep, slightly secretive, and full of the sense that many lives passed through them before yours.

Then there was one of those accidental discoveries that often stay with you longer than the planned highlights. Halfway up a staircase, we noticed an open door. It led us onto the city walls. Suddenly we were above Girona, walking high along the stones, almost a full circle around the town, looking out over tiled rooftops, bell towers, courtyards, gardens, and the pale sweep of the old city below us. Up there, the whole place seemed to breathe differently. The city did not present itself all at once. It unfolded. It felt like a quiet reward for our curiosity, and like an invitation to keep seeing everything more slowly.

Girona reminded us a little of Barcelona, but without the pressure. There was a similar energy, a similar urban beauty, but with fewer tourists and more locals, more Spanish visitors, more everyday life. It felt lively, but not overrun. Beautiful, but still breathable.

And yet, after two nights, we had to leave

Not because we were ready, but because we had a date with Germany. We wanted to be back by June 4th for Abenteuer Allrad in Bad Kissingen. So eventually the decision had to be made. We drove just a few kilometers farther north, to an old natural harbor and a campsite where we had already stayed at the beginning of February, when we met friends there. Returning there before leaving Spain felt right.

It closed a loop. In a small but satisfying way, it gave the journey a shape. What had begun there now found its end there too. If you read our earlier story from that meeting, you will understand why the return mattered.

That evening, it became clear to us: this was the end of our Iberia trip

The next day, the road finally called us north. We drove long, longer than usual really, the kind of day where the map keeps shrinking beneath you and you begin to sense that the return is no longer theoretical. Somewhere south of Lyon, more by coincidence than planning, we found a small French gîte, simple, understated, and exactly right for that moment.

We had made such good progress that we decided not only to stay the night, but to stay a second one. We had earned it. That decision mattered more than it sounds. Choosing your own speed is not only about slowing down when something beautiful appears. It is also about noticing when pushing on would add nothing meaningful. We could have kept driving north simply because it seemed efficient. Instead, we allowed ourselves a pause.

After the second night, we continued toward Karlsruhe. There, the road briefly gave way to something quieter and more personal: time with my dad, and a visit to my mum’s grave. Then we carried on toward Bad Kissingen.

Today, it is already the second day of Abenteuer Allrad. We are here again with Twiga Travel Cars, the builder of our truck, and what still matters most to us is not the industry side of it, but the sense of continuity. Long before we had our own truck, we came to this fair year after year. We walked through vehicles, borrowed ideas, asked questions, and slowly worked out what kind of home on wheels might suit our life.

That is why it still means something to be here now, talking honestly with people who are where we were some years ago, still dreaming, planning, comparing, and figuring things out. We enjoy those conversations because we remember how much they mattered to us.

Maybe that is also why, this week of all weeks, the idea of choosing your own speed feels so right to me.

Girona taught it to us one last time before we left Iberia. We arrived thinking in terms of schedule and left thinking in terms of attention. Then the road to Germany taught the same lesson in another form. Drive far when it feels right. Stop when it feels right. Stay an extra night when you have earned it. Make room for grief, for family, for arrival, for conversation, for the long way back into familiar places.

A better life is not found by moving faster, it begins the moment you decide to slow down.

Not everyone reading this is crossing countries in a truck

Most people are not. But choosing your own speed still matters. In non-nomadic life, too, there are moments when you can rush through what looked like a two-hour stop, or you can notice that something deserves more of you. A place. A person. A conversation. A pause. A goodbye.

Explore. Dream. Discover.