You know— carving out time to write has gotten harder and harder. Oftentimes I intend to sit down and journal about a trip or adventure only to get tangled up in the web of life. There’s few things I cherish more than memories of my trips. While snapping (and archiving) albums-worth of pictures has become reflexive during my travels, my writing habits haven’t met as fortunate a fate. 

Writing has never felt like a chore- and like fine Italian wine, I think it’s actually more poignant with the passage of time. Rereading prose from past versions of myself is so beautiful and compelling. Journaling about the things that make you happy— travel for me—  is really just a delayed gift, a time capsule for future you to dig up and cherish. So as you can imagine, opening my blog and realizing I had neglected to write about another year’s worth of trips was depressing. Journaling immortalizes my memories to my future, forgetful self. How do you let life get in the way of that?

I don’t think returning to my old ways of writing about each and every trip is my goal in this season of life. Truthfully, I’m not even sure it’s feasible. I’ve hacked Instagram to help fill a lot of the travel recap void (I’m looking at you, Instagram Reels). But I do hope to do better when it comes to writing about my adventures, whatever “better” turns out to be. Today, “better” is a 2022 Travel Recap. And hell, that’s a pretty good start if I may say so myself. So, Sydney of 2035, I hope you’re smiling reading this.   

From start to finish, here’s a beloved written recap of my 2022 year. And boy, what a year it was! 

Nashville, TN | February 2022

In this equation, a brief weekend trip to Nashville was a COVID-era flight credit that was finally cashed in for not one, but two Spirit Airline tickets for the pretty price of $240. Don’t mind if I do. Our stint in Nashville was about 40 hours from start to finish, so jam packed it was. After western hat and boot shopping (and almost caving to the very convincing call of the cowboy hat), Tom and I celebrated our 6 month anniversary at a swanky restaurant downtown. We traded in fine dining for honky tonk bars & PBRs on Broadway— though describing any bar on Broadway by any other descriptor than a country-fied capitalist behemoth feels almost… deceitful?

(Life update: if 1 of these 2 faces looks new to you— meet Tom! We met through our best friends in New York City, and are celebrating a year and a half together next month!)

Ski Trip

Estes Park, A-Basin, Denver, CO | March 2022

In recent years, I have developed a very real ski itch—one of those ever-present, nagging cancers that annoyingly takes up precious mental real estate. The ski itch, at face value, isn’t the problem. The problem is that my ski itch manifests more as a snowboard itch, and absolutely under no circumstances should anyone, EVER, put me on a snowboard. I am a hazard to all of humanity when strapped into a rectangular, full-throttle snow greased engine . While I have somehow lived to tell the questionable tale each and every time I’ve snowboarded, something about the sport keeps me coming back.  And so, on this fateful March trip, my best friend Chantel and I flew into Colorado for Snowboarding and hiking in the Rocky Mountains. 

The first part of the trip entailed hiking one of the most spectacular trails of my life— I’d say its only rival is the Zion Narrows (more on that later). In March, the Rockies are frosted in a thick coating of snow, adding a fun, albeit freezing, element to your hike. A last minute decision to rent crampons (little spikes for your hiking boots) saved the day and made the hike actually feasible. Without them, we would have joined the masses who made defeated U-turns back to the parking lot after facing near disaster encounters trying to go downhill without brutally loosing their footing and wiping out. The best part of the trail was the lake that had frozen over like a massive ice cube. The winter terrain allowed us to walk across the lake, a luxury not afforded to those who make the trek in the summer. At the end of the trail, we perched atop a slab of rock and sunbathed while we watched daring back-country skiers descend the treacherous mountain in a performance that was equally fascinating as it was precarious. 

Our snowboarding portion of the trip at A-Basin proved to be yet another humbling experience for me. If it wasn’t obvious before, there is no denying my hopeless devotion to the idea of being a snowboarder. To my credit, I did enroll in snowboarding lessons on my first day back. My first and most fatal mistake was thinking I was a good candidate for the level 2 snowboarding lessons. You can imagine my teacher’s disdain when I was not only the only one in the class, but content with sitting ass in snow explaining how, yes, I’d done this before, but somehow retained no malleable memory. I had no merit to be standing (sliding) in front of him as a “level 2 snowboarder”. Alas, there I was smiling!

On the bright side, I did graduate from the bunny slopes midway through the morning with only one epic mass chair lift disaster to my name. On the Green Slopes, I was no less of a human grenade— a few gnarly falls mixed with the high altitude had me tapped out by noon. Chantel, the Canadian expert snowboarder that she is, kindly took a lunch break with me. I ate in agony and self loathing hatred, and cheered her on from the sidelines as she hit a few more runs without me. Happy to report, I am still not a snowboarder but am still trying to go again this year ;)

Joshua Tree, CA | April 2022

Finding myself whisked away, yet again, to the west, I hoped a Joshua Tree trip would ring in at a slower pace. We were tent camping after all, which in retrospect, was somewhat of a bold move in April. I’d fancied the idea of camping in Joshua Tree for the better part of two years— when the opportunity presented itself to meet up with friends from Arizona and California, I pounced. 

The trip entailed beautiful hiking, aimless wandering through the park’s realm and copious amounts of cheap beer enjoyed by the crackling amber campfire. If you’re considering camping in Joshua Tree, Jumbo Rocks campground is not to be missed. A big travel through-line of 2022 was waking up at the earliest traces of sunrise to watch the sun warm up the horizon and burst into a milky, marbled canvas of colors. This trip, I remember a particularly memorable sunrise– I climbed up one of the towers of “jumbo rocks” and watched the morning light show through the maze of Joshua Trees around me.

Dallas, TX | May 2022

An Annual Best Friend Trip with my best friend and college roommate took me to Texas for the second year running. We ate, drank, and lounged and in turn, filled the BFF quality time reserves to get us through the next long distance stint.

Family Road Trip |  June 2022

Zion, Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, Arches National Park, Moab, Canyonlands, Monument Valley, Flagstaff, Grand Canyon, Sedona, and Vegas

I reserve the better half of this post to memorialize this trip, the most epic family road trip of all time. I am here to contradict whatever stigma movies like “RV” fed you to believe about embarking on a road trip with your family. If you take nothing away from this post: let this be your sign to go on the damn road trip with your family!

The whirlwind trip was a cacophony of the best locales the American southwest has to offer. I’m a self proclaimed desert lover- it was a special experience to spend 10 days intersecting my favorite place with my favorite people. 

The trip notably kicked off strong— a non-negotiable stop in Vegas’s In-n-Out Burger later, and we were driving through Nevada en route to Zion National Park. We arrived with the afternoon still ahead of us, and squandered no time exchanging hours of daylight for serotonin spikes and outdoor adventure. And fine, if you must know—burning muscles, too. Scout’s Landing trail (the little sister to Angel’s Landing) is not for the faint hearted or physically mortal. In the latter camp myself, our perseverance and screaming lungs paid off with a gorgeous trek and an incredibly impressive vista. 

Day two in Zion took us up the river without a paddle— walking sticks and water boots only. The Narrows is a landmark Zion hike, and one I’ll surely never forget. While the initial beauty of the hike is watered-down (no pun intended) by hoards of hikers brought in by the bus-load, the greater the distance between you and the trailhead brings great relief from the crowds. An hour or so in, and I was in water-logged paradise, sloshing upstream like a two-legged water animal. 

I was happy we’d made the hike in June; the tingle-inducing temperature of the water felt extra rigid in the deeper, waist-high stretches of the trail. A forewarning for anyone hiking after me? Bathrooms. Go to the bathroom before you embark on your hike. Though if you do make my mistake, sprinting to the trailhead with the current on your side makes you feel as though you have wings. But, still. Go to the bathroom first. I’ll just leave it at that. 

We were on to Bryce Canyon next, which was notably the most orange destination of the road trip. Our hike took us through otherworldly “hoodoos”, through a slot canyon, into a quasi desert oasis, and up to a mangled grove of petrified trees. The hike was a concoction of my dad’s recommendations, including some combination of the Navajo Loop, Queens Garden Loop, and a connection from Sunrise Point to Sunset Point. 

Before we arrived in Moab for our expedition through Arches National Park, we followed a meandering road that boasted zero cell service in exchange for astounding views. As a car collective, we deemed the drive the most beautiful of our lives. A brief surprise layover in Capitol Reef National Park later and we’d made it to Arches National Park. Impossibly, we found that the arches lacked grandeur against picture’s we’d seen, which opened up the floodgates to complaints about the heat and sun. A second hike extracted some of the indifference by sending us on an uphill battle for our lives, nearly knocking us to our knees by the time we arrived at the impressive Delicate Arch. Any remaining malice towards the arguably overhyped geographical anomalies evaporated after a hearty dinner at Thai Bella, which to this day, I swear is one of the best meals I’ve ever had. 

Home base that night was a safari tent, seemingly plucked straight from the African outback. Nestled in the rugged terrain of the desert, our desert safari tent was luxurious by all standards… even the “kids teepee”  that my sister and I were relegated to for the night had a certain charm to it. 

We found ourselves in downtown Moab the next morning for breakfast and shopping. A stopover in Canyonlands National Park later, we were loaded back in our rental car and puttering away at 75 MPH towards a very cherished desert mecca of mine: Monument Valley. Situated in the heart of Navajo Nation, Monument Valley first crossed my radar in 2020. Covid-19 had rendered any hopes of international travel impossible, and instead, had transported me to the desert in what would become my most impactful trip to date. Monument Valley was one of the stops on that fateful trip, and to this day I’ll never forget the stripped back, simple joys it brought me. 

Chasing the same spiritual simplicity and joy, I convinced my parents to book the exact Airbnb from my trip 2 years prior. While I’m not sure my parents would echo my “peaceful” sentiments (as I understand, there was a coyote or two provoking them from their bedrooms, ha!), I felt the same awe in the presence of Monument Valley as I did on my first trip. From the blanket of stars so vivid and crisp you can nearly pick them from the velvety black sky to the mystical “monuments” standing dignified against the majestic desert sunset, life almost feels like an AI stimulation rendered to a dreamy, desert state. 

Before halting to a final stop in Vegas for pool days, shows, and gourmet dinners, our colossal itinerary brought us to The Grand Canyon where we bemoaned the crowds and “subpar view”. A self proclaimed fan of The Grand Canyon myself, my pleas to stay until sunset weren’t heard, I somehow got lost from the family for half an hour, and my sister worked up a gnarly sunburn— and so, needless to say, the majority of the car loaded up and departed less than impressed. Flagstaff welcomed us with warm, open arms, and we opened our appetites to local fare, tossing back beers as we watched trains pass through the historic downtown. 

Adjacent to Flagstaff, Sedona was a quick morning trip. Since I’ve spent a good deal of time in the Flagstaff and Sedona area, I enjoyed a nice amount of freedom navigating my family to my recommended trails and restaurants. I promptly squandered all trust to guide my family on any desert trail by immediately bringing the gang on the wrong trail, which, you know, isn’t super ideal in the summer or the desert. Tough crowd! We finally navigated to the correct trail (I am good for something after all!) and scaled some pretty serious rocks, giving my poor mama early onset heart failure each time she was required to scramble higher. Sorry, mom :—) The family pics looked great- definitely worth it!

Golden, CO + Chicago IL | August 2022

Everyone has those big bucket list items. For me, one of those was seeing a live performance at Red Rocks. To justify the trip to Colorado’s natural amphitheater for a concert, I knew the artist had to have major appeal. When Nathaniel Ratlieff and the Night Sweats announced dates at Red Rocks, I rallied my best friend Allie and we put a plan in action. If the two of us are good for one thing, it’s making a trip happen. We squeezed in time to catch up with friends from college and enjoyed a peek into the psychedelic realm at the notoriously mind bending MeowWolf immersive art museum.

From Colorado I hopped on a flight to Chicago— a destination that’s become a mainstay since Tom moved in August. The first trip to his new home was nothing short of joyful, filled with friends and a birthday celebration for Tom. We even made friends with the Polar Bear at the Lincoln Park Zoo, who spent about 20 minutes cozying up next to us on the other side of the glass.

Newport, RI | September 2022
Wedding photography was responsible for bringing me to Newport, Rhode Island— and what a pleasant surprise the weekend trip was! Downtown Newport boasts delicious food, great nightlife, and copious souvenir shops. Cliff Walk and Mansion Mile (most notably The Breakers Mansion) are sights so extraordinary you can’t turn away.  

I had every intention of getting this post up in one fell swoop, but my executive board (read: my groggy brain and tired fingers) advises otherwise. Don’t be fooled- the last third of 2022 was jam packed: my first international trips since 2020 and bucket-list NYC staycation itineraries. I’m hoping to get this written and posted within the month. Reliving moments and putting atoms of memories into words is such a special gift. I forget how much (time intensive) joy this all brings. 

Until then, I offer you an Instagram Reel olive branch to relive the highs of 2022:

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Sydney

(PS @ mom— I didn’t have it in me to proofread or spellcheck this. Don’t come at me. Really leaning in to the “journal” element of this ;)  

I’m quite acquainted with the horrendous breed of self reflection that, after a while, winds up being so damning that it turns out a bit funny. Hi from where I stand in self awareness hell, grab some matches and get cozy! The Sydney of 2022— not to be confused with the earlier, pre-pandemic model— views travel differently than she used to. Indeed, pre-pandemic Sydney would have looked at the travel log of her 2020 self and been appalled. One glance at her 2021 outbound flights? Someone quick, check her pulse!

