I’ve been traveling solo and with friends since before my teenage years.
Over time, I realized I wasn’t seeing what others saw – and a decade later, I began writing about it.
A quirky, philosophical – sometimes mystic – lens, for those willing to look.
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Exoticism
Let me just say this: there is no good or bad way to travel – just as there is no “exotic” or “mundane” experience in it. Sometimes I wonder if consumerism is the sorcerer that conjures up this endless stream of ridiculous adjectives for something as simple as travel – something that doesn’t need them
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Voyeurism
Much of my knowledge about the world is derived from peeking through windows. They are made of glass and plywood, flesh and bone, brick and mortar, cast iron and air, and exist just about everywhere I have been, opening portals into other dimensions. It feels voyeuristic to look at something so intimate – someone so
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Surreal
Partly because the sleeping beauty resting in the snowcapped mountains looked stunning in her new white wardrobe, partly because the low hanging clouds huddled together to look like a giant fluff of cotton candy from the cockpit, partly because the piercing though strangely welcome cold was vaguely reminiscent of all the places I could have
Twenty Twenty-Five
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