Roads without a destination.

There are roads you don't take to get to a destination. You don't look at your watch or check your route. They exist not to get you somewhere, but to keep you moving.

I didn't fall in love with these roads right away. Before, I always needed to know where I was going and why. Now, all I have to do is leave the house and let the day unfold.

This is especially noticeable on the islands. The road can end abruptly—at the sea, at a village, at a turn where there's nothing left. And there's no disappointment in this. On the contrary, there's a strange relief, as if the world no longer demands continuation.

Sometimes I drove without a plan. I stopped where I wanted. I watched the light change, how it grew quieter, how the road gradually dissolved into the landscape. In moments like these, you realize: movement isn't always about distance. Sometimes it's about an internal shift.

Destinationless roads teach us to let go of expectations. To stop looking for results. To stop turning every day into a task. They restore the simple joy of being on the road and not rushing.

It seems to me that on roads like these, travel ceases to be an event. It becomes the backdrop to life—soft, unobtrusive, and real.

And if you listen closely, you can hear how, along with the road, your inner rhythm slows down. How the need to explain everything disappears. How a rare feeling of sufficiency emerges—when you need nothing more, nothing further, nothing faster.

Sometimes you want to experience these roads not as a route, but as a state of being—I've collected here places and paths that help you slow down and stay in that rhythm.