How We Used Points to Cover a Kid-Friendly Family Vacation in Eastern Europe
From their home in Park Slope, Brooklyn, Rachel—who runs the popular substack Brooklyn Family Travelers—meticulously planned an itinerary that combined smart budgeting with luxurious touches, primarily through savvy use of credit card points and miles. The family aimed to dive deep into Eastern Europe's rich history and vibrant culture, and Rachel's strategy ensured they traveled comfortably without blowing their budget. "Eastern Europe was high on my list," Rachel explains. "I loved the idea of hopping between these iconic cities by train, making the most of each place without feeling rushed."
Here, Rachel shares exactly how she made this memorable trip happen, leveraging points and miles to maximize their travel budget—and how other families can follow her lead.
The family dove deep into World War II history at landmarks like the Flak Towers—former anti-aircraft artillery stations.
Rache Lisnor
The Vienna Giant Ferris Wheel, which dates back to 1897, has become a symbol of the Eastern European city itself.
Getty Images
Finding the right pace and place
For Rachel, picking this particular itinerary started with the school calendar. 'The moment the dates came out, I began mapping out possibilities,' she explains. While Rachel had spent time across Western Europe, cities like Budapest, Vienna, and Prague felt like uncharted territory, offering a compelling mix of old-world charm, history and family-friendly activities.
She intentionally structured the trip to give each city its due. Budapest earned four nights, Vienna five, and Prague three—just enough time to explore at a comfortable pace without overwhelming the kids. "With young boys, we wanted to balance sightseeing and downtime," Rachel says. "Having multiple nights in each city lets us settle in, experience local life, and not feel pressured to rush through all the sights."
Convenience played a role, too. "We loved that the train rides between cities weren't too long," Rachel says. "They became a fun part of the adventure instead of just transit days." This thoughtful pacing—paired with Rachel's careful points planning—meant every family member could enjoy the journey as much as the destinations themselves.
The Parisi Udvar Hotel in Budapest is set within a 19th-century shopping arcade—and cost the family just 20,000 points per night.
Párisi Udvar Hotel Budapest
Their best points redemptions
Rachel's careful planning paid off with several standout redemptions that elevated their family trip from comfortable to extraordinary. Initially, she booked economy flights to Budapest via Air France with points transferred from a credit card. But a last-minute search uncovered something much better: "Just days before departure, I found business class flights on Austrian Airlines," she says. "It was only 252,000 points total for all four of us, and those tickets would've cost around $27,000 in cash." They happily paid a $70 per-person cancellation fee to redeposit their original points, and upgraded their travel experience dramatically.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Yahoo
I began traveling solo after my 20-year marriage suddenly ended. These are my 5 favorite places I've visited alone.
I began solo traveling after my 20-year marriage unexpectedly ended. I've now seen 21 countries. Some of my favorite solo trips have been to New York City, where it's hard to feel lonely. I've also really enjoyed my solo travels to places like Luang Prabang, Paris, and Budapest. My 20-year marriage imploded over dinner on an ordinary Friday night. I hadn't seen it coming. When the dust settled, I knew I wanted to travel, but I'd never done it alone. So, I began with familiar destinations, expanding into more challenging locales as my travel muscle grew. Now, I've been to 21 countries alone and tackling the world on my own terms has become my favorite way to travel. Here are some of the best places I've visited as a solo traveler and why I enjoyed them so much. Many of my first and finest trips have been to New York City. Most of my first forays into solo travel were local, and I am fortunate to live just an hour outside New York City. NYC can be great for solo travel because its bustle encourages anonymity — it's hard to feel alone in a city of millions. For some weekend trips, I'd buy concert tickets to see my favorite artist, Billy Joel, who recently completed a decadelong residency at Madison Square Garden. I'd take the train on a Friday afternoon, see the show, and check into a nearby hotel. On Saturday morning, I'd treat myself to brunch and walk the High Line, stopping at Chelsea Market or the Village to window shop and sip