With the vastness of 2022 ahead of me, I’ve returned to my old habits of feverishly concocting cocktails of one way what-if flights and perfecting my out-of-office email. But truth be told - there is a marked difference from two years ago. While there’s few scenarios that shake out worse than a traveler in the throes of a global pandemic, I do admit there has been a great upside: discovering the profound joys of domestic travel.

I know— I know! Profound joys— I can’t believe I said it either. Dramatic? Yes. But an exaggeration? No lies were told.

In the most dramatic plot twist of all time, I, Sydney Estill, am itching to see *checks notes*… all of the USA. Yes, some regions of the US haunt my Google Chrome’s search history in a more obsessive fashion than others. But unlike years past, there now exists US airport codes that not only compete with international ones, but occasionally take precedent.

In a hypothesis that would do my 7th grade lab reports proud, I’ve concluded that I owe my new outlook to the last 15 months of exotic- allbeit domestic- travel. That, and I think the whimsical magic of an old fashioned road trip. Breaking my long overdue haitus, I’m sharing my itineraries and glimpses from each.

Roadtrip by Way of a Wedding – October, 2020

Phoenix, AZ » Monument Valley, UT » Paige, AZ » Flagstaff, AZ » Sedona, AZ » Tucson, AZ » Bisbee, AZ » Mesilla, NM » White Sands, NM » Marfa, TX » Dallas, TX

This was the road trip that started it all. And my god- how could it not? The trip sprouted from an absolute bonkers idea I had to get from New York to Dallas, TX for a wedding. At the time, the thought of getting on a plane boded just about as well as the idea of a 24 hour cross country drive— that is to say, equally poorly. My excitement to be in my college roommate’s wedding eclipsed the painstaking hurdle of actually getting to Dallas however, and I ultimately decided to forgo the drive in favor of a flight and cash in on the vacation days I would have used to drive. As it frequently does, my excitement spiraled out of control. By the time it was all said and done, I’d booked a ticket to Phoenix, not Dallas, and about 2 weeks premature of the wedding date, too.

This road trip— as I’ve made many bear verbal witness to… sorry folks— absolutely annihilated my views of domestic travel. In two weeks, this trip wrecked my every expectation, quickly becoming one of my favorite (if not THE very favorite) trip to date. I instantly fell in love with the desert and the freedom I found driving on the open roads. I learned to love country music for a second time in my life, and began to wonder if maybe I did need another pair of cowboy boots after all. From sunsets spent drinking $7 wine straight from the bottle on the skirts of the Grand Canyon to a once in a lifetime blizzard that dusted pecan tree lined streets of New Mexico, it’s a trip that I will hold close forever. Our encounters were sprinkled with Elijah Wood and magicians; our experiences flavored by reverent desert hikes and ungraceful sled rides down snow covered sand dunes of White Sands National Park.

After this trip, all bets were off— I had to return to the west.

New Year, New places — December/January, 2021

Phoenix, AZ » Bisbee, AZ » Naco, Mexico » Silver City, NM » Santa Fe, NM » Taos, NM » Albuquerque, NM

There was one severe regret from our October Road Trip. That is, we did not have access to a convertible. How could anyone in their right mind return to the desert, drive the SAME ROADS, and not do it in a convertible. That was our mantra planning our New Years Roadie, and heck, we stuck to it right until the the bitter booking end. We sheepishly abandoned our fantasy for a more economical four-door sedan instead, discarding the vision of our Higher Desert Selves™… that is, until we were sitting at the rental car lot in Phoenix.

There, in front of our eyes, basked a white, two-door cloth top Mustang, in all of her spectacular glory. Citing what may now be considered the final commandment in the Bible- Thou Shalt Never Pass Up the Opportunity to Rent the Mustang- I went inside the rental car office on a mission, and rolled back out with a free upgrade and the keys to the convertible. With the heat cranked up as high as it would go, we sent the top folding down and swore the December weather would not deter us.

We made it to Silver City before the convertible top came to a controversial permanent close. The Wild Rags (Western silk scarfs, for all intents and purposes) we had adopted as a 60’s hair accessory, however, remained a permanent fixture tied under our chins.

This is the trip that I hold sacred. For the wine that was sipped while we manifested 2021 aspirations, I bubble with gratitude. I look back at the passport-less excursion to Mexico for lunch and am flooded with laughter. The brilliant first sunset of 2021 that came over me like a hug. Delicious vegan soups in taos, and pink airstreams. The impossibility of finding an Uber and a Lyft on our flight home in Albuquerque, but still making it to the airport– barely.

I spent the flight home mourning the lands I had left below me.

Girls Trip, Two Ways — March 2021

Flagstaff, AZ » Sedona, AZ » Tucson, AZ » Sonoita, AZ » Phoenix, AZ » Salt Lake City, UT » Park City, UT

The Westward Creep came back clamoring in March. Conveniently, I had not one but TWO trips up my sleeve. From New York, I flew into the ant-sized Flagstaff airport where I deplaned on the tarmac, entered the gate area and picked up my luggage all in 100 ft of each other. To add flair to an already unusual airport experience, I waited on the one Uber in town for no less than 55 minutes. Ah! Desert life!

In Flagstaff, we welcomed the brisk March snow with puffy-jacket insulated open arms. Working remotely during the workday, “business hours” winded down around 2 pm (5 pm eastern time) giving us ample time to explore downtown and neighboring Sedona. On one particular blistering cold day, we bundled up for a drive to Sedona only to walk outside and find our car tucked in under a particularly impressive smear of snow.

Not deterred by our lack of equipment, we used our bodies as a collateral means of raking off snow. Finally, the windshield was excavated. On the drive over, a skeptical Allie asked about road conditions. A quick Google search showed Green all around, I reassured her. As we discovered— only after we had trail-blazed the icey, winding mountain road to Sedona— the Green Conditions were, in fact, referencing the Air Quality Index, not the Road Conditions, which were a very vibrant red. Oops.

We briefly escaped the snow in southern Arizona on a remote weekend camp in the desolate ranch country of the Sonoita desert. From the Desert, I made my way to Utah where I reunited with friends from New York and presided like royalty over the slopes of Park City in the family vacation home of one of my friends. The days spent together spent engorging our bodies with champagne and home cooked dinners and expelling it of months and months of pent-up laughter and time apart was good for both the heart and soul.

The Fine Line When Canada becomes Martha’s Vineyard— September, 2021

Martha’s Vineyard, MA

It’s a story that’s too good to NOT include in this roundup. My boyfriend and I— then freshly in a relationship, mind you— were in a weird in-between time. Our best friends in the city, the people we met through, had moved to California probably 3 weeks after dating. Gone were the marathon nights of board games and built-in double dates, and damn it, we were sad about it. To take the sting off the “goodbye”, we had arranged to pay them a visit in Canada where they temporarily resided before making the permanent relocation to LA.

The plan hinged on one very important detail: we needed two negative PCR COVID-19 tests taken within 72 hours at the Canada-US border, or we’d be denied entry. The main problem was that PCR tests, at this time, were averaging turnaround times of about 24-48 hours, meaning we had just about 24 hours of wiggle room to play with. We rallied our troop of two and diligently tested in the exact right window of time— Canada, here we come!

Ha!

The next morning we woke up to a flood (literally) of instagram posts sharing the ostentatious rain that had pummeled the city overnight. The subways morphed into gorges of gushing garbage water, cars were abandoned on highways, and people were stranded at home. New York City was looking extra armpit-y, but we felt pretty sure things would be better by the time we’d start our drive the next day.

The things they don’t tell you about flood aftermath: anything that’s being transported by car during a period of high rainfall may well end up in that rainfall. You can imagine my shock and horror opening an email from the pharmacy where I’d taken my PCR test saying that the car carrying my test had gotten whisked from the road in a gush of water and completely flooded….before smashing into another car. I cannot make this shit up. THANKFULLY, the driver was ok. My test on the other hand… not so much.

With not enough time to get a second PCR test before our boarder crossing but a rental car paid for, Tom phoned up his parents and the weekend was saved- we spent our Holiday at Martha’s Vineyard. Best last minute plans of all time ever! Three cheers!

Don’t Mess with a Texas Roadtrip — August, 2021

Dallas, TX » Fredricksburg, TX » Austin, TX

If you’ve never tried a long distance best-friendship, I 0/10 recommend it. Gone are the days where I would roll over on my twin bed and holler at my roommate-turned-bestie, get out of bed, we’re getting doughnuts. Although I’m certain I never uttered those exact words to Jenny, the sentiment remains.

Facetime is our all-sustaining lifeline from Texas to New York, but the very best time together is the few times a year we actually get to hang out in the flesh. This year’s trip to Texas was coronated with a stop at the In-N-Out drive-thru, followed the next day with a wine tour of Fredricksburg’s finest wineries. An immaculate start to any road trip, if I do say so myself. A hop and a scoot over to Austin, we paraded downtown in the spellbinding summer heat and gorged our bodies with fine Texas fare. I packed my film camera on this trip…. *cue transition to film gallery below*

Back on the West Coast (Best Coast)- November, 2021

Los Angeles, CA » Venice Beach, CA » Portland, OR » Pacific City, OR » Tillamook, OR » Vancouver, WA

To literally no one’s surprise, my last roadie of 2021 took me back to the west coast. I delighted in the company of friends and sunshine in LA before moseying to the Pacific Northwest for the very first time in my whole life. I’m not sure if you’ve heard- but it rains there. I found it rather rude that the rain got more severe with my arrival, despite my pleas on the plane. All jokes aside, the weather in Oregon during our visit actually was atrocious. And those are local’s words, not mine.

The predominant inconvenience with the rain was that we were on the coast of Oregon to shoot a surprise engagement. Alas, love does not wait for clear skies. Allie and I donned our ponchos, wrapped our camera gear in plastic grocery bags, and set out looking like little blueberries darting across the rocky coast. The engagement was ethereal; the glowing couple’s love was so magical against the clouds and sideways rain that had rolled in from the ocean.

After the engagement, there was a concert-turned-reunion with a sweet college friend. There was brunches to be had, cows to be seen, and Whole Foods to be scoured. Hey- did you know you don’t pump your own gas in Oregon???

15 Months- there you have it!

I often think about journaling, in more detail, these trips for fear of forgetting precious details with time. For now, I’ve resolved myself to these brief snippets. But if I know anything about myself— I’m no stranger to a good impulse.

I hope everyone’s 2022 is serving you however you hoped. May you find adventure in the little and big things, in the everyday and in the extraordinary. We are but brief bodies on loan here on earth.

Syd

THERE! —I said it— I have learned to enjoy being static. Although I love scanning my boarding pass and cozying into a window seat more than just about anything, I have found unexpected joy in being stationary during these past 6 months.

My pandemic experience started out in Brooklyn, and after a month of isolation and uncertainty, I packed up drove 15 hours to stay with my family Birmingham. Now, let me preface this: Birmingham is the city I was born and raised in. It’s also a city that has pivoted a shocking 180° since I moved away to college. Thankfully, weekend trips to Birmingham were abundant while I worked towards my degree, and after moving to New York post-graduation, my fateful hometown returns often landed me in bars, restaurants, etc. in throes of downtown. Needless to say: exploring Downtown Birmingham quickly became a favorite pastime of mine. And after spending some time with family here this summer, even amid the pandemic, I can confirm it’s a swanky town to call (a temporary) home.

So if you’re in Birmingham and looking for things to do while you practice social distancing — outdoor dining, drink spots, and things to do— I’ve done the heavy lifting for you. Check out my top recommendations, as well as notes on each to help you make the most informed choices while we work to keep ourselves and others safe during COVID-19

OUTDOOR DINING- MY TOP PICKS.

BEST OUTDOOR DINING: Automatic Seafood and Oysters

Y’all. Holy heck. I don’t even know where to begin. I treated a friend to a celebratory moving-away dinner here, and I was simply blown away. The menu accommodates seafood lovers, seafood haters, and vegetarians alike. Plus, the outdoor dining is as picture perfect as it comes. Pull out your phone for a few instagram worthy snaps before diving into the delicious food.

Dining: Outdoor and covered outdoor

COVID PRECAUTIONS: outdoor dining only, socially distant tables, servers wearing masks, reservations recommended, single-use menus

Honorable Mention: Roots and Revelry

Why you should go: 3 words: Brunch, brunch, brunch. $20 bottle of champagne mimosas. Outdoor 2nd floor patio dining. Amazing service. Need I say more?

Dining: outdoor and indoor

COVID PRECAUTIONS: outdoor dining, socially distant tables, servers wearing masks, reservations recommended

Honorable Mention: McFly’s Wing Shop

Why you should go: The trifecta: fast, affordable, and delicious! Plus, if you’re a vegetarian like me, you’ll appreciate the vegan wings. The outdoor courtyard is charming in a laid-back way, and the best part of all: it’s connected to 90’s themed bar, Unplugged, which has some of the best beer and cocktail deals around.

Dining: outdoor and indoor

COVID PRECAUTIONS: outdoor dining, socially distant tables, chefs wearing masks, counter service

Honorable Mention: Continental Bakery

Why you should go: Whether you’ve picked up an affinity for baking during the pandemic or not, everyone will appreciate the fresh baked breads and pastries at Continental Bakery. If you stop by during lunchtime, be sure to order a sandwich on the bakery’s delicious home-baked bread. The dreamy outdoor dining nestled in the English Village is simply unmatched.

