EP 10. The Destined Return: Reconnecting with Myself on a 26-Hour Bus Journey

The Lost Flight Path: An Unexpected Cancellation

On the very morning I was set to leave Helsinki, my flight was cancelled without warning. The cold indifference at the airport counter was a world away from the hospitality of Taiwan—no explanations, no comforting words. Faced with this sudden void, I decided to take a ferry back to Tallinn and then navigate my way back to the Czech Republic by land. This would be my sixth time boarding a ship in just four days. With time to kill before the ferry’s departure, I slowly drifted toward the harbor with my luggage and wandered into a music store, curious to see how a Finnish shop differed from those in Taiwan while passing the time on a piano.

Inside, the familiar brands like Fender or Ibanez were absent, replaced by electric guitars from brands I hardly recognized. I found a PRS showroom and was surprised to find that, after conversion, they were actually cheaper than in Taiwan. I looked for “Sire,” the brand recommended by the street performer in Estonia, but couldn’t find it here either. Instead, the walls were dominated by ESP and LTD—a reminder that Finland is a heavy metal powerhouse, making high-gain guitar brands particularly popular. In this seemingly calm, reclusive, and leisurely city, the most beloved soul turns out to be the roar of heavy metal. I picked up a handsome Telecaster and played a few songs I always use to test gear. I thought to myself: if I played Guns N’ Roses in here, they’d probably kick me out, haha.

Destiny in the Detour: Reconnecting in Tallinn

After my experience chasing a bus in Vilnius, I now make it a point to arrive 20 to 30 minutes early. Despite my relaxed early arrival at the port, I couldn’t find my ferry on the schedule. To my horror, I discovered I was at the wrong harbor—I hadn’t even realized there were multiple ports. The ticket agent told me I had to take a taxi “immediately” to the other side; it was a 20-minute drive, and walking was out of the question. I thanked her and bolted. On the street, a taxi driver quoted me 25 Euros. Thinking it was too expensive, I turned and ran to look for a Bolt, but after a short sprint with no luck, I doubled back to the taxi. Luckily, he didn’t raise the price. Stuck in city traffic, I felt like I could have run faster, but I made it just in time. The crew told me that if I had been a few minutes later, the ship would have sailed.

Back in Tallinn, I checked into my original hostel, still the cheapest option in the Old Town. While resting on the sofa, a guy from China politely asked where I was from in English, and we soon switched to Mandarin. He invited me to dinner, and I gladly accepted, sharing the absurdity of my day. We walked into a high-end restaurant where a meal cost about 30 Euros; realizing we couldn’t afford it, we left. We found a more modest place instead, ordering duck and chicken as our mains and sharing bites—it felt so good to have someone to share a meal with.

On our way, another girl speaking Mandarin struck up a conversation. I thought she was from China; the guy thought she was from Taiwan. It turned out she was from Fujian—no wonder we both felt she was from “the other side.” We discovered we were all staying at the same hostel and spent two hours talking in the common area after dinner. The guy, originally from Shanghai, had studied in Japan and worked in Shanghai before quitting to travel the world. He showed me his meticulously detailed itinerary, with every route marked clearly on his map. In contrast, the girl from Fujian was a total “P” (perceiver)—she bought a Eurail Pass and just went wherever her heart desired.

We discussed career paths, and they offered me, someone still lost about the future, the perspective of those who had been through it. He recommended applying to top-tier universities in China through international channels, which would mean less competition and a prestigious title. However, I’ve never been to China and don’t have a particularly good impression of it; it’s never been in my plans. Before he left, he gave me his earplugs and Mi Watch, wanting to leave his resources to someone who needed them. I truly cherished this conversation. We exchanged IGs, hoping our paths might cross again somewhere in Europe.

I had originally planned to fly from Helsinki to Berlin, then visit Dresden and Prague before returning to Brno. Because of the cancellation, I lost my prepaid hostel and bus money, but in exchange, I gained this connection. Every encounter might very well be the last one in this lifetime, so I cherish and enjoy the dialogue of the moment.

Notes from a 26-Hour Bus Journey Home

That night, I apologized to my roommates for the early wake-up call I’d inevitably cause; they just smiled and didn’t mind. The next morning, despite the incredibly early hour, I arrived at the station ahead of time for the 26-hour direct bus back to Brno. As I left Tallinn, it started to rain—the first rain of the entire trip. Checking the forecast for Dresden and Prague, I saw rain there too, and felt a slight sense of relief: at least now I had a reason to hide from the weather inside the bus.

“If I turn back now, the cost of coming out again next time will only be higher." I pushed myself to go as far as possible before the semester started. Even if I’m always the poorest of the budget travelers, and even if it’s painful at times, I have truly fallen in love with this sense of freedom. Beyond the people I’ve met, I’ve gained knowledge and skills—learning to utilize leftover food in hostels and paying the price for my own mistakes. These people and events are the priceless treasures of my memory.

Compared to the crowded and stifling atmosphere of Taiwan, the “weirdness” here is so prevalent that as long as you aren’t bothering anyone, nobody actually cares. Just as that guitarist in Tallinn said, I love the confidence of the people here—their ability to simply “be themselves” allowed me to blend in wherever I went. To quote Kamome Diner:

“It’s good to be able to do what you like." “Actually, I just don’t want to do what I don’t want to do." “A lonely person is lonely anywhere; a sad person is sad anywhere." Kamome Diner is the perfect reflection of my journey. I wasn’t escaping, nor was I searching; I just wanted to breathe in a different place. I don’t quite know why, but I simply enjoy the feeling of being in motion. The journey back is long, and I wrote these thoughts down. I loved the moments when everyone got off the bus together to catch their breath—the feeling of everyone moving in the same direction.

Music, geometry, light—I was moved by these instances so many times. The nihilism that once took root in my heart made me stop obsessing over right and wrong. But the irony is that once you recognize the meaninglessness of the world, you can truly begin to “rebel” against reality and pursue the values you actually hold dear. Perhaps, that is the true purpose of nihilism.