artisanal coffee. Since the city is densely packed with shops and restaurants, switching up my trips was easy. And, by immersing myself in one neighborhood at a time, the huge metropolis felt like a series of small towns to explore. These weekends in NYC taught me that I was my own best company. In Paris, I explored my own interests and enjoyed the local arts scene. I'd visited Paris twice before my solo trip, first with my husband and later with my daughter. Arriving alone, though, the French city felt brand new. I felt so inspired by the local art scene — there really is something for everyone, from architecture to live performances. I used this trip as an opportunity to satisfy my own curiosity and spent the week walking with self-guided audio tours. It was thrilling. My favorite tour explored the haunts of the 1920s "Lost Generation" of writers and painters. I was captivated by Sylvia Beach's Shakespeare and Company, the cafés frequented by literary legends like Hemingway and Fitzgerald, and Gertrude Stein's apartment salon, but I'd never had the opportunity to tour the sites because my husband and daughter weren't interested. This time, I did. Although I was solo, indulging in my individual passions and enjoying such beautiful art made me feel less alone. My trip to Budapest was a mix of spontaneity and pre-booked plans. My first New Year's Eve apart from my daughter, I welcomed the new year with a fresh city — I flew to Budapest. I'd made some reservations in advance, like a tour of the imposing Hungarian Parliament Building and an evening cruise on the Danube. I even booked a ticket to see the operetta "Die Fledermaus," in Hungarian, at the opera house. I didn't speak Hungarian, but watching elegant opera patrons swirling about in gowns and furs felt like an adventure. Here, it was also easy to sprinkle spontaneity into my trip — an impromptu nighttime photography tour and a local lunch of paprikash and cream cake at a restaurant recommended by an Uber driver. In many ways, Budapest's walkability made foreign solo travel less logistically overwhelming for me. The Buda and Pest sides of the city are joined by grand bridges with walkways, making it easy to cross on foot. Although trams or taxis were readily available, I could count on my feet instead of trying to navigate car rentals or public transit. Plus, walking affords deeper exploration in a new city. All in all, Budapest took my breath away. My trip to Antigua, Guatemala, was a nice mix of solo adventures and group trips. In February, I try to escape the chilly wintery weather at home by visiting someplace warm. One of my favorite picks so far has been Antigua. Although the flight from the New York area was only about four hours, the Gautamalan town felt a world away from home. Framed by might volcanoes and filled with cobblestones and low, pastel-hued buildings, it felt lost in time in the best way. In Antigua, I wandered through Cathedral ruins, marveling at the blue sky pouring through gaping windows. I toured a museum filled with ancient pottery, sampled local craft beer at Antigua Brewing Company, and shopped for jade. I also booked day trips with small groups that took me to Lake Atitlan's villages and Chichicastenango, one of the largest markets in Central America. All in all, my four-day trip was a perfect mix of solo time in town and excursions with groups outside of it. I appreciated how many group trips and tours were available in the area, which are great for solo travelers. When I go back, I'm going to join a group to hike a volcano. I loved mixing spontaneity with planned experiences in Luang Prabang, Laos. After a tour through Laos, I returned to spend more time in its northern city, Luang Prabang. I really appreciated how the quiet city seemed to encourage solitude in the company of others. My riverside hotel offered complimentary bike rentals and a sunset Mekong River cruise, and I took advantage of both. The views were incredible. During the trip, I rose before sunrise to give alms, providing rice to orange-clad monks of all ages. Together in silence, I didn't feel alone. At one point, while walking back to my hotel, I passed an English language school recruiting volunteers and spent the morning helping a young man practice English for an upcoming interview. In the afternoon, I hiked up Mount Phou Si, which was laden with Buddha statues of all sizes and colors. All in all, I liked that my trip was filled with planned cultural activities and wonderful spontaneous opportunities. Read the original article on Business Insider
Yahoo
08-07-2025
- Yahoo
When I Took My Young Son to the Country Where He Once Might Have Been Born, I Stunned Myself by the Risks I Took. It Was Transformative.
