I’ve learned that some of the most revealing moments while traveling happen before most people are awake. Not because anything extraordinary is happening, but because nothing is demanding your attention yet. In 2019, my second morning in Zurich began exactly that way … too early, slightly under-caffeinated, and quietly grateful to be awake in a city that hadn’t fully turned itself on.
Jet lag has a strange way of gifting you hours you didn’t ask for. If you stay awake that first day, Europe tends to hand you the morning in return. I woke before sunrise, made coffee, fumbled with lighting that made me look like I was in a dentist’s chair, and went through the familiar ritual of batteries, memory cards, and mental checklists. Not glamorous. Just the work before the work.
I’d scouted a spot the day before, a small lookout in the old city that promised a view of Zurich waking up. Sunrise was around 5:30. I left the hotel with bedhead and a camera, knowing I’d be there in minutes. The city was empty in a way that feels rare now. No performances. No audience. Just trams beginning their routes and birds filling the silence.
A bad panorama from a Zurich overlook whilst slightly un-caffeinated!
What struck me most wasn’t the view, but the absence of urgency. No buildings lit … public lighting shuts off early. No crowds. Just a city resetting itself. I set up a time-lapse, shot a few panoramas, and mostly stood still. I didn’t care that the sunrise lacked drama. Clouds happen. Sometimes that’s the point.
It was in that stillness that an idea surfaced, one I hadn’t thought about in years. I started talking out loud about a show concept centered around the early morning hours. The people who keep things running while most of us sleep. Garbage collectors. Delivery drivers. Night-shift workers. And, occasionally, someone like me, chasing light in a foreign city with no real reason other than curiosity.
I didn’t do anything with that idea then. But hearing it now, years later, it feels like a seed planted quietly, without pressure.
Eventually, the morning moved on. The city filled in. I went searching for a camera shop to deal with a sensor so dirty it looked like someone had eaten a baguette directly over it. Shops weren’t open yet. Bicycles claimed the streets. Zurich reminded me again that it knew what it was doing—I was the variable.
By the end of the day, I was on a train heading east. Somewhere between Zurich and Innsbruck, the pace shifted again. I arrived tired, checked into a hotel near the station without asking for much, and was handed a view I didn’t expect … mountains rising outside the window, light spilling across the valley, the kind of scene that makes you pause mid-unpacking.
That evening turned into wandering. A university area. Streets I didn’t fully understand. Sounds coming from trees that might have been art, or might have been something else entirely. Europe has a way of letting you feel slightly lost without ever making you uncomfortable.
Looking back now, Episode #2 isn’t about sunrise or Zurich or even Innsbruck. It’s about being early enough to notice things before they organize themselves. Before the city performs. Before the story hardens.
That’s where travel still feels most honest to me.
This is part of a larger journey
This post revisits the first episode in a 13-part video series filmed during my 2019 travels through Europe on the way to Traverse in Northern Italy. Over time, I’ll be revisiting each episode here – adding perspective, context, and the reflections that only come with distance.
You can watch the full playlist here:
The Europe Playlist