Dining: outdoor only

COVID PRECAUTIONS: Option to do contactless Window iPad ordering. When ordering inside, there’s 6ft social distancing and a max customer capacity. No indoor seating!

OUTDOOR DRINKING- MY TOP PICKS.

Get growlers to go!

BEST OUTDOOR DRINKS: Ghost Train Brewery

I spent far too long picking my #1 spot, which is at least partially due to the fact that I spent far too much time drinking in Birmingham. Ghost Train landed at the top of my list for a few reasons: their covered outdoor dining, their live music, their frequent food trucks, and best of all- their fantastic $4 blonde beer. And for your friends who claim they hate beer: their in-house spiked seltzer and fully stocked bar are sure to please!

Drinking: outdoor, covered outdoor and indoor

COVID PRECAUTIONS: outdoor/covered outdoor dining, servers wearing masks, plastic cups, growlers of beer to-go, outdoor bar

Honorable Mention: Carrigan’s Beer Garden

Why you should go: I’m tempted to say Carrigan’s Beer Garden has the best outdoor patio in all of Birmingham. Step outside and you too will find yourself forgetting that you’re drinking in Birmingham’ metropolitan area. A spectacular beer menu and bar set this locale apart from the rest.

Dining: outdoor, covered outdoor and indoor

COVID PRECAUTIONS: outdoor dining, socially distant tables, bartenders wearing masks, contactless ordering on iPads, digital menus

Honorable Mention: Mayawell

Why you should go: Tequila lovers rejoice. Mayawell is truly the end-all-be all for those who swear by tequilla and mezcal cocktails (but don’t worry- there’s beer and wine options to please everyone!). Best of all, a food truck sits outside for when a little snack craving hits!

Dining: outdoor and covered outdoor

COVID PRECAUTIONS: outdoor dining only, socially distant tables, bartenders wearing masks, digital menus

Honorable Mention: Back Forty

Why you should go: If you are the “let’s sit outside!” friend, Back Forty will not disappoint. Tables stretch as far as the eye can see on the front lawn, and string lights add a certain ambiance once dusk hits.

Dining: outdoor and indoor

COVID PRECAUTIONS: socially distant tables, bartenders wearing masks, single-use cups

OUTDOOR ACTIVITiES- MY TOP PICKS.

(plus a fitting glitter filter)

BEST OUTDOOR ACTIVITY: Grand River Drive-In Movie

The certifiable safest way to socialize and enjoy a movie- you’re welcome. We met friends at the drive in theatre, parked next to each other, set up blankets and chairs between our two cars, and turned our car radios up to create a makeshift surround sound getup. Concessions and bathrooms are onsite.

COVID PRECAUTIONS: drive your car into the theatre lot with the option to stay completely inside your vehicle. If you sit outside your vehicle, there’s every-other-spot parking rules to maintain social distancing.

Pro tip: Buy tickets ahead of time to secure your spot!

Honorable Mention: Vulcan Trail

Why you should go: Considering the number of times I have driven past the Vulcan Trail, it’s a crime that I haven’t visited sooner. About 1 mile from one end to the other, the trail offers stunning glimpses into downtown Birmingham, the WBRC sign and relics from a mining era past. If walking is not your speed (no pun intended), bikes are welcome amid this lush green pathway.

Pro Tip: the parking lot closes at 7 pm sharp. You can exit the lot after 7, but you will not be able to enter.

Honorable Mention: Sunset views from a Downtown Parking Deck

Why you should go: Picture this: you pick up dinner to go. It’s 7:00 pm and the sun is about to set. You drive up to the tip-top of a downtown parking deck, shift your car’s gears into park, turn up the music, and enjoy dinner overlooking the city as the sun sets. This is it- it’s Birmingham nirvana.

Pro Tip: the BBVA parking deck is a personal favorite, though you may have to park on the street and catch an elevator up.

Honorable Mention: Lake Days at Oak Mountain State Park

Why you should go: truly the closest alternative to a beach day in Birmingham, there’s nothing more relaxing than sunbathing and swimming at Oak Mountain. If you’re keen on grilling out or picnicking, tables and gills are abundant! Be sure to bring chairs and towels if you plan to lounge in the sun or take a dip!

Pro Tip: Head to the lake at the back entrance. Not only is it less crowded, but Flip Side rents out paddle boards, canoes, kayaks and water boarding equipment to make your lake day complete!

Well there ya have it- my top picks for safe and fun things to do around Birmingham during the pandemic! These activities have been vetted by yours truly… some more times than I’d like to admit. Let me know if you think I missed anything on my round-up!

As for me- well, I’m slowly but surely packing up my Birmingham life. I’ll be driving up to New York next week, but not before making a quick pit stop to see my grandparents. Once I get back to Brooklyn, I’ll start compiling activities for a similar New York-geared post.

Take care of each other. Until the next adventure!

Syd

[Full disclosure: my criteria to venture out to restaurants and bars hinged on a couple of safety precautions. Rest assured, everything listed here was vetted by yours truly- some places more than once (oops)- and all with very stringent safety requirements:

1. Is there outdoor seating?

2. Are servers and patrons/individuals wearing masks?

3. Is social distancing being upheld?

Bonus points were awarded to businesses that took extra measures to ensure my safety and the safety of customers.]

We met our driver outside the colectivo and loaded our overnight bags into the trunk of the car. As with all things in Cuba, our curbside pickup time was vastly different from the time we were actually scooped up by our Cuban guides. Allie and I jammed our elbows and hips through the middle row of laminate seats until we were cocooned in the back. Although the ride wasn’t particularly uncomfortable, the oddly arranged vintage car interior made me reevaluate my methodology for sleeping in moving vehicles.

Early on in our commute, we had stopped to pick up a fabulous middle-aged Brooklyn couple. Frank and Maggie were quite the entertaining duo. As we quickly learned, Maggie, a born and bred New Yorker, was a fountain of curiosity and intellectual vigor. She challenged Frank on his every statement, demanding that he examine his stance from another angle first. Frank, an easy-going Frenchman, seemed to welcome Maggie’s constant underdog advocacy with frequent tongue in cheek replies. Allie and I found ourselves appreciative of our companions and the intellectual conversations we had with them over the course of the trip.

Our first pitstop of the ride was a little neighborhood that is truly only describable through photos. Fusterlandia was the brainchild of Fuster, a Cuban artist who dreamed of transforming his impoverished neighborhood into a work of folk art. Slightly off the beaten tourist path, our guide had taken special care to immerse us in Fuster’s neighborhood homage to the well-known Spanish artist, Gaudí.

Back in the car and about halfway to Viñales, we pulled off at someplace that I suppose the Cubans would call a “rest stop”. We dashed to the shelter of the thatched pavilion just in time for the bottom to fall out of the sky. While we took turns going to the bathroom and dodging leaky straw ceilings, I took inventory of this obscurity of a rest stop. In the center of the pavilion was a full out tiki bar; next to that was a fully functioning restaurant. And opposite to the bathrooms was a souvenir shop, stocked to the brim with an odd assortment of gifts.

Allie had hyped up the Piña Coladas from this particular locale, so we very quickly crowded the bar in search of this mythical roadside treat. I watched in horror as the bartender hacked the top off a coconut and poured a concoction of fruit and alcohol into my hollowed-out wooden cup. I don’t even think it was 10:30 am at this point, but island beverage duty called. We loaded up on snacks from the souvenir shop before piling back up in the car, and just like that, we were back on the road.

I think the first time I realized that Viñales was going to be a magical time was when we pulled off to an overlook in the depths of an untouched and luscious tropical canyon. Simultaneously tired and tipsy from my boozy Piña Colada, I recall feeling as though I had unearthed the fictional lands that Pixar’s UP had dreamt up for the animated flick.

It was early afternoon by the time we stopped for lunch at a small family farm co-op. We feasted family style with mounds upon mounds of mouthwatering Cuban meat and vegetables until we were quite sure that we would not be able to walk back to the car. Our heavy tummies morphed into heavy eyelids— I think all four of us silly, ravenous American tourists got some serious shuteye in the car afterwards.

The sleep served us well; our next stop was a tobacco farm that we’d tour via horse. Now I don’t know if you know me well enough to predict the direction of this tragic tale, but Sydney and horses mix about as well as oil and water. The issue is not so much one of being scared of horses as it is one of making the otherwise serene creatures absolutely psychotic with my presence.

I will briefly take you back three years earlier where Allie convinced me to get on an Egyptian stallion— my first time on a horses in probably a decade, mind you— and proceeded to gallop ahead full speed in the direction of the pyramids. My horse took off behind Allie, and I instinctually opened my mouth in sheer horror while reinventing the term “death grip”. In the distance, the wails of a dumb American tourist could be faintly heard “I’VE GOT SAAAAAND IN MY MOUTH!” (Ahem, me).

So you can imagine I was not— how do you say, delighted— to resume my position as resident horseback embarrassment. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and I rose to the equestrian occasion yet again. Sporting my finest platform Teva sandals, I plopped atop a burly horse named Vernana, did a few Hail Marys, and trailed horseback behind Allie. Soon enough, the tobacco farm had vanished from sight and we were consumed in the dense foliage of the valley trail.

'“Are you ready to gallop now?” the rancher called to Allie in Spanish.

Fairly certain of what I had just heard, I wailed ahead to my friend in my biggest girl voice, “WHAT did he just say?!”

My answer came in the form of a swiftly unwelcome increase in speed and a belly laugh from Allie who charged full throttle ahead.

We eventually came to a lush field with panoramic views of the rocky slopes that enveloped the fertile valley. Our horses stopped to graze, and Allie and I drew out our cameras to capture the moment in all of its beauty. It must have been minutes before sunset that we spent in the field. If bliss were ever a tangible sensation, I felt it in full as the setting golden sun bared down on the wonderland surrounding me.

Once we were back at the ranch, I swung one leg over the other to dismount my lovely, misbehaved Cuban steed, landing on a pair of utterly jello legs. I wobbled over to a straw hut and sunk down into a wooden picnic table bench. Phase two of our tobacco farm tour included learning how to hand make a Cuban cigar. I observed with childlike enchantment as the cigar maker pulled a handful of dried tobacco leaves from a woven basket and laid them one on top of the other. With skilled dexterity, he pressed and pulled at the leaves, almost as though he was working with dough. Flicking his wrist, the tobacco leaves were rolled into a golden brown cigar, held together by a mere droplet of what appeared to be water.

A cigar cutter was exhumed from the tobacco leaf debris on the table, and with a swift clip of the edge of the cigar, the craftsman dipped it in honey, engulfed it in flame, and pawned it off to Allie. We took a few heavy puffs, feeling high and mighty in our psuedo-Cuban ways, before our cigar maker looked at us with gleeful amusement.

“Don’t inhale the smoke!” he cautioned with a smile, “you will get really high!”

Allie and I gave each other a not-so-subtle side eye that morphed into a belly-laugh inducing cigar smoking photoshoot. If the highly suspicious side-eye was not a good first indication, the resulting photos from that smoking series were a dead giveaway that we had, in fact, inhaled far too much cigar smoke.

Before the four of us turned in for bed that night, we indulged in a classic Cuban street party. Perhaps one of my most vivid memories from Cuba was watching the locals swarm into the streets of Viñales in time with the rising moon, fully engulfed in music and dance. Wagons after wagons of margarita and piña colada vendors closed in on the commotion like birds of prey, and before I had time to digest the scene, I was being pulled into the crowd to dance. Let it be known once and for all that I am NOT a dancer…. but perhaps in Cuba, and only Cuba, it’s just something that must be done with zero cares.

The next morning, we ascended the stairs of our homestay to a breakfast banquet on the roof. Plates of home cooked eggs, pancakes and locally grown fruit floated around the table. The wind caught the curtains in a beautiful dance and at a distance, the birds seemed to sing along in chorus. I knew it was going to be special day.

We kicked off the day’s adventures with a small hike into a natural cave turned WWII bomb shelter turned back into natural cave. Beyond the touristy trailhead, the trail itself— tough not arduous at all— was hardly recognizable compared to its American trail counterpart. We scaled wooden fences, sludged through pastures of grazing cows and maneuvered around smelly ponds. Further up the trail, we passed rock climbers ascending glorious routes, smiling back at them until we too found ourselves in a mountaineering-like situation. Finally, we made it into the cave where we paused to catch out breath and take a quick history lesson.

Destination numero dos…. better known as la Mural de la Prehistoria was the exact opposite of what you would consider prehistoric. Painted in the 90’s, this mural of dinosaurs felt, at best, like Cuba’s sad take on modern hieroglyphics. The expansive rockface was saturated in primary colors, and though it was a sight to behold, I can’t say it’d make my list of places to revisit should I return to Viñales.

While the first cave of the day was impressive, the second cave was absolutely breathtaking. Cuevo del Indio, or the Indian Cave, was a completely immersive experience. So much so, in fact, that I joked it was actually a Disney World ride in disguise. Visitors trekked a few hundred feet to the entrance of the caverns. Low hanging rocks and slabs of stone required you to put forward your best explorer persona. Deeper into the cave, a line began to form in front of an underground river; just behind that was a dock. In small groups no more than 15 in size, we loaded up into the boat and gently motored against the current of the river. From the time we boarded the vessel to the time we crested over from cave into open daylight, every passenger’s mouth was agape. I’ll tell you one thing: I don’t know if you’re familiar, but Disney’s Pirates of the Caribbean ride needs to take notes.