This piece is from the book Becoming Baba: Fatherhood, Faith, and Finding Meaning in America by Slate staff writer Aymann Ismail. Copyright © 2025 by the author and reprinted with permission of Doubleday. It was the summer of 2022, and we had big plans. I was set to accompany my 1-and-a-half-year-old son and pregnant wife halfway across the world to the country of our parents' origin. The morning of our flight, I turned to Mira. 'You know what I'm most excited about? Taking pictures like the ones I have of me as a baby in Egypt—at the Pyramids, at the beach with my family …' Mira looked at me, puzzled. 'That's what you're most excited about? Not that we're about to give his little palate a crash course in Egyptian food?' She rattled off all her favorite dishes. 'Mulukheya, bamya, kushari, falafel, shawarma …' 'Shawarma?' I laughed. 'Mira, he has no teeth.' 'I'll chew it for him and feed it to him like a mama bird!' Our goal was the same: to awaken Musa's inner Egyptian. After what felt like an eternity, the plane landed in Cairo. The second we stepped outside the air-conditioned sanctuary of the terminal, we were blasted with the scorching Egyptian heat. It was like swinging open the door of a preheated oven. I'd wondered if it was a good idea to come in the summer, but Mira hoped marking Musa's birthday in his ancestral homeland would make it worthwhile. Just beyond the scrum of people, we were greeted by a familiar and comforting sight—Mira's mother, Tant Maha, waving her arms and jumping up and down, radiating excitement. 'How was the flight!?' Maha asked as she guided us toward her waiting car. 'We didn't sleep,' Mira lamented to her mother. Maha nodded sympathetically. 'I know, I know. Believe me. I've done it many times, with four kids, not just one. And by myself, too,' she said. Mira's mother had her own apartment in a new development in Egypt called New Cairo, an upscale area in the desert designed to ease the city's congestion and offer a fresh urban space. Maha turned to us. 'So—what do you want to do first?' Without hesitation, Mira exclaimed, 'Falafel, please!' I enthusiastically joined in: 'Yes, and then sleep!' Maha playfully dismissed our desire for rest. 'You can sleep when you get back to America,' she retorted, setting the tone for the trip. There was no room for a car seat in the car, so I handed our son off to Mira. She was taken aback by my willingness to let go of my usual insistence on safety precautions. Even amid the honking horns and crowded streets, we felt a profound sense of peace. Everyone moving or driving seemed conscious of being tiny organisms in a vast ecosystem. I had been to Egypt before, but it was thrilling to see it through the eyes of a baba. But as we drove through the city, I couldn't help noticing all the potential dangers. Entire families with infants even younger than Musa were perched on mopeds hurtling down the highway. Children sat on the trunks of cars or the beds of pickup trucks. Mira enveloped Musa with her protective embrace, doing her best to at least give herself the illusion that she was keeping him safe. Our lives were out of our hands, and there was something beautiful about that. The chaos outside the car windows mirrored the tumultuous journey of becoming a baba. It's an unending challenge in accepting you're never in control. Each time I return to Egypt, I wonder why my parents ever left. The delicious food, the melodious echoes of the Athan, and the comforting warmth of the Egyptian sun—I couldn't believe that my parents chose to raise their children in New Jersey instead. With each turn, the streets of Egypt seamlessly blended ancient history with modern life. Donkey carts trotted alongside cars blaring mahragan music, and centuries-old architecture coexisted with majestic pyramids. Eventually, we reached a café nestled up a narrow flight of stairs, on the second floor of an unassuming residential building. I had planned on resting after breakfast, but the irresistible scents of freshly brewed coffee enticed me. Maha led the way, sharing her enthusiasm. 'This place offers all the traditional Egyptian dishes. It's always my first stop when I arrive in Cairo,' she explained in Arabic before ordering what felt like everything the café had to offer. Soon, 12 small meze dishes filled the table. We savored all of it: the besara, the fuul, the falafel, the torshi, the kofta, the ruz, the salata, the asal wa tahina, and more. With the utmost care, we selected bite-sized portions and arranged them artfully on Musa's plate. We allowed him to reach out and dip his fingers into the food and delighted in watching his little fingers explore the textures. Mira guided a falafel to his lips and encouraged him to take a bite. Instantly, his expression transformed into a mask of surprise and joy. His lips smacked with pleasure as he savored the new experience. 