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.
In travel, as in life, there’s a comical contrast between the images we choose to share — and everything else that’s happening outside the frame.
On the job for Lonely Planet.
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. ______________________________
Moving around is easy. Staying still is hard.
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.
After one bicycle ride down Ocean Drive, I was ready to chop off my hair, start smoking cloves, and ditch my Macbook for a vintage typewriter.
On traveling alone: accepting solitude, tolerating jerks and being your own best friend.
‘Remnants of a lost Los Angeles, city of the mind, remembered and yearned for, the neon lights of LA – celestial fires of another sort, green, gold, ruby red, electric blue…
I spent a whole month in Vegas, and I’m still recovering.
First, I have to say: I should have just camped out at Red Rock Canyon last weekend.
When mechanical error strikes: how to calm down an angry mob of frequent fliers.
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.)
Or the ways in which revisiting a city where you once lived is like seeing a person you were once in love with.
I like to stay in. I like to cook. I don’t like to be separated from my family. How on earth did I end up as a travel writer?
“I like to be with other people who don’t need to fit the mold or belong to some kind of tribe. Then we can feel free to celebrate art and music however we want.”
On most Lonely Planet trips, I’m a stranger in a strange land. But here in California, I have a gym membership, happy hour dates, and friends with boats.
I was a tough sell. But the deed is done – I really, really like southern California.
Can you learn anything about a destination from inside the airport?