We picked up a few souvenirs on our way out and shuttled to an expansive home around the corner from Cuevo del Indio. Similar to breakfast and lunch the day before, our meal was family style and super-sized in portions. Before I could pile my plate with rice and beans, a “waiter” (if you could call it that) came around to our table and asked what complementary beverage we’d be drinking. Without hesitation, I ordered the freshly pressed sugar cane juice— a process involving raw sugar cane and an industrial looking contraption that I watched in real time from my seat. The drink came with a healthy dash of rum, which proved to be a godsend sleeping aide for the journey back to Havana.

I’m not the first to say it, and I certainly won’t be the last: Cuba is magic, through and through. If you ever have the opportunity to explore this majestic country, seize it without a second thought.

—

I hope everyone is staying in good spirits and good health during this time of crisis. It’s certainly been difficult to summon the time or energy to sit down and write this, as my mind and heart is concerned with people, communities, and general matters elsewhere. Be well, my sweet community of travelers. <3

That was lesson #1 in Cuba, humbly taught to me by the hour-long baggage claim process. Lesson #2— perhaps less existential that the first— the Cuban people are demigods. Without undercutting the simple truth that Cubans are astoundingly (dare I say painfully) beautiful, I was more gobsmacked to see every Cuban woman sporting a heel no less than 2 inches in height. While I stumbled over my own feet trying to maneuver my rolling suitcase, my Cuban counterparts were not only strutting in stilettos, but doing so while dragging a 40 pound suitcase with a broken wheel. I have seen God and she is a Cuban woman.

Lesson #3 in Cuba is that the sun is no joke. I, a semi-translucent ghoul of a girl, decided to pass the hours between me and my friend Allie’s flight on a bench outside the airport, in direct sunlight. The good news is that my common sense caught up to me in the span of 20 minutes. The bad news is that it came at the price of a rather hilarious ankle (and ego) sunburn. With my tail tucked between my legs, I scrambled inside and awaited my best friend the protection of the arrivals barricade.

After waiting another painstaking hour, I reunited with Allie, sending loud English shockwaves through the airport. We met our cab driver outside— a man who was hardly phased by the delay in our estimated arrival time— and were whisked away into Habana Vieja, or Old Havana as us Americans would call it. Our AirBnb was perched atop a colonial townhome, the dated architecture and decoration very much taking us to an era past. As I struggled up the first of the narrow steps with my suitcase (wouldn’t be a trip abroad if I don’t struggle with a bag, eh?), a dense Cuban accent greeted us from above: “Bienvenido, Sydney and Allie!“. Our AirBnb host scuttled down the stairs to relieve me of my cumbersome 3'x2’ brick, escorting us into the 1950’s with the simple nudge of the apartment door.

After getting settled into our room and enjoying a few balcony beers, we set out to the streets with one motive: Cuban cocktails. Our wandering hearts (and appetites) led us to El Dandy, a lively restaurant with fuerte drinks. Allie and I caught up on life, per our first day of vacation reunion ritual, and mapped out our plans for the next day. While most of our trip was planned thanks to expert guidance from a Cuban travel agency (I’ll write a post on this soon!), our itinerary for the few days in Habana was largely unchartered. We agreed to spend our first full day at the one of Habana’s nearby beaches and figured we’d invite Allie’s Cuban friends, Adam and Eric, along for the mini roadtrip. With our plans miraculously and uncharacteristically solidified for the next day, we proudly clinked glasses, frolicking home to our Airbnb only after the exhausting day of travel sunk in.

The next morning began with a decadent breakfast spread at the Airbnb. We packed away our food and then our beach gear, making frequent trips to the balcony to see if the boys had arrived. Yes, the balcony. Let me explain. The fun thing about Cuba is that there is no WiFi, and certainly no cell service if you are a foreigner traveling on a dime. This translates into wildly unchartered territory in general, but in the case of meeting up with people, it means that you must revert back to the good ole fashion way of planning ahead. Ahem, my absolute Kryptonite. Nevertheless, we had issued our first phoneless mandate to Adam and Eric pre-arrival in Cuba: “Meet us at our AirBnb under the balcony at 10 am".

If the “meet us here [insert address] by the [insert recognizable locale] at [insert time]” formula wasn’t daunting enough, the added element of Cubans always running late really threw us for a loop. By the 3 or 4th trip to the balcony, the boys were still a no show and we were on to our second balcony beer of the day. Around 11, Adam and Eric had surfaced on the sidewalk below, giving way to my first right of passage as a want-to-be Cuban local: the fabled balcony exchange. If you’ve ever had the desire to live out your innermost wish to feel formidable, important and royal, may I humbly suggest booking a fight to Havana to converse with strangers from the lofty dominion of ye righteous and holy balconies.

In tow with Eric and Adam, we maneuvered down the bustling Habana Vieja calles, soaking up the colors and laid back way of life. Our trek landed us at a park encircled by colectivos, or shared taxis, a mode of transportation favored by locals for the affordability. Though tourists typically charter a private taxi, Allie and I were up for the locals-only experience.

“Don’t open your mouths, you two,” Adam instructed Allie and I very matter of factly as we went up to negotiate our ride, “we’re going to get ripped off if they know you’re American tourists”. A few Cuban pesos and minutes of biting our tongues later, we were aboard the shared taxi, shoulder to shoulder with our seat mates and en route to the sprawling beaches outside of Havana.

A note on income in Cuba: most Cubans make the equivalent of $30 USD per month. Now, mind you, Cuba is a Communist country. That means that the government subsidizes housing and basic food staples, among other things. So while your $30 per month is not used towards rent or your basic food supplies, it is supposed to cover things like taxis, clothing, supplementary food, alcohol, and any sort of recreational activity. To put our beach day into perspective: a private taxi would have cost $20 USD one way; that’s 2/3 of the average Cuban’s monthly income.

To bring this full circle, average Americans can only readily go to Cuba with a Support for the Cuban People Visa; aka supporting the private sector and bolstering the idea of capitalism over communism. Tourism is the main catalyst of the private sector, with foreign dollars funding the incomes of these individuals through commerce in privately owned restaurants (most are government owned), AirBnbs (hotels are government owned and thus forbidden for Americans to stay in), and tourism companies.

Since Eric and Adam worked in the private sector (a very exclusive subset of the Cuban population is afforded this opportunity), they make well above the $30 per month average. Even still, Allie and I were conscious of our spending around them. Our low-key and glorious beach day was a money saver, too. We shelled out a few small bills for an umbrella, chairs and the obligatory beachside empanada…. and reaped all the beach day glory in return.

Dinner that night was back in Havana at a 5 star joint appropriately named Más Habana. Though we might have saved money in the daytime, we ate and drank daily allowance dry; an easy thing to do when the food is decadent and the drinks are strong.

_

We rose the next morning admittedly a little later than the morning before and hobbled out to the common area for round two of breakfast. Our hired tour guide, Lidiz, met us inside the AirBnb a little after 11 as we were polishing off our meals. Lidiz was the cousin of our AirBnb host, and our AirBnb host was the business partner of Max, the American founder of the Cuban travel agency Allie and I used to book our trip.

Our day commenced with a sunny walking tour of Habana Vieja. With Lidiz providing extensive background on the sights and supplementing our knowledge of the lifestyle in Cuba, we took a deep dive into the history and current climate of the country. In February, the sun was bright and the breeze was delightful— though things were frigid back in New York, the weather could not have been more perfect in Cuba. From churches to the capitol to the hotel where Hemingway penned some of his works, we covered remarkable ground.

At lunch, we devoured a smattering of Cuban food. As with all meals in Cuba, our first course was beer. Following that, Allie and Lidiz ordered some mouthwatering smoked carne that I, a devout vegetarian of 6 years, looked on and thought “but what if.. ”. Alas, my platter of grilled veggies wiped away my wandering thoughts and a huge helping of bread carbloaded me for part two of our day: vintage car tours!

A quick walk from lunch, Parque Central was bustling with brightly saturated cars. It was, quite literally, the meca of old timey collector’s cars. As a snapped a picture, I couldn’t help but to think that the right sepia filter could easily convince someone that the photograph was a relic from the 50’s. A cascade of vintage car tour sales pitches trailed after us as we made our way through the park, the offers seeming to match the bright intensity of the afternoon sun.

We stopped in front of an immaculate vintage Chevrolet, its exterior drenched in a rich fuchsia color. Lidiz and the driver exchanged a familiar cheek kiss as Allie and I squeezed into the back row of seats. The laminate white leather seats clung to the backs of our legs, sending heat waves through our bodies. With the car in drive, any wondering thought evaporated. We clung tightly onto our hats and outstretched our palms to catch the breeze in our fingers— this was living.

With every vacation, I take home a few tangible memories— ones I can look back on and revisit in vivid detail in my head. Our ride through the Havana Forest was one of those moments for me. Though perhaps a crock for the forest purist, El Bosque is a stretch of untouched jungle in the outskirts of Habana. Here, rivers run freely and a dense canopy of greenery coats the sky. Nothing quite compares to taking a vintage convertible along the winding roads, even if only for a brief few miles.

The fun finally came to an end when our driver dropped us off at our AirBnb. Once inside, Allie and I collected our bags. With Lidiz acting as our GPS, we set out to locate our next accommodation- a local owned apartment for tourists- a few blocks down the road. Suffering only a few rolling suitcase casualties on the way, we met our greatest stairwell match to date: our Casa Particular, or locally owned apartment for tourists.

Our room— and I kid you not— was on the 8th floor. Allie and I belly laughed for about 5 minutes— perhaps our version of a sick surrender to the twisted travel gods— before summoning all of our willpower and accepting the help of the Casa Particular owner to conquer the stairs. A few mini-strokes and body twitches later, we reached the summit: floor 8. In case it was not clear off the bat, there was absolutely no glory to be had at the end of our endeavor.

That evening we enjoyed another balcony beer. We also indulged in 30 minutes of free internet courtesy of the WiFi cards bestowed to us by our Casa Particular host. Finding our new relationship with the internet somewhere between a newfound appreciation and an instinctive aversion, we disconnected our devices early and set out to get ready for our Valentine’s evening. We had reservations at a fancy rooftop joint called El Cocinero and big evening plans at the neighboring art museum turned late night bar, La Fabrica. Nothing says Valentines Day quite like dinner and a night out with your best friend.

After dinner and armed with a drink punchcard, we explored every corner of La Fabrica. I can assure you the art museum experience is a different one with a harrowingly strong mojito in hand. After a few punches, we found ourselves on the dance floor swatting away the ever-so-respectable Cuban suitors who boogied over to ask up front, and I quote, “Tienes un novio?”, do you have a boyfriend? I laughed and affirmed my relationship status to each. In typical Allie and Sydney fashion, not only did we manage to close down the bar, but we also managed to outstay every other patron who had also closed down the bar by befriending the bartenders.

I can’t be sure how late we got home, but I remember looking at the clock and being immensely sad by the meager amount of sleep I would get. Our call time for our cab to Viñales was an early one, and I was excited.

–

[part 2, viñales, coming soon!]

PSST: check out the full cuba photo gallery here!

If you’ll entertain it, I’d love to further elaborate to the article as it resonates with me. I’d like to explain why I’m hesitant to encourage travel and why I find myself siding with the companies, travel centric and otherwise, who have taken measures to enforce social distancing (because lord knows there are people out there who flaunt the fact that they’re not). Emphasis on me— my own personal opinions.

Ahem. 

__

Very rarely am I daunted by travel. I have traveled to very safe countries as frequently as I have ventured to countries with travel advisories. In part, I travel to fuel my selfish desire to see new places and embark on new experiences. The other part of my commitment to traveling is less self serving. With every trip I take, I aim to bring attention to the humanity and beautiful cultural intricacies of the unfamiliar. The abnormalities of other countries are rarely wrong or dangerous; they’re just different. I strive to bring that to light with my writing and photos.

In normal circumstances, I am a travel proponent, through and through. And so with the COVID-19 outbreak, I’m forced to draw the line where normal stops and abnormal begins. As I see it presently, we’re no longer in normal circumstances. Yet, right now, travel is more accessible than ever to some....

Tickets to the furthest corners of the world are at all time lows. People who sit at their desks Monday through Friday are now working remote until further notice. Crowds are fewer, waits are shorter. And for some of us, we’re less likely to fall ill by merit of our age and genetics. Just as life carries on in our hometowns (though perhaps in a modified sense), so does life in other cities. There’s a case to be made for traveling amidst the current global health situation.

Sure, international travel has been curtailed. But for how long? There’s no code of conduct or “best practice” domestically. There’s no policing or regulatory body telling us what we can and cannot do. In this new frontier of global pandemics and travel, we must govern our decisions with morality and mindfulness. To do so, though, necessitates a conversation around travel privilege.

I want to put this very plainly: It is a privilege to travel.

It’s a duty, not a privilege, to consider how your travel impacts others.

Yes. Travel is a force for good during uncertain times. Your words, your experiences, your creative eye can be testaments to the humanity of misunderstood or misrepresented places. But— here is the but— the goodness of travel stops where your privilege is misused. And travel privilege is misused when it does not take into account anyone but yourself.

To travel for leisure during the COVID-19 pandemic is to take the gamble that you will not contract the virus. And whether you are concerned by your risk of contracting COVID-19 or not, you must not underestimate the ways your actions can put others at involuntary risk.