'I think he likes it,' I said. Maha exclaimed, 'Of course he does! He's Egyptian!' Afterward, we ventured east, leaving behind the ancient heart of Cairo. The roads gradually widened, creating a contrasting sense of spaciousness and calm. Many of the contemporary structures had been built within the past five years, and ongoing projects were visible everywhere. We encountered well-maintained gardens, lush patches of grass, and upscale shops and restaurants that exuded an atmosphere reminiscent of Dubai's new developments. New Cairo transported us to a world of opulence and grandeur, offering a glimpse into the future. I wasn't immediately sold on it. In fact, a part of me hated it—it wasn't the Egypt I had always romanticized. When my parents spoke about Egypt, they reminisced about the warm hospitality of its people; the soul-stirring call to prayer from mosques so old their minarets have stood for many generations; the bustling shops; the unique twist on the Arabic language; and the rhythm of each day that began and ended with a hot drink. I longed to introduce Musa to that Egypt. The days spent in the air conditioning, eating takeout before jumping into the pool, could wait. As soon as our bags were dropped off, my plans to get some rest were overcome by my desire to explore. I exchanged messages with my cousins, who urged me to come over right away. Mohamed, Yassir, and Osama had always treated me and my siblings like their own brothers and sister. And after our antics during the Egyptian revolution, Osama and I were bonded for life. They lived in a building that my grandfather Abouzid had built by hand. I extended an invite to Mira, though it was half-hearted. I was meeting male cousins at a café, and in a place like Egypt, societal norms dictated the facets of everyday life. Mira must have sensed that the invite was more of a courtesy: She casually declined. The journey lasted about an hour, but I didn't mind. The view beyond the window encapsulated everything I cherished about Egypt—the bright sun, the hazy veil of dust and sand, the surreal quality of cars rushing by. When we reached the neighborhood where my paternal family lived, the driver asked if we could get out there instead of the street address, gesturing toward an entrance to the unpaved street. I stepped out of the car with Musa in one arm and my backpack filled with diapers and other essentials in the other, and pressed forward down the narrow street, relying on a glimmer of faith that I would stumble upon a familiar landmark. At times, Shubrah can feel unsafe. It's a poor neighborhood, and there was no hiding that I was a foreigner, no matter how good my Arabic was. I passed packs of young men on every corner. One group was playing pool, and one of the larger of the teenage boys reached over and smacked another on the head, ripping the pool cue from his hand. They noticed me right away, but I felt safe holding Musa. Egyptian culture dictates a special respect for parents. Eventually, I recognized the street café where my cousins and their friends always gathered, and where I had spent countless hours sipping coffee during previous visits. I settled into one of the many empty white plastic chairs that lined the street. The café sprawled into the intersection with a simple outdoor setup: about 20 plastic chairs scattered haphazardly, a few small side tables, and a lone TV nailed to the exterior wall of someone's house. It felt as if it operated solely by communal consent, without the kinds of permits you'd expect back home in the United States. This café had become the neighborhood's outdoor living room, where individuals flowed in and out as they pleased. One man operated the entire café and tended to all the customers from his apartment. He would emerge to take orders, then disappear back into his apartment to prepare coffee or tea or to grab ice and a soda. The chairs sprawled across the intersection, and when the occasional car ventured through Shubrah's dusty roads, nobody budged an inch, so it was left to the driver to navigate the intricate maze. Small wonder that the taxi that dropped me off had hoped to avoid the densely packed area. Soon enough, Moawad, a family friend who often spent time with my cousins, spotted me and called out to me by a new name. 'Abu Musa!' he yelled: Musa's father. A bit shorter than me, he walked with an exaggerated swing of his arms, dipping his shoulders up and down like a bodybuilder. He was well groomed and sporting aviator sunglasses, with a laptop bag slung casually over his shoulder, standing out in an environment filled with older men in loose-fitting galabiyas and kids in tight ripped jeans and flip-flops. 'Have you ordered already?' I held up the empty cup in front of me, and he scoffed with genuine disappointment. 