I’m amazing at being vulnerable. And look where that got me.
Jonas Breuer and I saw each other for the last time before my flight from Singapore to Rome. I’d had a little over two months to prepare, as we broke up on the 12th of May. We had scheduled commitments for that time, plus five extra days in Indonesia to say goodbye, and that was that. In those two months, I don’t want to go into the details; we flip-flopped back and forth. I know the non-fucked up parts inside of him will always love me.
This is about the first days in Rome and Terni. As I’m going through the recovery of that breakup of almost 11 years together, I want to share with you the rough bits, barely edited, as experienced by me. Writing is my outlet.
When I touched down after a 12-hour and 30-minute flight with the entire row to myself (a Godsend), I found the smoking room. My day had been planned out, and I was looking forward to doing things on my own. My Singaporean SIM card still worked until the next week. I had some sense of freedom and was figuring stuff out by myself, at last.
I took a train to Rome, and then switched onto another train to get to Roma Termini; I wanted to visit two Age of Empires II wonders in the city center. At the train switch, I somehow fucked up. I still don’t know exactly, but I ended up taking a train to Latina. I fixed this issue much later, but I’d already gone weak and reached out to Jonas to help me. That’s 11 years of conditioning.
In the end – without much of his input – I managed to get back on track. I visited the Colosseum and the Arch of Constantine as intended. Then I wandered around Rome with its hot summer piss smells and sketchy people. I managed to take a metro in the wrong direction as well, but fixed that myself without admitting to my ex (so weird to write that down) another fuckup of mine via poor WhatsApp communication.
Back at Roma Termini, I had to wait for my luggage that I’d put in storage. This made me miss an earlier train to Terni, where my long-term chat buddy and potentially something else had agreed to host me for two nights. So I waited at the train station, looking to refill my water bottles, having no connection with anyone whatsoever. Not the Italy I remember as a blond woman.
Finding the correct tracks was another issue, but I managed. I got on the right train, and then the correct bus, and made it to his place right when he was off work. This wasn’t so bad.
My friend and host helped me through my jetlag by going into Terni and meeting up with one of his friends there. I noticed I could only really open up when the beer arrived, and I had the admittedly easier audience of his friend. Maybe the connection of years of talking platonically would come later. Maybe I’m just old and ugly as an almost-35-year-old discard. Surely, to any man observing from the outside, I must’ve been the problem.
Anyway, I beat the potential jetlag with his commitment to the project. I’m forever grateful for that, since it’s a six-hour time difference and I couldn’t have done it on my own, for sure.
That night, it was all business at his home. We brushed our teeth, roughly talked over the next day, and went to sleep. Him sleeping like a warrior on nothing but a yoga mat. Inviting him onto the Japanese-style mattress didn’t cross my mind.
The next day, we went bouldering in Perugia. But first, he needed to go to his place of work to look at some science things. We walked to his work. He said something I couldn’t hear, and I decided to stay outside and smoke. I considered texting him I was gonna walk ahead to the train station, but waited it out in the end.
Big mistake. Now we were in a hurry. He – tall, long-legged – asked me (me) to walk faster. I said Sir, I can’t make any promises. But we made the train. Mind you, on a day when the Italian train people were on strike.
I sat elsewhere on the train and texted with Jonas about the pitiful amount of money he’d promised to send me during our last meeting.
“I’ve paid for your entire life for over 10 years”
“I’ve made you”
There are falsehoods and truths in both statements. I won’t get into the financial abuse here. He always told me not to worry about money until the abuse started somewhere between April and May 2024. This is ugly beyond belief.
Anyway, I went bouldering with my long-time friend. He showed me the… holds. The warmup routine, etcetera. As someone who has recently lost a significant amount of weight, but is still struggling to get to the goal, it was rough. But I had a lot of fun, some small but important successes, and we connected. He was on another level with the bouldering, which I admired and spoke out loud, because I’m Dutch.
I don’t know how I always end up under the influence of these Spartanesque types of men, but I both hate and love it; we walked from the bouldering place to Perugia center atop the hill. This wasn’t a casual stroll.