If you’re thinking of traveling for leisure right now, I challenge you to examine your travel privilege. I challenge you to be mindful of the ways your travel privilege may inadvertently impact other humans on a local or global scale. Above all, I simply encourage you to to approach travel from a place of caution.

I do not urge you to cancel your flights, just as I do not urge you to book a last minute flight. With more information at our deposal each day, it’s our responsibility to become experts on COVID-19. Whatever you do decide, do so with an abundance of information informing your decision. That is your responsibility.

And hear me loud and clear when I say this: some people should, and will, chose to travel right now. For reasons personal and professional that may range from healthcare to finances, it’s irresponsible to not look after yourself at a certain point. It is no one’s business but your own to decide whether your travel is responsible or not. And should you chose to travel, you do take on the burden of doing so responsibly: social distancing, washing hands, sanitizing seats, etc. Your health and the health of those around you is of utmost importance.

I challenge you to make the right decision for you.

Be well, healthy and happy.

XX Syd

__

Hello beautiful readers! I want to share something additional as it pertains to privilege.

There is travel privilege, and there is situational privilege. COVID-19 is really scary for a lot of people who are facing less than ideal situations. To help put situational privilege into perspective, I shared a list to my instagram stories earlier this week with the intent of opening up a conversation around empathy. The response was warm, positive, and encouraging— I hope this opens your eyes and finds you just as warmly.

This list details a small snapshot of people whose livelihood and health are being impacted by COVID-19.

• The elderly or immunocompromised population who have a much higher risk of contracting COVID-19

• People without access to healthcare in their current employment situation, state or country of residence, or financial situation.

• Graduating seniors and individuals who are unemployed or between jobs who now face rapidly diminishing job prospects amidst hiring freezes and a plummeting economy.

• Doctors, nurses, politicians, and any other public-facing worker whose job puts them on the front lines of the COVID-19 pandemic.

• Individuals whose trade or field of work, and thus source of income, has been impacted economically by pandemic (Travel, events, the arts, etc.).

• Students who get one, two, or all three meals a day from their public schools, which, in many states, have now been closed until the end of the month.

• People who feel isolated as a result of working from home, city containment ordinances, self containment practices, etc.

• College students whose dorms have been closed when they may not have a safe or stable home environment to return to.

• Local or indigenous communities who are able to keep their practices and traditions alive with the contributions from tourism.

• People who are susceptible to severe anxiety or emotional distress

• Parents who are still expected to work when their kids’ school has been cancelled

• People whose companies have implemented work from home policies despite their situational inability to do so

• Humans who are scared or hurting for any of of the other 1 million reasons not listed here

Be mindful of what you say and how you act. Check your privilege, and keep your friends in line, too. Practice empathy. Lend a helping hand to those who are impacted where you are able— here’s some ideas for anyone who is unsure of where to begin.

Again- be well, be healthy, be happy.  💖

Without further ado— I present to you my top free (or almost free) activities for a weekend in Toronto. While this guide specifically caters to a December trip, all of these can be done year-round. Special shout out my brand new camera and my native Toronto tour guide and New York best friend, Chantel.

Meander through the holiday market at the Distillery District

If you do nothing else in Toronto during the holiday season, go to Distillery District’s Holiday Market. I may or may not have turned to my friend and proclaimed the festive market the “true meaning of Christmas”. Grab a coffee to-go from Balzac’s Coffee Roasters and blaze on into the chilly outdoor market. Between the craft vendors, eateries, photo opps and indoor shopping havens, there’s really not a single reason *not* to go.

Price: free on weekdays and weekends before noon.

Browse the stalls at St. Lawrence Market

St. Lawrence Market is one of Toronto’s most well known markets for good cause: it’s historic and overflowing with food. If you’re up for a sensory overload experience, go in with empty stomachs and empty (reusable) shopping bags.

Price: free

Get Times Square Deja-Vu at Younge-Dundas Square

Venture out into Toronto’s version of Times Square: Yonge-Dundas, named affectionately after the cross streets where the glowing neon signs tower high above pedestrians. Snap a few pictures and then head into 3 Brewers for a flight of holiday beer.

Price: free

Lose track of time at Allan Gardens

For a reprieve from the cold and an enormously aesthetic activity, head to the Allan Gardens. The expansive indoor botanical gardens transform into a lush holiday wonderland, complete with festive decorations and seasonal plants. If you have a camera with you, this is your cue to break out in full photoshoot mode.

Price: free

Stroll through the historic University of Toronto campus

My Toronto travel buddy happened to be a U of T alum, so while my stroll was more of a tour, you cannot possibly go wrong exploring the Hogwarts-esque campus. Visitors are welcome across campus, though I would recommend exploring Hart House or any of the libraries if you’re pressed for time. True story: University of Toronto is where they filmed the Mathletes Competition scene in Mean Girls.

Price: free

Get an Iconic ‘Toronto’ picture at Nathan Phillips Square

Or Ice Skate. Or shop around at the holiday markets. Or scope out City Hall. Or hell, just get that picture. Whatever suits you, there’s something for everyone at Nathan Phillips Square. While you’re at it, hop into the Tim Hortons across the street to experience Canada’s take on Dunkin’ Donuts.

Price: free

See the CN Tower by night

There’s nothing stopping you from going in daylight, but there’s something magic about craining your neck to see the formidable CN tower illuminated against the Canadian skyline at night. While you’re there, ask a stranger to snap a picture of you in front of the neon Canada letters. Ahh, views at the six. Drake would be so proud :’)

Price: free

Explore Kensington by foot

Our Airbnb was located in the vibrant neighborhood of Kensington— a call made by my friend who resided in Kensington during her college days. Among the hippest of all of the Toronto locales, Kensington Market is an anomaly in all of its weird glory. While you’re there, grab a breakfast and coffee to go from Moonbean Coffee Co. or Jimmy’s Coffee. Be sure to stop and appreciate all the bohemian stores and vibrant arrays of grafitti.

Price: free

Eat your heart out at El Furniture Warehouse

It may not be the BEST food in Toronto, but it may damn be the cheapest. Everything on El Furn’s menu is $5.95— appetizers, salads, burgers, pasta— you name it. The music and neon lights will keep your spirits high as you push onward to the next $5.95 plate of food.

Price: $5.95 per item of food

Go for a fancy drink at The Broadview Hotel

If you splurge on a drink while you’re in town, look no further than the Broadview Hotel. Though the main level bar and bistro is enticing, head up to the top floor and grab a seat at The Rooftop bar. While the terrace might be a bit chilly in the winter, the floor to ceiling windows offer panoramic views of the city.

Price: ~$ 8-12 per drink

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How about a big shout out to my friend Chantel for being the photo victim for quite literally every picture this weekend! You can see the full Canada photo gallery over here.

Have any additional suggestions or must-sees during a winter weekend trip to Toronto? Let me know in the commends below!

In lieu of my delayed post, I offer my only semi-valid excuse: I really didn’t have THAT much to report back on. I tended to bottled beers when I wasn’t napping on the beach, and only really put on real clothes for a sunrise photoshoot that Allie and I embarked on in Cabarete. Without bragging too much, 10 day retreat was hands down the most relaxation I’ve ever experienced on a trip.

So, what does one say in a blog post when their activity list was limited to— err— uh, nothing? Worry not, for I scrapped up 5 of my most favorite things to do in Cabarete, Bayahibe and Santo Domingo…. each of which are perfectly conducive to a relaxing trip! From postcard status beaches to flavorful food, each of these city’s 5 recommendations are a must-see for anyone visiting.

Five things to do in Playa Cabarete, Dominican Republic

1. Kite Surf: wether you’re watching or partaking, no trip to Cabarete is complete without spending some time absorbing the water sport that seems to defy the laws of gravity. Cabarete is a world class destination for professional kite surfers, so it comes as no surprise that there are an abundance of great companies offering kite surfing lessons taught by expert coaches. Kite Club Cabarete operates a highly regarded surf school, as do many of the other surf schools that are scattered along the sandy stretch of beaches.

   If you’re looking for a little less ocean activity, Cabarete shorelines are studded with restaurants and beaches that double as perfect kite surfing observatories. If you’re the type who enjoys pairing your extreme sports viewings with food, definitely check out the outdoor patio at Kite Club Cabarete (they have happy hour chocolate chip cookies for $1!) or the restaurant/bar at the Extreme Sports Hotel. Of course, there’s no shortage of beach front grub spots.

2. Beach Bum: Unless you’re staying at a private resort, you’ll want to meander to the lovely public beaches. The easiest access to the public beaches is in the heart of downtown Cabarete. Our favorite public beach access was nestled on the other side of the short Paseo Don Chiche street. Once your feet make contact with the sand, scout out a beach hustler (let’s be honest, they’ll find you first…) and fish out 200 pesos, about $5 USD, for day-long ownership of two lounge chairs and an umbrella. I’d also highly recommend summoning any men carrying coconuts along the shores— fresh coconut water on the beach is unrivaled!

3. Sample waffles at Vagamundo: I’m embarrassed to say that Allie and I paid extra for an Airbnb with a kitchenette when inevitably, every single morning we’d wake up and not so discretely b-line to Vagamundo, casting off the shame of all the wasted money on the walk over. These waffles my friends are breakfast nirvana.

4. Take a motorbike taxi: That is, taxi on a motorbike somewhere. While taxis in the Dominican are abundant, nothing compares to the thrill of scooting around on the back of a local’s motorbike. It’s cheaper, more fun, and very efficient— not to mention, commonplace across the DR. Make sure you agree on a price beforehand and hold on tight once ya get going.

5. Indulge in Acai Bowls and Banana Sushi at FreshFresh: These deliciously creamy takes on smoothies are served up in beautiful wooden bowls. Flavor options are endless and the toppings on each are almost too pretty to eat. The refreshing fruity treat is right off the public beach, making it the perfect midday snack when you need to escape the sun.

Five things to do in Bayahibe, Dominican Republic

1. Conjure your Italian Food connoisseur and eat your heart out: Yes, you read that right, Italian. And damn good Italian food, too. In the late 20th century, Bayahibe became a beacon for Italian travelers looking to get away to the Caribbean. The Italian influence is still felt today between the loads of Italian tourists and the delicious (authentic) Italian food served up by the numerous Italian Vacationers who decided to extend their stays indefinitely. Of all the Italian food I tried in Bayahibe, the pesto gnocchi at Mopa Cafe tops my list.

2. Take a sandy nap under a palm tree: Palm trees and mangly beach trees stretch on for days on Playa Bayahibe’s sandy beaches, providing protection from the sun and the perfect little natural cabanas to nap. The low hanging branches double as a clothes line for wet garments, and the crystal clear oceans lull you in after while with their melodic harmonies Be warned: the beaches here are littered with sticks, palm husks, and rocks— pick your spot wisely!

3. Take an ATV ride and explore the outskirts of the city: Sugarcane farms, riverbanks, mud drenched ATV trails, oh my! Allie made the mistake of giving me reigns to drive the ATV… and I repaid her by launching us through every muddy terrain I saw. It was all fun and games until I accidentally sent us sailing into what I found out to be a mud POND. When I tell you we had mud in unimaginable places, take my word for it.

   Thankfully, a dip in the famous Chavon River awaited us at the end of the trail, so we rinsed off what we could while amping up our trivia knowledge. Did you know the ___ river is where many production companies come to film scenes set in the “Amazon”? I can attest to the scenic views— we made a pact to keep the expedition phone-free though, so unfortunately, I have no photos to share. Our excursion ended with a few shots of tequila and some homemade snacks. All in all, I can’t recommend Pro Excursions’ ATV trip enough for the adventurous afternoon!

4. Go out for drinks the local way: Don’t quote me on this, but the Dominican Republic does the bar scene the right way. Little corner tiendas morph into bars with the setting island sun. Local beers are in permanent fixtures in the hands of all who collate outside the mini marts, and who can blame them when they’re as cheap as they are! The best part? Closing down the bar is an easy task; just stick around until 10 pm!

5. Take a boat ride to the famous Isla Saona: Spoiler alert, I didn’t actually make it to Isla Soana, but I heard all about it. Book a catamaran tour through Pro Excursions and enjoy the crystal clear waters and tropical vegetation on the remote island. Most tours include lunch aboard the boat and I’ve been told the massages on the island are the kind of things you write home about.

Five things to do in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic

1. Stroll through the colonial part of the city: While the more metropolitan parts of Santo Domingo were an experience in and of themselves, it was the colonial neighborhood (affectionately referred to as Zona Colonial) that captured my heart. There is no mistaking the European influence in the colonial era buildings; a simple walk through the vibrantly colored, flower drenched streets is enough to transport you back in time. Calle El Conde is a great starting point for a walking tour.

2. People watch in Parque Colón: Grab a table at one of the many restaurants lining the flanks of Parque Colón (we recommend El Conde)— there is people watching to be done! This park features the rather ostentatious statue of Christopher Columbus; behind it, you’ll find the ever-beautiful and historic Catedral de Santa Maria la Menor. Pro tip: street performers become even more fascinating over a Presidente beer!

3. Take a ride on the Chu Chu Colonial: This cute lil’ train is the perfect excursion for anyone looking to kick their feet up and go on a historic tour of the colonial zone. In 45 minutes, the conductor whisks riders through 500 years of history… while the tour may leave something to be desired for history buffs, it is a phenomenal way to see and take pictures of the colonial zone sans walking.