'If you wanted coffee, you should have told me. This coffee is OK. But it's not fit for a prince like you. Maybe I'll drink a cup here if I'm in a hurry. But for really good coffee? I go someplace else. Did you pay yet?' he asked. 'Not yet. I'm waiting for the basha to come back,' I said, chuckling. 'No problem,' he said, tugging my arm as we walked down the street toward my family's house. As we passed by the café owner's door, Moawad loudly called out and banged his fist on the window awning. 'Mohamed! We're in a hurry!' he yelled. 'Don't charge this guy. He's our guest from America!' We continued on our way. Moawad snatched Musa out of my arms and placed him high up on his shoulders. 'How are ya, Musa?' he greeted my son, eliciting a contagious grin as Musa bounced up and down. 'Osama got pulled away for work and sends his regards. I just spoke with him. He made me promise that if you needed anything, anything at all, it's my responsibility. I told him, 'Are you crazy? Aymann, the prince? Aymann, habibi.' All you have to do is ask.' He brought our brisk walk to a halt. 'Tell me. What do you want to do while you're here?' he asked. His kindness made me blush. My family is accommodating, but this felt like a whole new level. 'Nothing! I'm just here to see you all. I wanted to bring Musa, show him around, get him to meet the family, take some pictures, feed him some food, do whatever you guys are doing. Honestly, bringing him to Shubrah was really it,' I explained in halting Egyptian Arabic. Moawad smiled and nodded. 'Of course! Osama is like a brother to me, and because he loves you like a brother, that makes us brothers, too. So, if you need anything at all, you call me first, OK?' 'OK, then let's take a picture together,' I suggested. Moawad immediately spread Musa's arms like wings, which brought a wide smile to my son's face. 'Yalla. Say 'cheese'!' he exclaimed, excited to use the little English he knew. When I returned to the café, I was met with an unexpected sight—eight friends, comrades of Yassir and Osama, gathered around a tawla (backgammon) board, engrossed in a spirited match. Ahmed, their closest friend, who lived near my family's house, seemed wholly fixated on the black-and-white checkers before him. As I approached, one of the group, Islam, playfully chided me, 'Moawad mentioned he saw you sitting here alone. Why didn't you come over and say hello!' 'I had no idea anyone was here!' Their laughter filled the air. 'How strange! He even said you were drinking coffee here! How can you tolerate the taste of it?' another friend quipped, joining in the amusement as if to deliberately chide the old man who operated the café. 'Don't all of you drink coffee here? I see everyone with a cup!' I countered. 'Yes, we drink it, but we don't like it. It tastes like river water!' The comment echoed loudly, fueling the jovial atmosphere. I realized that I had encountered nearly every person within this lively group at some point in the past. It was as if Musa and I were surrounded by loving relatives. Following his defeat in the game of tawla, Ahmed rose from his seat in frustration, venting his exasperation at the friend who had bested him. He joined me, enveloping me in a protective gesture. 'Give me Musa,' he requested sternly, prying my drowsy son from my arms. Musa rested his head on Ahmed's shoulder and succumbed to his exhaustion. In a few minutes, Ahmed handed Musa over to another friend. Despite the animated conversations and boisterous laughter, Musa remained serene, as if tucked into the comfort of his own bedsheets. 'How is he still sleeping?' I commented to Ahmed, slightly bewildered. 'It's the heat. I have children of my own now, and all they seem to do is sleep. So lazy,' he said. 'So how does it feel to be back?' he asked me. I could see the curiosity in his eyes. 'Like I never left. I wanted to show Musa around so he can grow up feeling like an Egyptian.' Ahmed pulled my entire body toward him. 'He's Egyptian because you're Egyptian. You came here to visit us, and when you come and brighten our little corner, that light you bring is what makes you Egyptian.' This was a level of male intimacy that I don't usually experience in America, where expressions of male camaraderie are often given with a sense of caution and reservation. Even among friends I've had for what feels like my entire life, physical closeness can be uncomfortable or out of place. But in Egypt, Ahmed's embrace conveyed a warmth and acceptance that transcended words. There was no hesitation in his actions, no fear of judgment. The bond between us felt stronger, more genuine—nurtured by a culture that embraces emotional expression and physical touch between men. At first glance, the many male-only spaces in Cairo felt antiquated to my American sensibilities. Back home, the idea of excluding women from certain social