I went into a church, seeking answers where I know I can’t get any because my brain isn’t attuned to that. I left the church and we went to find food and beer. A falafel sandwich in the park, him, chewing down on a chicken kebab. Something was changing. I was enjoying myself and the company. I had to chug the beer, though.
A long bus ride back to Terni, we first sat in separate rows chatting, until he finally came over and sat down in the aisle seat—I consider the window seat on a coach or most forms of transportation my divine right, especially if you’re taller than me.
Our conversation was engaging, and we connected in the way we’d done virtually, but different. My expectations had been set too high at the start, I guess. We continued that on the bus ride from Terni to his place in the ‘burbs, and then into the house. We talked so much I forgot I still had to brush my teeth, which was an unwelcome interruption. Both sleepy and with places to go the following day, we went to sleep.
I’d considered sharing the mattress, but chickened out. I could really use a friendly hug at this point. Or something else. But mainly a hug and warmth.
The cost of freedom instead of settling for loveless mediocre—though the latter game with good hugs!
The next day, he had to leave early and dropped me a key I had to drop off later.
My leading theory as to why nothing happened between us is that he’s still not over his ex. I only know vague things about her; she lives in Prague, they must’ve broken up ages ago, I don’t know who hurt who, but there’s a half-severed connection in the air. He went to visit her a year or two ago. Seeking closure, perhaps? I am speculating.
I’d calculated I could spend the morning visiting Marmore Falls, so I booked the entry ticket online and took a bus there.
Freedom, at last.
I enjoyed my hike down one end via the largest artificial waterfall on Earth. The Romans really had cool ideas. I snapped plenty of pictures and loved my time alone. Sipping a doppio espresso on the other side when the alarm rang, and the waterfall increased its volume over time. Audacious choice considering the aridity of Italy as a whole in 2026.
I hiked up the other viewpoints, asked random people to snap my pictures, and eventually tried to hitchhike back to his home in Terni. I tried for half an hour, but no one stopped.
Ugly 35-year-old. So ugly, used up, and untrustworthy. Just kill yourself already; your time is over.
Remember that time in 2015 when someone called you “The poster child for solo-female hitchhiking“? Yeah, that was the height of things. The height of life. You’ll never top that, Iris. It’s all fucking downhill from here.
I took a bus back, but couldn’t find his house for a solid five minutes. My battery was low, and though I had a powerbank, I’d forgotten to pack my cable. So useless. I’d never approached the house from this side, and my mapped coordinates were a little wonky. A panic entered, until I saw his landlord. Notorious fella in our chats. I wasn’t too old for him, though; he let me know with a gaze. That’s the Italy I remember.
Smiling through the pain of the cost of freedom, I entered the apartment and finalized packing while charging my phone. A train to Ravenna would leave in a couple of hours. Considering how often I’ve fucked up taking public transportation in Italy at this point, I wasn’t taking any risks and took a bus with over an hour to spare at Terni train station. I used that time to eat a slice of train station pizza and drink a beer.
The faces around me were all unamused; even the happiest guy in the room who clearly just came back from a day of paragliding lessened his smile when our gazes crossed. Have I lost my mojo this badly? At what point did Jonas become easier to talk to than I, the weird but social butterfly? He must’ve sucked the life force out of me to pull that trick. Is this destiny swapping?
Then, a good-vibes woman a few years younger than me sat down at another table. I smiled at her, and she smiled back. We started talking, and I invited her over to sit with me. Her name? Camilla. Italian. From south of here, headed to Assisi. I don’t remember much, but the conversation just flowed. She’s also a solo hitchhiker—a title I haven’t been able to claim much these days. We just… vibed. This could have gone on for hours.
In the way I expected to vibe with my friend in Terni, perhaps. Why didn’t I manage my expectations better before meeting him?
She had a train to catch, so we said our goodbyes. She was sad but happy we met. I remember feeling like that and knowing how to handle that feeling well. She leaned forward, and I felt a warmth I’d become unacquainted with over the years. I asked for a hug, and she was more than happy to give me one. It was the best hug I’ve ever had from a stranger. I almost started sobbing but kept strong. We could have even kissed in the terrible Terni transit buffet liminal place. Maybe I should have asked, and she would have given, and I would have skipped several layers of pain to get through.
