My first travel memories are of the car, long road trips to see our grandparents, how our mom would pack shoestring licorice and Froot Loops so we could make cereal necklaces, how my dad would interrupt our story cassette tapes to listen to talk radio from noon to three, how we would stare out the windows in a sleepy daze once twilight fell and it was impossible to read anymore. After that would be my first solo flight at age 11 from St. Louis back to New York, an overnight train from Paris to Florence with a high school tour group, a three hour walk from the train station in King’s Lynn to my hostel in Burnham Deepdale (lesson learned: always check the bus timetable).
I was properly bit by the travel bug at age fifteen, when my aunt took me across the Atlantic for the first time. Since then, I haven’t been able to articulate very well why I crave travel so much, except that there’s so much to see. My life lived on its own seems so tiny sometimes, the handful of experiences I’ve had repeated over and over again to monotony.
I started a travel blog to help me remember, mostly, and to share with others how easy it is to see the world. I cover a lot of travel in a lot of different ways, but if you’re looking for inspiration for off-beat destinations for independent travel, I’m here with plenty of suggestions. Or if you want to know where to find the best donut in New York, I’ve got you covered (it’s Dough, but I also highly encourage independent research on this).
“Itchy feet” isn’t a pleasant way to think about it (neither is “travel bug” I guess), but it is appropriate. I can’t seem to stand still. Around the world or around the corner — there is something I haven’t seen or experienced.
And so I spend my life exploring, from Boston to Bulgaria to Bushwick, by plane, train, or automobile and occasionally a very long walk.
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