spheres would be a relic of a bygone era. As I spent more time in these spaces in Egypt, however, I began to sense a unique kinship and ease among male friends that just didn't exist in America. Here was a space where men could express themselves freely, unburdened by societal expectations or judgments, and relieved of the pressure to perform masculinity in front of women. These environments emphasized brotherhood; advice and support were given freely. Ahmed added, 'But next time, leave your son with his mother, so we can go out and have some fun.' I protested immediately: 'What? I wouldn't want to leave Musa behind.' Sensing my devotion, Ahmed continued: 'There's nothing wrong with loving your child. But taking care of them this way when they're so young is usually left to the women. You should enjoy your time before they grow older, because then you will have to bring them everywhere,' he said. I hadn't even noticed that one of the friends in the group had quietly passed Musa to yet another person. I leaned back in my chair and accepted that I wasn't in charge of Musa now, but I could rest easy: He was with family, even if I hadn't seen these folks for years. Just then, the melodic call to prayer, the Athan, echoed through the air. Although a part of me felt drawn to stand up and head to the mosque, I observed that the guys hanging out didn't budge. In that moment, I realized that it was time to bring Musa back home and let him drift off to sleep for the night. I called an Uber, scooped Musa from the shoulder of one of my friends, and bade the group farewell. Ahmed insisted on accompanying me, and sent me off with a final hug before insisting on a selfie together. With his help, I climbed into the car. 'This is our brother! He is visiting from America. Take care of him and his son! They're our family, all right?' he told the driver. The driver nodded earnestly. 'Of course. He is my brother, too.' Though I was born in America, my parents had imparted a sense of our belonging to another culture, which afforded me a pride in being both American and Egyptian. But my connection to Egypt was different from what my parents knew. For them, it was the idyllic homeland they had left behind, where their religion, culture, and identities were deeply rooted. For me, Egypt was more abstract—a mosaic of family visits, nostalgic movies and songs, and cultural practices that felt both familiar and distant. Their success as parents seemed tied to how strongly we identified as Muslims, and Egypt, to me, represented an alternate reality. I imagined that had I grown up there, my parents might have been different—less anxious, less worried about external influences threatening to dilute or corrupt their children's faith. Egypt seemed like a place where we could simply exist, where Islam was seamlessly woven into daily life rather than being something to constantly protect. It wasn't just the origin of our family heritage; it was a sanctuary of relief and a way of being that I often found myself longing for. As I sought to pass this connection on to my son, whom I also hoped to raise with strong ties to Islam, I had to accept that his bond with Egypt might be even more strained than mine. He would be two generations removed from that land, and his parents had grown up in the same country where he was now being raised. If he developed any relationship to Egypt at all, it would be his own unique bond. And if I wanted him to feel even a hint of what Egypt meant to me, all I could do was leave a trail of breadcrumbs—photos of him as a baby in the arms of his relatives or standing atop the Pyramids—hoping that one day he'd follow them back. On the day before our journey back home, I made one final trip to Shubrah to say goodbye to my family there. Mira and Musa had joined me on one of my many visits to Shubrah, but on this particular visit, I went alone. I had something else on my mind, too—I asked Moawad to take me to that coffee place he had insisted was 'fit for a prince.' I hadn't forgotten. To my surprise, instead of leading me to a café, he guided me to a small kiosk, a modest vendor stall selling chips, chocolates, random spare smartphone parts, and a few pharmacy items like soap and toothpaste. On the counter was an electronic coffee machine. Moawad dropped a few coins on the counter and pressed a button; the machine buzzed to life, lights flickering, and dispensed a shot of hot Turkish coffee into a thin paper cup. I had to use the tips of my fingers to handle it. Moawad's eyes sparkled as he watched me take my first sip. The coffee tasted fine, though I couldn't quite understand why he'd made such a big deal about it. 'This really is worthy of a prince,' I said, playing along. 'You see? I told you!' He beamed as he locked arms with me again and took me for one last walk around the neighborhood.