Other people are healing forces. Sometimes, there’s an asterisk there.
But social convention says that asking a stranger for a kiss is fucking weird.
I boarded my train sometime later. An Italian lady of African background volunteered to make sure I got it right, thankfully. The train to Ravenna was a long ride. The night settled in, but I had to stay awake. I texted my host of the last two nights. There were few other people to text, but somehow the time passed. I went to the train restaurant to get a craft-ish beer.
Freedom, at last.
And then I arrived in Ravenna…
The next morning, I got up early to visit the Mausoleum of Teodorico. Another Age of Empires II wonder. At this rate, I’ll visit all the Italian ones by next week. I got dressed especially for the occasion to take nice photos, again. These turned out quite wonderfully.
Then it was time to make my way to Ljubljana, where my friend Heidi lives with her husband. I took two trains, made sure the switch in Ferrara occurred well, and met a lovely lady named Alexandra who made sure I got on the right one. Women are actually where it’s at, right? Reliable, honest, trustworthy.
At Venezia Mestre, we said goodbye. There, I waited for the bus I’d booked to Ljubljana. I asked around if anyone knew this bus company called Easy Drive, booked via Omio. No one had ever heard of it. But there was still time, so I chatted to a guy guarding two long-distance bicycles. Ondřej and his friend, who showed up later, had cycled from Prague to Venice. I asked about their trip and saw some pictures.
They also asked about my life, which was a bit complicated to say I’m a digital nomad who has no idea what to do next. I ended up trauma-dumping about my cheating husband. They found it all very interesting. I’m sure they’ll remember that conversation, probably better than I do.
In the end, I found my Easy Drive bus to Ljubljana, which was a minivan across the street as the email had foretold. I was the first passenger, and I was already a bit late for the be-there-15-minutes-in-advance request. I put my stuff in the back and sat down in the fully booked van. All I managed was to sneak a bottle of water.
There was this Slovenian lady of immigrant background who had booked the bus as well. They argued for a solid 10 minutes outside. Turns out, this van had been overbooked, so she’d be kicked out at one of the Venice airports in favor of the big group. All she wanted to do is get home to her five-year-old daughter that day. When we arrived at the airport and the big group occupied all the seats, she still begged to just squeeze her in. I would have been okay with that, but the driver said no, and the other people didn’t care.
The big group was from Valencia, Spain. They were engaged in a large group conversation I couldn’t follow. Since I’m going to Spain soon, perhaps it’s time to reactivate my Spanish. Only towards the end of the ride, beyond Vrhnika and approaching Ljubljana, I found a time to start talking. My Spanish got immediately complimented, which was a mistake. We talked about their trip to Ljubljana, Zagreb, and some other places. I talked about my future trip to watch the solar eclipse. It was nice.
Heidi had told me Igor would come pick me up from the bus station. I turned on location sharing. I smoked a cigarette along with the other Slovenian men wandering aimlessly with their stick of tobacco between their fingers. The bus/train station area is still under construction. Last time, in 2024, I remembered it was also a big building pit and site of confusion.
Eventually, Igor showed up on foot. The car had broken down. Later problem. Let’s get an Uber. I just followed.
Upon arrival at their home, Heidi was there and ready to hug. She gives the best hugs, too. Then it was time for us to have a night fueled by hard seltzers, burek, and craft beer. I finally got to rant to someone who knows Jonas Breuer as well and knows his crimes. This was such a relief. She’s also so uncannily similar to me that our brains were just operating the same way for hours on end.
I settled on the couch bed late at night, too drunk to ruminate on things. Tomorrow, I’ll visit That Cat Flat in Slovenia, where Jonas and I stayed for 10 days in 2024 before kayaking the second half of the Danube.
I’m in quite the pickle. Any dollar/euro/rupee amount helps
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[This is one post in a series where I process my breakup with my long-term partner Jonas Breuer after he cheated on me in Penang, Malaysia with Julia Hannah Binti Zulkifli. It’s not my usual content, but writing about it helps. Stay tuned for more travel articles.]
