What Before Sunrise teaches me about presence, human connection and adventure

I keep coming back to Before Sunrise, not just because it’s a beautiful story, but because it reminds me of things that are important to me: presence, connection, and the courage to leap into the unknown, even without knowing where it might lead.

Céline and Jesse meet on a train. They decide to spend the night walking the streets of Vienna until morning, when they must part ways.

They know nothing about each other, yet they seize the moment.

Before Sunrise reminds us how happiness often begins where plans end. Nothing is certain, but everything feels possible. Life happens now.

I love traveling. The smells of a new city, foreign words and sounds all around me, the freedom of wandering without a destination. Suddenly everything feels heightened—I notice the smallest details, I feel awake, alive, curious. And above all, I feel present. 

Vienna itself is more than just a backdrop in the film—it’s a third character. The city doesn’t beg for attention or try to impress. Its magic lies in its silence and honesty. It's real and tangible, the way cities are when you really walk through them, rather than posing in front of them.

Céline and Jesse's conversation is mixed with the city’s soundtrack: music drifting from a record store, the metallic clatter of the amusement park, the rumble of a passing  tram, and the soft murmur of a café.

The film  never forces meaning upon you,—it simply invites you to watch, listen, and feel. It inspires me as a photographer who travels a lot and wonders: how can you freeze a moment? How do you translate an emotion into an image?

Before Sunrise charms visual storytelling in all its simplicity. It doesn’t try to capture the phenomenon of time, but something timeless. It gently asks you to slow down and be present.

Presence almost feels like a luxury these days. We move so fast and real attention is rare. We rush  past people, places, and moments in the blink of an eye. But Before Sunrise slows everything down to a walking pace and asks: what if you paid attention—to this moment, this person, this city, this feeling?

The heart of the film is the connection between two people. Céline and Jesse are strangers to each other, but they decide to share one night—to face each other in an honest and open way. They talk, completely vulnerable and without prejudice, about the things we have in common as humans: love, death, loneliness, hope, memories and regret.

“If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone, sharing something.”

This memorable quote from the film isn’t about having to understand perfectly—it’s about the attempt. The vulnerability of letting someone in your thoughts, memories and incomplete reflections. That kind of openness is rare, and when I see examples of it, it reminds me to be curious, honest and a little less cautious. Not just in love, but in life in general.

That's why this film is so dear to me. I don't go back to it to escape reality, but to find myself back in it—in a bit softer and slower way. And because sometimes the most meaningful thing we can do is to walk next to someone for a moment and really see them.

Timea Slavic is a photographer who has spent a lot of time in Pengerpuisto with her dog Tilda.