4. Visit Christopher Columbus’s old house: Plaza de Espana (also known as Plaza de Armas) is one of the few historic sights I’ve seen in my travels that has left me with chills. Growing up, I can vividly recall seeing the formidable structure in my history textbooks; now, as an adult with full awareness of Columbus’ horrific actions, I approached the landmark with a somber and heavy heart. Encircling the historic site are numerous high-end restaurants that serve up exquisite food. Our pick? Don Nestor Parrillada for A+ meats and veggies.

5. Get your inner-shopper on: In Zona Colonial, there’s plenty of shopping to be had. From the local artisan chocolate museum and store to the street vendors on Calle el Conde, there is truly something for everyone. Other notable shopping destinations: Jenny Polanco for fabulous upscale clothing, Casa Alfarera for artisan ceramics, and Mamey Librería for a rare book and a cup of coffee.

And that’s that on that, friends! Have any other suggestions to add to the list above? And hey, while we’re at it, any travel picks for top relaxing destinations?

On behalf of all the 10 flights worth of Charlotte passengers whose flights were cancelled Sunday— middle fingers to you, American Airlines. But also, on behalf of my overly excited, adventure seeking inner self— thank you for an unexpected 36 hour adventure. You really brought me back to my travel on a whim roots, AA. And for that, I can only be grateful.

Here’s everything I did in my 36 hours in Charlotte. For my best time guarantee, feel free to check off everything below in any order.

1. Inner Peaks climbing gym

The first thing I did after checking in at my hotel: rock climb. Maybe climbing off all the pent up cancelled flight steam was the best thing I could have done to clear my mind and fully commit to getting out and seeing Charlotte. A day pass sets you back $19, and gear rental begins at $5. First time climbers and experienced climbers are all welcome!

2. South End Station area

After chatting up the climbing gym employees and taking note of their recommendations, I walked about 5 minutes to the South End metro. My plan was to take the train to NoDa— the downtown Charlotte arts district. What I didn’t plan for: getting exceptionally sidetracked by the area around the train station. South End is a poppin’ locale full of hip eateries, ice cream shops, and beautifully decorated outdoor spaces.

Sidewalks run alongside the train tracks, making a stroll through the downtown outskirts a pleasant one. I opted to buy a $2 CATS train ticket and took an uptown light rail train to NoDa. If you hit South End when your stomach is grumbling, you should stay awhile and check out all (and I mean ALL) of the places on the city of Charlotte’s South End list.

3. NoDa

As soon as you step foot off the train in NoDa, there’s no denying you’re in the pulse of Charlotte’s arts community. I spent the better half of Sunday afternoon walking around the neighborhood, admiring the graffiti lined streets and the copious food options at any given corner. Some of my favorite spots in Noda:

• PopBar NoDa: Gelato on a stick. What more is there to say? The customizable pops were as tasty as they were pretty. My winning combo of flavors was coffee with dark chocolate and waffle cone crumbles.

• Smelly Cat Coffee House: Why yes, yes it is a Friends reference. If that’s not enough to make you want to scope the cafe out, their tasty oat milk iced latte should be. Plenty of space inside and outside for working or hanging out, too!

• Reigning Donuts: Self proclaimed no-frills donut shop with the most mouthwatering selection of donuts . Emphasis on the little outdoor space and the small donut selection, but hey, that ain’t stopping me.

• Cabo Fish Taco: Recommended to me by a Charlotte local at the climbing gym, this Diner, Dives, and Drives In featured spot does not disappoint.

• Bars & Breweries: I didn’t make it to any this time around, but The Dog Bar (literally a bar full of dogs… ok, other patron’s dogs…. but still!!) and NoDa Brewing company would have topped my list had I the time and post-airport energy. For nightlife or beer enthusiasts, there are no shortage of options in the area!

4. Uptown (aka Downtown Charlotte)

When Monday rolled around, I Ubered to Uptown and staked out at a few coffee shops to work remotely. While there’s no limit of things to do in Uptown (seriously, look at this long list), I really enjoyed getting to see another part of the city while I worked through the work day. If you have business to tend to or need a space to freelance or work remotely, I’d highly recommend Coco and the Director and Amélie’s French Bakery for a spacious place to work and amazing coffee and food. They’re within easy walking distance from each other, so don’t be shy picking up and relocating through the day. Oh, and don’t miss out on the caramel salted brownie Amélie’s is famous for. Unpopular opinion: I thought the brownie was good, but the spinach and asiago tartine was better.

5. The Charlotte Brewery Circuit

I’m calling it a circuit in that you could quite literally make a tour out of all the brewery options around. One of my best college pals, Maddie, came and picked me up in Uptown and whisked me away to a few of her favorite Charlotte breweries. Here’s her top three:

• Sugar Creek Brewing: Our first stop was at this chic little brewery, their logo quite honestly a decorative piece of art in itself. Their Pale Ale and IPAs passed get the thumbs up from me.

• The Olde Mecklenburg Brewery: Unfortunately, I did not get to experience all the hype of OMB, but for good reason: the brewery was closed for employee appreciation day. Urban legend (aka the claims from my friend): OMB beers are exclusively brewed in the traditional German way: with four ingredients. Someone grab a beer from OMB and let me know how it is!

• Brewers at 4001 Yancey: We saved the best for last and opted for beer and dinner at this massive establishment. 4001 Yancey is the parent brewery of Six Point, Victory, and Southern Tier beers, and serves *all* of their brews on tap. My inner (21+, lol) child had a heyday and ordered a flight of sour beers, which, as it stands now, was the peak of my adult life. Their pizza is also something that is not to be missed. My new favorite beer is one I ordered here: Six Point’s Citrus Jammer.

Now, I’m not asking for another cancelled flight… but a second go-around in Charlotte? Where do I sign up? Let me know if you have any other Charlotte recommendations in the comments below.

‘Till next time— take it easy

-Sydney

Now let’s not get ahead of ourselves; I was angry my flight had been cancelled in the first place. What was supposed to be a 10:04 am Sunday morning flight out of the Charlotte Airport became a 8:36 pm flight Monday evening, and with very little room for negotiation at that. I had a very important doctor’s appointment to be at on Monday afternoon, not to mention countless things on my plate for work. I spent the better half of Sunday buckled down in my terminal, working every angle to get myself home earlier than my rebooked flight permitted.

Welcome to my new (and now familiar) world of cancelled flights. After spending countless hours on the phone and at the desk with American Airlines employees, I have a newfound toolkit on how to handle a cancelled flight. While I didn’t end up getting on an earlier flight, I picked up so much knowledge and work-arounds for anyone else stuck in similar situation. Read on for my cancelled flights checklist, and— bonus— a little Fourth of July photo tease for those of you who make it to the end. Shall we?

1. YOUR BOOKING DETAILS MATTER-

   Are you flying solo? Are you flying during a busy travel weekend? Are you one of the first flights out in the morning? Are you part of the airline’s loyalty program? Did you pay for a more expensive seating option on the flight? All of these things play into how soon you’ll be able to get a rebooked on a day of flight cancellations.

   1. Did you fly alone? Solo travelers are likely to snag seats on earlier flights because airlines don’t tend to split up couples or families booked on the same ticket

   2. Are you flying on a busy travel weekend? If you’re flying on a busy travel weekend, assume you have a greater chance to have your flight cancelled. This brings me to my next point…

   3. Were you booked on an early morning flight? If you can book early flights both ways, do it. Why? If multiple flights are cancelled in one day, the earliest departing flight will be the first set of passengers that are rebooked. Airlines rebook passengers in the order that flights are cancelled; my 10:04 am flight was the difference in me getting home on Monday versus later in the week. Seriously- people in the customer service line behind me were rebooked on Tuesday and Wednesday flights (partially) because their flight departed after mine.

   4. Are you a “valued” airline customer? Airlines give special treatment (and rightfully so) to airline cardholders and their Gold, Silver, or Platinum frequent flyers. If you fall into this category, flash your credit card or your frequent flyer elite status for above and beyond customer service. Odds are, you just might get home sooner (or at least put up in a nicer hotel. More on that later).

   5. Did you pay for a higher seating class? Did you book a first class or business class ticket? If you did, you’re probably higher priority in terms of rebooking order. If you fly basic economy like me, you’re probably at the bottom of the pile. Not sure where the seat you bought falls on the spectrum of importance? Your boarding group will tell you that! First to board= very important. Last to board= lowest priority.

2. THINK THROUGH YOUR OPTIONS + PITCH EACH ONE TO YOUR CUSTOMER SERICE REP

   When I was initially reassigned my Monday night flight back to LaGuardia, I was virtually certain I would have no problem standing in the customer service line and getting rebooked on an earlier flight. After realizing how many flights had been cancelled, I started coming up with alternate plans and pitches. The people at customer service want to help you; pitch them any and all of your ideas to get yourself home faster.

   1. Can you be put on standby for future departing flights? A no brainer but do make sure you ask!

   2. Can you be rebooked on another airline carrier? American Airlines kindly looked into rebooking me on another carrier when I asked them. Unfortunately, there were *literally* no other departing flights from Charlotte that day with open seats. However, if there had been, American would have rebooked me on a Delta, United, Spirit, etc. flight back home.

   3. Can you fly out of a different airport? Charlotte airport had no available departing flights on Sunday, but Greenville, South Caroline and Asheville, North Carolina airports were all within 3 hours. I had my customer service rep check those airports and —bingo!— she was able to rebook me on a 7 am flight out of Greenville. From there, I would have Ubered, rented a car, taken a shuttle, etc. from Charlotte to Greenville. Any costs incurred here would be submitted for a reimbursement with the airline (more on this in a second).

   4. Ask the customer service rep to hold your seat on multiple flights if you’re torn between options. While I was sorting out the details of my 7 am Monday flight, my customer service rep kindly offered to hold the last seat on that 7 am Greenville flight while i made up my mind. This gives you options while you figure out your best move. Essentially, when I went to the check-in desk, I would have had multiple flight reservations under my name: the flights I was on standby for, the 8:36 pm Monday flight I had been rebooked on, and then the 7:00 am Greenville flight. This allows you to make a rational decision after spending some time weighing out options.

   5. Can you fly to another airport and take another flight, train, etc. the rest of the way? While I didn’t actively look into this option, you could look into flying into a nearby big city and then either A. having the airline connect you to another flight with them or another carrier, or B. take a train, rental car or bus the rest of the way home. For example, if I couldn’t fly into Birmingham from NY, I could fly from NY to Atlanta and then rent a car to drive home to Birmingham. Here too, you’d submit any external ticket/rental costs to be reimbursed by the airlines.

3. TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE CANCELLATION PERKS THAT YOU’RE ENTITLED TO-

   If all else fails and you aren’t able to get out of the airport in the same day, know what you’re entitled to as a passenger: accommodation, vouchers, and reimbursements. Head over to the customer service desk or call the unlisted “rebooking” hotline that airlines don’t advertise on their websites. The latter option is amazing when you’re dealing with outrageously long customer service lines. You can find this information on Google, or in my case, through an employee walking around handing out information cards.

   1. Accommodation: If your flight has been rebooked for a different day, ask the customer service desk rep for a hotel accommodation. The earlier you make it to the desk, the more hotel options you’ll have to choose from. I was emailed a link for an accommodation voucher by the rep at the customer promptly upon asking. From there, I was able to select a hotel among a range of options and activate the hotel voucher. (Make sure you open the voucher email and ensure it is functioning before walking away from the desk— especially if you’ve stood in what feels like an eternal line!)

   2. Meal Voucher: While you’re asking for a hotel voucher, make sure you also ask for a meal voucher. These can be used in the airport and in select spots outside the airport (like the minimart in your hotel). These vouchers range in value, but any voucher helps when you’re paying for meals you didn’t expect to have to!

   3. Apply for Reimbursement: Repeat after me— SAVE. ALL. OF. YOUR. RECEIPTS. Why? You can apply for a reimbursement on all basic needs through the airline’s reimbursement policy. While Customer Service is unable to say what will and won’t be reimbursed, they can usually help gauge if the airline will grant reimbursement. When I was considering renting a car to get from Charlotte to Greenville in order to make my important doctor’s appointment on Monday afternoon, the rep speculated I’d almost certainly get the reimbursement if I explained the medical situation. Ask for details on reimbursement while you’re at the customer service desk for full details on your carrier’s policy.

4. PRO TIP: BE KIND TO THE CUSTOMER SERVICE REPS-

   Kindness goes a long way :) People want to help people who treat them with respect and kindness. You know what’s not going to do you any favors at all? Yelling at the people who have absolutely no control over the situation. Stay calm, say your thank you’s, and show some grace to those who only want to help! I can assure you the rude people don’t get anywhere faster than the rest of us.

Have you ever had a flight cancelled? If so, what did you do? If I left out any tips or helpful insight, let me know in the comments below.

To future on time and not cancelled flights…

-Sydney

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“Every round trip plane ticket from NYC to London costs the Arctic 3 square meters of ice". Woof. That’s a statistic that will really stick with you, especially if you’re… how do you say, flight-prone like myself. 6 years ago, I gave up meat in an effort to reduce my carbon footprint. Since moving to New York, I’ve become even more serious about leading a more sustainable lifestyle. Yet, my frequent flying habits exist at odds with my otherwise environment-first beliefs. While I lack the willpower to give up flying all together, I can (and do!) make a conscious effort to make my travels as sustainable as possible.

