Bridget Gleeson Travel Writer

Bridget Gleeson
Faraway places
Documenting a place: Rio de Janeiro
Documenting a place: Rio de Janeiro

Film it, paint it, map it, put yourself in the frame.

I make maps: you should, too.
I make maps: you should, too.

Maps you make for work, maps you make for fun, maps that inspire you, maps that force you to be practical, maps that cause you to fight with your boyfriend.

Ringing in the new year, alone on an airplane
Ringing in the new year, alone on an airplane

The start of a new year always makes you think.  Traveling alone also makes you think. So what happens when you travel alone to a foreign place over New Year’s?

A lonely planet in orbit
A lonely planet in orbit

Or bidding farewell to an icon as we’ve known it. ______________________________

An ode to my traveling companion
An ode to my traveling companion

We’d never been on such a long trip together, you and me, so I didn’t know how it would go. Six weeks of traveling through Brazil – no, seven.

Terra da felicidade: A Return to Afro-Brazil
Terra da felicidade: A Return to Afro-Brazil

‘The city of Bahia, black and religious, is almost as mysterious as the green sea…’

One for the Road
One for the Road

On traveling alone: accepting solitude, tolerating jerks and being your own best friend.

Seven Days in the Desert
Seven Days in the Desert

I just spent one of the happiest weeks of my life in San Pedro de Atacama, Chile.

Aventura Colombiana
Aventura Colombiana

Sunshine, coconuts and white sandy beaches – and wild crocodiles – and armed robbery – oh, Colombia.

Northern exposure
Northern exposure

Siestas, asados, pelopinchos, empanadas… oh, how I love the laid-back charm of northern Argentina.

Ringing in the New Year, Punta del Este-style
Ringing in the New Year, Punta del Este-style

We toasted the end of 2011 with heart-stopping steak sandwiches and wild fireworks on the sand.

At home in Santiago
At home in Santiago

When you stay in a foreign home, you learn what the locals wear to bed and how they take their coffee (in this case? Instant Nescafé with steaming hot milk and liquid sweetener.)

36 Utterly Selfish Hours in Budapest
36 Utterly Selfish Hours in Budapest

I skipped the museums. But I had breakfast in the subway, pretended to shop for apples and saw lots of beautiful Hungarian women.

In hot water
In hot water

Yesterday I floated in the waters of Budapest’s thermal spas. Yes, the system is confusing if you don’t know Hungarian – and yes, the older gentlemen are satisfyingly rotund in their tiny swimsuits.

Prague: my old flame
Prague: my old flame

Or the ways in which revisiting a city where you once lived is like seeing a person you were once in love with.

Things we ate in Ecuador
Things we ate in Ecuador

A week of gourmet meals on a yacht in the Galapagos – plus a week of cevicheria-hopping in Quito?

Ten things I didn’t know about the Galapagos
Ten things I didn’t know about the Galapagos

The islands startled me. They’re rougher, colder and more spectacular than I expected – somehow bleak and lush at the same time.

Secret gardens in the big city
Secret gardens in the big city

‘My life, which seems so simple and monotonous, is really a complicated affair of cafés where they like me and cafés where they don’t, streets that are friendly, streets that aren’t, rooms where I might be happy, rooms where I shall never be…’ — Jean Rhys (Good Morning, Midnight)

An ode to my barrio
An ode to my barrio

Parisian architecture, Peruvian street food, handsome gentlemen in three-piece suits, crowded bookshops, glamorous old cafes… what’s not to like about living downtown?

Holiday nostalgia
Holiday nostalgia

Another holiday, another cake, another desperate attempt to carry on our family traditions far from home.

We got lost in Lisbon, then the rental car broke down
We got lost in Lisbon, then the rental car broke down

I like talking about the stuff that never makes it onto a postcard. The unexpected failures and mini-disasters, jet lag haze, upside-down maps. Interpersonal dramas.

Someone else’s family tree
Someone else’s family tree

In the past week, I’ve been to Portuguese farmhouses, bohemian apartments in Pamplona, birthday parties in the Algarve and a dinner party in an old Spanish barn. (Oh yeah, I also spent a night at the Holiday Inn in Lisbon. Don’t ask.)

Woody Allen’s Barcelona: fact or fiction?
Woody Allen’s Barcelona: fact or fiction?

This isn’t my first time in the Catalonian capital – it’s one of my favorite cities. But until this week I thought that the leafy settings of Vicky Christina Barcelona were just another of the director’s urban fantasies.

Highway to hell
Highway to hell

I’m kidding. But it wasn’t easy traveling up one of the world’s most rugged and desolate highways on a beat-up old bus with thirty backpackers – and my mom.