%3Amax_bytes(150000)%3Astrip_icc()%2Ftal-comfy-shoes-are-my-go-to-for-mom-life-tout-4de850726ef14c3f9cca30a25c35ab92.jpg&w=3840&q=100)
Travel + Leisure
08-07-2025
- Travel + Leisure
My Mom With Plantar Fasciitis Recommended These New Balance Sneakers—and Now I Won't Travel Without Them
As a travel writer and new mom of twins, I'm almost always on the move—whether for work or with my family in tow. That means I'm constantly searching for comfortable, versatile shoes that feel as cushioned as my favorite sneakers but can still pass for something more polished when needed. These days, comfort tends to win out over style. So when I find something that actually strikes the perfect balance, I don't take it for granted—and my New Balance 327 Sneakers do just that. Additionally, I have an admittedly low pain tolerance when it comes to footwear (one blister and I'm out), so I've become ruthless about what earns a spot in my suitcase. These shoes make the cut every time: they're supportive enough for long travel days, stylish enough for casual meetings or dinners, and lightweight enough to pack without a second thought. More often than not, though, I opt to wear them while in transit, for precisely the reasons listed above. I first discovered these New Balance sneakers through my mother, who, with plantar fasciitis and small fiber neuropathy, requires ultra-supportive footwear that doesn't compromise comfort. So, when they won her seal of approval, I immediately ordered a pair for myself. They say not to judge a book—or, in this case, a pair of shoes—by its cover, but I was instantly impressed by the sneakers' sleek silhouette and retro-inspired, trend-forward design. They somehow feel sporty, elevated, and effortlessly cool all at once. The high-quality construction, which includes a suede and mesh upper, leather lining, and leather insole, only sealed the deal. No detail was too small for New Balance: even the lace-up closure is designed for easy adjustability, especially helpful at TSA when juggling bins, shoes, and (in my case) a clunky double stroller loaded with twin babies. Performance-wise, these New Balance sneakers hold up beautifully. The lugged rubber outsole offers solid grip on everything from slick sidewalks to airport terminals, while the lightweight cushioning and solid arch support keep my feet feeling fresh, even after long periods of standing or walking. Best of all, they're incredibly comfortable right out of the box. No breaking-in period, no painful hot spots—just instant ease. I also found the sneaker to run true to size; that said, if you have wide feet, it may be worth going up a half-size since the toe box may be a bit narrow. And thanks to the easy slip-on/slip-off fit, I don't even need to fully bend down to get them on. (However, the laces tend to come undone quickly, so I recommend a simple fix: double-knot before heading out the door.) On most days, I pair my sneakers with leggings—or, if I'm feeling extra fancy, jeans—usually styled with a casual tee or tank, layered under a scuba or denim jacket. But of course, they look great with more polished pieces, too. For example, when I was in Florida this spring and the weather was warm, I slipped them on with flowy maxi dresses instead, and they worked just as well. I personally own the New Balance 327s in two hues, but they're also available in over 10 other color combinations, so there's something to match just about every wardrobe. I'm especially fond of my black pair, which features the brand's signature oversized "N" logo in white leather—it adds a subtle elevated touch to an otherwise sporty silhouette. Of course, don't just take my word for it: These sneakers have racked up hundreds of perfect ratings across Amazon, earning praise for their comfort, style, and everyday wearability. "This shoe is both stylish and [comfortable]...wore it while on a weekend in NYC with over 30,000 steps and my feet were great," raved one happy shopper. Looking for more comfortable, travel-ready sneakers? Keep scrolling for the best sneaker deals I've spotted at Amazon from Adidas, Brooks, and New Balance. Love a great deal? Sign up for our T+L Recommends newsletter and we'll send you our favorite travel products each week.