These five tips below are my go-to and budget-friendly sustainable moves, ranging from obvious to lesser-known. While they may feel so insignificant, every little effort counts when it comes to environmental sustainability!

ONE.

Bring a refillable water bottle. Just about every single airport I have visited has abundant water fountains that are A) perfectly safe to drink, and B) around every corner. Only occasionally do I have to hunt one down or maneuver my bottle awkwardly under the faucet. Most of the water fountains these days are fancy— you just stick your bottle under the dispenser and it automatically fills it up until it’s full. So not only is it easy, efficient, and eco-friendly— it’s also a HUGE money saver considering bottled water at the gates run upwards of $5 each. Just make sure your bottle is empty as you go through TSA/security lines!

TWO.

Pack all your toiletries in reusable containers. The tiny travel sized toiletries are my pet peeves for two main reasons: they’re wasteful and they’re overpriced. Rather than spending money time after time on travel size shampoo, conditioner, face wash, soap, etc. I highly recommend spending the same amount of money and purchasing reusable toiletry containers. Once at home, you can fill them with your full-sized products, and then replenish them as needed over time. Better yet, reuse some containers you have lying around the house. I have been known to save containers from product samples and repackage them with my own products.

THREE.

Go paperless. This means ditching the printed boarding pass and the paper luggage tags you get in the check-in counter. Instead, swap these items for more sustainable counterparts: the mobile boarding pass and the permanent luggage tag. After making the switch to mobile boarding passes a few years ago I have come to not only love the paperless option for it’s environmental friendliness, but also for the convenience. Never again will I lose my boarding pass in my bag or have to fumble with paper as I try to board my plane. As for the luggage tags… well, the non-paper variety are sustainable and chic. Better yet, lose the luggage tag all together (which brings us to #4)

FOUR.

Ditch the checked bags. Did you know that every extra pound on an aircraft amplifies CO2 pollution and fuel emissions? I remember someone comparing checked bags on an airplane to a person carrying a heavy backpack— it takes you much more energy to haul a 50 pound backpack up a hill than it does a 2 pound sack. The same principle applies to your 50 pound checked bag— the more weight you add to your plane, the more inefficiently fuel is burned to get you from point A to point B. Another reason to pack light!

FIVE.

Be picky about your flight itinerary. Fun fact: red eye flights lead to more emissions than their day-time flight counterparts. For scientific reasons that I never understood (and that are also probably responsible for me dropping out of high school physics on day 3 ), the dark night skies have a higher warming effect than their light daytime counterparts. If you like science or understand the concept of “contrails” as they pertain to aviation, this article will speak on your intelligence level. If you’re like me and cannot fathom scientific talk, just know that night flights are twice as polluting as day flights. Another (more obvious) fun fact: direct flights are far more environmentally friendly than ones with layovers. So fly direct when you can!

BONUS!

Consider which airline you’re flying. Just for fun, here’s a 2010 report on airline fuel efficiency rating. If you have the option to fly a carrier with a better efficiency rating, always strive to give them your business over airlines with less efficient ratings. As much as we love to hate those pesky budget airlines, they do a damn good job of championing fuel efficiency! Brb, taking back every mean thing I’ve ever said about Spirit Airlines…

Well there ya have it! My top five ways to be a more sustainable, eco-minded traveler. If you’re looking to offset your flight emissions all together, I highly encourage you to look into carbon offsetting. The Points Guy has a great article on Carbon Offsetting basics for anyone interested.

Of course, I hardly scratched the surface with the tips above. If you’d like to read up on the other various ways you can be a more sustainable flyer (or traveler in general), check out some of these great articles:

Travel + Leisure

USA Today

Forbes (I really love all the tips here!)

What are some of your favorite ways to be more sustainable while you’re traveling? Have you tried any of my favorites? Let me know in the comments below.

Happy 365 days of Earth Day! ;)

By nothing less than travel witchcraft and trickery, we somehow managed to spend 3 days in Lisbon without riding the ever-famous street cars. Hellbent on having the experience before heading to Porto, Allie and I abandoned our stuff in the hostel and ran down the street to the nearest tracks. Here, we caught one of the first rides of the morning; the usually very crowded cars were all but empty with one or two local commuters. We were able to snap some beautiful pictures and enjoy the spacious ride up the hilly cityscape.

Back at the hostel, we reclaimed our bags and enlisted directional advice from one of the workers. Eager to find the cheapest way to get from our hostel to the train station, we shortly found ourselves hauling our luggage from our train station hostel to the metro down the street, the spectacle nothing short of ugly.

On the note of train stations- Lisbon was ripe with train stations. Of the three trains we took, not one departed/returned to the same station. Because we didn’t have a Portuguese credit card, we had to purchase our tickets at the station. And per the advice of the same hostel worker, we were told that tickets were a hot commodity among locals this time of year. Hesitant about navigating the metro successfully and now suddenly pressed for time, Allie and I summoned all the good travel juju, and blazed through the station with the highest levels of competency and success of our whole trip. I carry that moment with me like a badge of directional honor. A monumental moment for me, truthfully.

At the station, we lucked out and snagged two of the last tickets. There was a catch, though- the only tickets left were for first class. For the sake of being facetious brats, Allie and I shared a “oh, bummer!'“ shrug, proceeding giddily to our first class cabin where we legitimately went from standing to expanding horizontally into our monstrously cushioned seats in .001 seconds. I guarantee you this ticket was one of the least fancy first class experiences available, but make no mistake- we took our job as first class passengers very seriously.

The train ride was a treat. We passed through beautiful towns that had seemingly been untouched by the passage of time. Immediately, we were captivated. Porto was going to be perfect- I felt it in my bones.

And perfect, it was. We debarked our train rather groggy from our first class treatment (#neverforget) and proceeded to botch the entire Porto taxi system. We obliviously began to load our bodies and bags into a taxi.. only to turn around and see a whole line of people waiting in the que. We realized our mistake right away and joined in on the taxi attendants’ laughter. Despite our ineptitude, we eventually made it inside our rightful cab and were whisked away to our hostel.

Arriving at our accommodation a little before check-in, we stashed our bags in the luggage closet and pulled a very cliche Allie and Sydney move: “So…. what’s good to eat around here?”. The hostel worker pointed us in the direction of one of her favorite local spots a few blocks down. We cut the small talk and hustled down the street on a mission to quell our rumbling stomachs. In the span of a few meters, I reclaimed my directionless crown and somehow got us lost. So while we didn’t enjoy the recommendation of the receptionist, we did get lulled into a bakery where we ordered a pre-lunch snack.

We were back on the prowl for lunch in no time, our to-go pastries in hand as we strutted aimlessly through the little town. Thinking I ordered a muffin, I chomped down. To my astonishment, the pillowy treat I was prepared for turned out to be a rock solid lump of peanuts and caramel. Ouch. Having failed to order what I thought to be a muffin and navigate us two blocks, I gave myself a little ~Porto pep-talk~ and we continued down the street until we stumbled upon a quant little pizza joint. Bingo.

Allie and I exchanged one of those “Why! Say no more, my lady!” glances, and, without speaking a word to each other, found ourselves seated and with menus in front of us. We chowed down on a delicious lunch of pizza and sparkling water (an Allie and Sydney signature), and left to explore the city with full bellies and spirits. From our lunch joint, we meandered into the heart of Porto- the riverside, “Ribiera”. Along the way, we gawked at the breathtaking old buildings and views of Porto- the overlooks in Old Town are no joke, people!

Somewhere between the first overlook and the Riberia, we swung by a small Porto tourism booth and very dignifiedly asked about their Port Wine tours, like either of us were classy enough to know what Port Wine was. The tourism rep directed our attention to a brochure of lush, picturesque Vinyards. As we learned, the tour company offered two tours the following day: a single winery tour, and a double winery tour plus a boat ride and lunch. Allie and I opted for the double winery tour without any hesitation whatsoever because- and let me put this dignifiedly- we ain’t no sissies.

On to our thorough exploration of Porto, we crossed the bridge from Old Town’s Ribiera to Vila Nova de Gaia. The two cities are separated by the Douro River, both sides offering picturesque waterside views of the other. It was early evening by the time we made it to Vila Nova de Gaia, so Allie and I broke out our free Port Wine sample coupon cards that our Hostel had gifted us upon check-in. Having booked an entire day’s tour of the Port Wine vineyards, I don’t think the thought of not liking Port Wine ever crossed either of our minds. So you can imagine our surprise when we took a long, savory sip of our Port Wine samples and were confronted with the faintly familiar sensation of having just taken a shot of alcohol.

“What the hell is this stuff!!?” I asked, my face pinched in every possible direction, eyes probably watering.

One sip in, and Allie’s unsuspecting reaction was one of pure horror… and painted plain as day across her face, too.

And then it dawned on us. We had just booked an entire day trip to the Douro Valley to drink this devil’s juice…..

We looked at each other and just erupted in giggles. We heaved in unison, sound barely coming out of our mouthes as we held our bellies in a fit of laughter. So then we did what any person who had just spent a chunk of money to be bussed 4 hours out into the specialty vineyards to drink wine we didn’t even like would do- we forged onward. The second sip was just a jarring as the first. So was the third and fourth. By the fifth sip- the very last drops of our sample- we had a nice buzz. I wish that was an exaggeration.

We returned our wine glasses to one of the workers and examined the crates of Port Wine bottles they had on display. While the price point was mostly comparable to American wine, the alcohol content was not. As it turns out, Port Wine is distinctive from other types of wine because it is fortified with actual alcohol, giving it ABv’s of about 22%. So essentially- seeing as we’d booked a day long Port Wine tasting- Allie and I had booked a one way ticket to hangover hell. Oh, joy.

On the walk home, we explored some Christmas markets, taking in the beautiful sunset as we crossed the Douro River. We turned ourselves in early for the night as an attempt to remedying the drunken disaster we knew would ensue the following day. Back in our hostel room, we introduced ourselves to some of our roommates. Come to find out, the girls in the beds next to me were both from Alabama as well- one of them a student at the University of Alabama, at that! The small world saga continues.

-

The trend of early morning alarms continued on Friday. We said a hail mary prayer as we boarded our tour bus and accepted certain (and rancid tasting) drunkenness. We were the last pick up before the group took to the interstate and bussed the width of Portugal to the highly anticipated Douro Valley. Despite the very beautiful scenery, Allie and I took turns nodding off to sleep during the drive. Between my cat naps, I picked up on some Port Wine trivia.

So, unbeknownst to me, the Douro Valley is the only valley in the world where they make Port Wine. After the grapes are grown and the wine is made (and aged), it is shipped from the Douro Valley to Porto (hence the name Port Wine), which is where they used to export it internationally from back in the colonial days. Now, Porto is still a famed place for tasting the Port Wine, but it’s a common misconception that Port Wine is grown and bottled in Porto. It isn’t; that’s why you have to make the trip over to the Douro Valley.

When we finally arrived to the Douro Valley, I was thrown another curve ball-

“What the heck!” I said, staring incredulously at the skeletons of what was once flourishing grape vines. “Everything is dead!”

My inner, more rational self popped in- It’s winter, you dumbass. What did you expect? Touche, inner self, Touche.

Allie and I debarked the bus and carried our sleepy bodies alongside the sea of very adult, very amped Port Wine enthusiasts. The first vineyard was the famed Sandeman Port Wine Vineyard. We hung at the back of the pack with a sorry little boy that had very clearly been dragged along with his overly-eager parents, the three of us painfully adamant about not being seen in the back and dodging any questions that might be fielded our way.

Even from the flanks, the tour was incredibly neat. Sandeman’s vineyard has progressed with the times, the wine making process aided by the help of modern technology from start to finish. We explored the facilities from the vineyard to the “grape stomping” simulating machine. By the time we rounded out the tour with the wine tasting, we found ourselves not only enjoying the Port Wine, but entertaining the idea of buying a bottle. Attribute it to what you’d like, but I’m almost wholly convinced that Sandeman wine is the unicorn of Port Wine.

However many glasses of port wine later- three I think…?- we hobbled back on the bus and laughed at our body’s outrageously nonexistent tolerance to Port Wine. Mind you- Port Wine is strong. We’re talking glasses of wine that are equivalent to shots of alcohol. Leaving the Sandeman vineyard, the entire bus- now enjoying the side effects of a solid buzz- gawked loudly at the narrow roads and the impossibility of our bus navigating its twists and turns. Miraculously, we made it to the base of the valley for our group lunch reservations. Allie and I wasted no time smashing the overflowing bread basket. The main dish was a delicious seafood plate by all accounts. Our chefs were so kind as to accommodate my dietary preferences, and I was dished up a veggie omelet that was as good as it gets after a few glasses of wine. Oh, and what lunch in the Douro Valley would be complete without overflowing bottles of Port Wine? Bottoms up boys and girls!

Determined to get our money’s worth, Allie and I forged on with the Port Wine, though somehow unable to keep up with the more seasoned enthusiasts on our tour. We sure did get our money’s worth- but it cost me a piece of my ego. After lunch, a small river cruise boat awaited us along the shore. To board our boat, you had to hop from the dock into the first boat and then climb over the side of the same boat into the second boat. If you have a bad feeling that you know where this story is going, I am here to assure you that things ended as dismally as you feared. Nothing more than a liability, I conquered the first jump without any issue and proceeded to overconfidently take on the second boat-to-boat obstacle. In the most by-the-book fail of all time, I wiped out between the two boats and took an outrageously uncoordinated tumble into the second boat. A mixture of laughter and horror immediately ensued from the onlookers- the loudest laughter a la Allie Jorde behind me.

