2016 wasn’t exactly the best year ever, but I did manage to take my traveling watercolor set to Nicaragua, Paris, and Tierra del Fuego.
Surfing isn’t about catching a wave. Fly-fishing isn’t about catching a fish. Nothing is about anything.
Last Christmas, I received a travel watercolor set. In 2015 I took it to Mexico, Argentina, Brazil, Uruguay, the Grand Canyon, California, Spain, and Nicaragua.
Revisiting ‘terra da felicidade’ (the land of happiness) for Lonely Planet.
A trip to Tangier, Fès & Marrakech inspires a creative collaboration.
There’s a reason why there are a thousand resorts here, why the cruise ships all stop here. It’s the same reason that some phrases become clichés: because they’re true.
Film it, paint it, map it, put yourself in the frame.
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.
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?
Or bidding farewell to an icon as we’ve known it. ______________________________
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.
‘The city of Bahia, black and religious, is almost as mysterious as the green sea…’
On traveling alone: accepting solitude, tolerating jerks and being your own best friend.
I just spent one of the happiest weeks of my life in San Pedro de Atacama, Chile.
Sunshine, coconuts and white sandy beaches – and wild crocodiles – and armed robbery – oh, Colombia.
Siestas, asados, pelopinchos, empanadas… oh, how I love the laid-back charm of northern Argentina.
We toasted the end of 2011 with heart-stopping steak sandwiches and wild fireworks on the sand.
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.)
I skipped the museums. But I had breakfast in the subway, pretended to shop for apples and saw lots of beautiful Hungarian women.
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.
Or the ways in which revisiting a city where you once lived is like seeing a person you were once in love with.
A week of gourmet meals on a yacht in the Galapagos – plus a week of cevicheria-hopping in Quito?
The islands startled me. They’re rougher, colder and more spectacular than I expected – somehow bleak and lush at the same time.
‘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)