It was a Sunday morning. My mom, dad, myself, and our enormous sack of lychees and grapes were moving at 250kph along the train tracks through Chinese countryside. I was still unaware of what I was in for. Across the aisle of our train compartment, my mother was stretched across three seats, and unresponsive. I… Read More


Armpit-love is self-love. As I dive deeper into prioritizing self-care and pondering preventative medicine, I re-educated myself on the harmful effects of deodorant. In lieu with this personal quest for healthier pits, taking place on a puny island overrun with entitled expats and unsustainable tourism, a magical little story was born.     As we… Read More


Continued from Solo Hitchhiking La Carretera Austral Part I and Part II.     Parque Nacional Queulat This national park is famed for its view of the Ventisquero Colgante, a hanging glacier poised over a lush green valley. Campers can set up a tent by the park entrance for 2,000 CLP ($3.30). Day 47 27 March 2018… Read More


To my absolute delight, the universe gave me an RV Family not long after I had begun standing on the side of the road. It was a big day. I was somewhere along the coast of Morocco, and airport bound. Marrakech was 264 kilometers inland. My wallet was down to a couple 20-dirham notes. Day… Read More


When a sakura petal lands in your matcha, your heart skips a beat.     Day 424 When a sakura petal lands in your matcha, you suspect things may have just gone from 0 to 100. You blink twice and look again, because maybe you’ve just seen so many petals this sakura season that you’re… Read More


It’s been 430 days and I am still in love with what I’m doing. I am not homesick. I often have conversations with others about staying energized to keep traveling. People DM me, or it comes up among the travelers around me.     Two words, and you can stop reading this post: travel slow.… Read More


Armenia was one of the easiest places in the world to get a lift. Hitchhiking around a landlocked country with a population under three million meant that we met big hearts from several nationalities. Whoever took us—be it Armenians, Turks, Iranians, or Georgians—went out of their way to keep us housed and fed.    … Read More


My nose was the first to notice furans, or Moroccan communal ovens. Wafts of warm bread drew me to these buildings, often hidden among the urban sprawl of mosques and residential riads.     At the entrance of a furan there will likely be a stray cat or two, squatting and shrunken from the cold,… Read More