I rode the duration of the boat ride nursing my bruised self esteem (and tailbone.. ouch), though I did successfully stand out to the very attractive boat driver- for better or worse. The cruise was painfully cold, so Allie and I stayed bundled up inside the covered portion for fear of losing some of our more vital body parts to hypothermia.

Docked on the shore, I made it back on land without a Syd Wipeout™ 2.0. From the riverside, we drove to the second vineyard of the day- Croft Port. This winery- unlike it’s Sandeman counterpart- does all of its winemaking the traditional, old fashioned way. Much like the first tour, we hung at the back of the group and soaked up the tour in all it’s glory. While the actual vineyard of Croft was leagues more exciting, the Port Wine from Croft was a total bust. It was a brutal fight ‘till the end to drink our Croft wines, and if I’m not mistaken, Allie and I left a few sips of one particularly cringe inducing Port Wine behind.

As you might imagine, the bus ride back to Porto was an interesting one to say the least. Allie and I compiled some of our best one liners of the trip from that commute. When we weren’t uttering the most ridiculously things, we were catching some intense Zzzs.

Back in Porto, we hurried to the ever-famous Livraria Lello, determined to make it in before closing for the night. This bookstore is supposedly where JK Rowling was inspired to write Harry Potter, and it has become such a tourist destination for fans that you must buy entry tickets to enter inside. Though we debated whether or not the tickets were worth it, we decided to go for it- and I am very gad we did. After the tour, we found a nearby gelato place where we munched on the cold treat and rode out the last bits of our buzz, opting to get dinner afterwards on our way home.

The next morning, we were off to Paris. Though I only spent an afternoon there (I made Paris my “manual” layover home to score the cheapest fare back to NYC- a post on that soon!), we made some incredible friends and memories. The absolute highlight was taking horribly posed pictures in front of the Eiffel Tower holding a baguette. Kidding. But not really;)

We enjoyed lunch, dinner, and drinks with our friends and even squeezed in time to go shopping and sight seeing by some twist of fate. One crazy thing about our time there- we were in the middle of the yellow jacket riots. We saw some burning objects in the roads and many, many yellow jackets , but more than anything, we were floored by the number of police- both in uniform and not- that were fortifying the different parts of the city.

Saying goodbye to Paris and more importantly, my new friends and my best gal, Allie, was next to impossible to say the least. The entire trip was one for the books- certainly surpassing my every expectation and then some. It’s barely been two months, and I’m already ready for my next adventure and my next stint with my best friends. Speaking of, there’s one in the works.. stay tuned for more travels soon :)

-

PS!

Career updates guys! In January I got to fulfill a huge dream of mine- I took a job at Discovery Inc! I’m so stoked to be a part of such an incredible team, and cannot wait to see where this journey will take me. While it’s so weird to be leaving the traditional ad agency life behind- I mean, after all, that’s the sole reason I moved to New York in the first place- I cannot put into words how excited I am to merge creativity and my passion for content and adventure into a career. I have a lot of thoughts about my time in New York so far and the ups and downs of being a post-grad so far away from home- so much so that I wrote a post about it a month or so back. It’s currently sitting in my drafts folder, and while I’m not sure if it’s will ever see the light of day, I can tell you this: life is freaking awesome right now. And I’m so, so, so happy- happier than I’ve been in a very, very long time. Most of all, I’m filled with immense gratitude for the people that have ridden alongside me on this 7 month ride to get me where I am right now. So whether you’re family, a best friend, or someone who follows along with my adventures- thank you. I mean that so, so sincerely.

Here’s to the best year yet. 2019 is our year.

xx syd

Allie and I can always tell when the other gets hungry- once our stomachs approach empty, we get eerily quiet. And for anyone who’s been around Allie and I for more than 5 minutes- well, you know we run our mouths nonstop. Thankfully, our first Portuguese meal revived us from our silent grogginess, energizing us for an adventure-filled New Years afternoon (and eve).

From the cafe, we set out aimlessly exploring. As it turns out, Lisbon is the most unexpectedly hilly city. Picture this: we’re sucking wind climbing up the bustling streets, hollering profanities at all the retail stores that decided to close early on New Years Eve. I mean, come on! We had New Years Eve shopping to do! As the street dead-ended into a pedestrian only square, we feasted our eyes upon the holy grail of any sights we’d seen abroad: a smart car, but smaller. An irrepressible and very audible gasp tumbled from our mouths almost subconsciously, and before we knew it, we were chatting up the attendant standing in front of it.

Come to find out, the glorious mini death trap on wheels was a self guided tour. The car was equipped with a 360 camera on top and painted one of the brighter shades of yellow I’ve seen in my entire life. Upon poking our heads inside (too far and your head would poke out the other window), we were instantly captivated by the rather odd seating arrangement- it was something reminiscent of a double stroller, one pod of a seat stacked behind the other. The GPS- which by the way was a good third of the entire dashboard- could be programmed to any sight or series of sights in Lisbon. If you’re thinking, OK, Sydney, no way, that’s ridiculous— then congratulations my friend, you’re in the ballpark of visualizing this micro motor beauty.

Something about this setup seemed to scream unsafe to me- I mean, driving on foreign roads attempting to obey a wildly sporadic GPS, all while doing so in this ugly descendant of the Smart Car. Seeing our childlike excitement, the attendant handed us her business card and asked if we’d be interested in reserving the car for the afternoon. So, obviously, I did what any rational person would do in that situation- I called dibs on driving.

In actuality, Allie called dibs on riding in the back. Probably not the most ill-informed decision, considering she’d left her glasses in the USA by accident. I hyped myself up for the task, promising the lady that we’d call her to reserve our hot rod later in the week. During our parting conversation, this random guy approached Allie and complimented the freckles in her eyes. Totally not weird at all. I thanked the attendant and swooped in on the conversation, ready to pose a fake ~situation~ to rescue my girl if needed.

Allie and I are no stranger to making friends abroad, so upon vetting this guy in the middle of the Lisbon streets, we decided we’d let him tag along on our afternoon exploration. He suggested the Redeemer statue across the river; we countered with the waterfront (and settled upon it thanks to majority rule). Two minutes into our walk down the treacherous Lisbon streets, and I was ready for homeboy to leave.

We had coined the term “petty flock” for me and Allie’s outrageous tendency to fly to somewhere new and find something so insignificantly silly to be petty about— in this case, an adult male. The petty flock had taken flight from Marrakech to Lisbon, and I found myself hustling down the Lisbon streets, dodging street cars and trying my very best not to die on the cobblestone roads, dishing out sarcasm and spitting witty remarks at this man who’d quite literally followed us with the tenacity of a lost puppy. My efforts were to no avail though. After an hour of listening to this guy hype up his best friends in an attempt to solidify new years plans together at their hotel, Allie and I were about ready to chuck our woes into the air and dive into the water beside us.

So in a moment of sheer genius, I looked at this goofball of a boy and just gave him the blankest stare.

“Oh, you didn’t realize?” I asked, tilting my head and offering a sympathetic raised eyebrow. “We’re dating.” I said very matter of factly, waving my finger back and forth between Allie and I. “… Yeah, and I’m the jealous type, so we’re really not looking to hang out with any other people tonight.”

From my peripherals, I see Allie fighting back laughter as I continue to elaborate on my painfully contrived story. Mr. Dude, on the other hand, must’ve walked away with lockjaw judging by the time he spent gawking with his mouth open. A bit more of a fabricated backstory, and my plan finally came to fruition. After turning down multiple other offers, he finally got the message that me and my “girlfriend” were uninterested and that he stood no chance. We hyped him up to find a new set of New Years Eve friends, and then bid him adieu on the concrete waterfront slab, falling into a coughing wheezing fit of laughter as soon as we were safe in the square.

There’s a first for everything right?

By this point, it was about 4:00, and Allie and I had already turned our attention to what we were going to wear for our big night out. We rolled into a local H&M, Allie wasting no time picking up a saucy dress and me snagging a terribly gaudy set of headbands proclaiming “HAPPY NEW YEAR” in festive glitter. In the checkout line, we were bombarded by rows upon rows of eye shadow and lipsticks, prompting the million dollar question- had either of us brought acceptable New Years makeup?

The answer to that, I regret to inform you, was a fat no. After a split second of entertaining the sparkliest eye shadow we could find in line, our frugal instincts kicked in. No sooner had we paid in H&M did we find ourselves down the street at Sephora, lathering one another’s faces up in the display makeup they had scattered around the store.

Yes, our plan was genius… but we didn’t want to get busted, so there was a delicate art to our process-

“No, no, that’s not how this palette was meant to be applied. You need to go in and apply more here,” or “I think this shadow would be so gorgeous with your coloring, here! Let me show you!” we’d say, running our lines back and forth, going back over the first layer of makeup with another heavy hand on the glitter shadow each time.

Mind you, neither of us are makeup experts. Every now and then, one of us would botch the other’s face and we’d have to start again between laughs. We finally rolled out of Sephora looking equal parts drag queen and a glitter tornado, our smug faces an indication of a job well done.

Back at the hostel, we began getting ready for the evening, both of us going to extreme lengths to preserve the layers upon layers of makeup samples we’d piled on our tired faces. After shaving our legs, throwing on our wrinkled dresses, and accessorizing with the cliche New Years headbands, we shared a mutual “welp, this is as good as things are going to get” shrug, and headed downstairs to get the party going.

One thing about our New Years hostel of choice- it was a party hostel, and my very first party hostel experience at that. Having no idea what I was getting myself into, I can assure you in retrospect that there was never a shortage of alcohol, especially on New Years. I’m talking an unlimited open bar, free sangria, $1 beer— and to top that off, individual bottles of champagne for the walk to the New Year’s celebration in the main square. If that wasn’t ridiculous enough, while we were getting ready, the hostel workers came around with handles of ginger liquor, waterfalling excessively large shots into the mouths of anyone brave enough to give it a go. Having recently graduated from an SEC school, my competitive drinking side made a rare appearance and gnashed its teeth. I showed up every boy (and girl) in the room, earning a stunned though slightly horrified series of claps and compliments from the hostel workers.

A few shots in by the time I made it downstairs, I assembled a plate of food and got to talking to one of the guys I’d met in my room earlier. Turns out, he worked on the corporate side of Anheuser Busch- a client I’ve worked with twice now in my advertising gigs. He oversees the marketing of one of my very favorite beers in Brooklyn. If that wasn’t strange enough, I found out that the beer is on a trial run at one of three bars, one being my go-to bar a few blocks from my house in New York. On top of that, me and the guy lived a few streets over before he moved to DC. I’m continually shocked at how small the world is on my trips abroad.

Before long, the sangria was beckoning our name, and Allie and I found ourselves in the corner hanging out with the Mexican and Argentine crowd. While my Spanish fluency is laughable compared to Allie’s, one of drunk Sydney’s favorite pastimes is spewing Spanish like it’s my native language. I must have done alright, because the rest of the pregame was spent with our Latin friends conversing in Spanish and sipping on sangria. How fitting.

By the time we gathered to make the walk to the New Years celebration, we’d befriended Canadians, a frenchman, and a group of creepy Basque Country boys. According to everyone, our glitter New Years headbands had branded us unmistakably American right off the bat… a badge of honor Allie and I wore and laughed at all night. With our headbands proudly on our heads, we paraded through the streets pumping our bottles of champagne in the air, our hostel worker the group’s fearless leader. When we finally made it to the waterfront stage, we were informed that bottles weren’t being permitted inside the perimeter. We retaliated by sliding our champagne into our sleeves and chatting up the security guards as we walked past. Our rogue idea proved victorious, and somehow we made it inside with our oversized bottles of bubbly.

At this point, we’d all gathered by the water, a massive stage positioned in the center of the monstrous crowd. Music was blasting, and the square was packed to the edges with people. Right before midnight, we popped our bottles, blasting ourselves with the champagne we’d spent the past hour violently shaking in the air. When midnight finally struck, we were so consumed in our conversation that we almost missed the beginning of the fireworks.

We’d been drinking for hours by now, and- sure enough, the inevitable happens- “Sydney, I have to pee”.

As I watch Allie and one of our two new friends head over to the porta pottys, I’m appalled by the monstrous line and simultaneously reminded that I also need to pee. I tell the frenchman to stay put and walk to the shortest line I could find, my one life mission now going to the bathroom. No joke- 30 minutes later- I emerge from the hellish scene and head back to find my friends, only to realize I had no idea how to get back to them. I made the rounds a few times, finally resolving to phone Allie up, knowing I’d need to head back to the hostel if I couldn’t reach her. By some miracle, our tallest Spanish friend picked up and shot his hand high into the air. His tactic worked, and before long, I was reunited with my people.

Apparently, the same porta potty line I’d decided to stand in made the other three mad, so they’d gone around back where a bunch of people had just decided to squat. My dumb self missed that memo and did the bathroom dance in line for half an hour. After I hadn’t come back in 15 minutes, they’d gone looking for me, which meant they’d moved from the spot that I’d planned to come back to. A porta potty induced disaster at its finest.

From there, the night got even more exciting. During our 2 am walk back home to the hostel, I’d decided that I wasn’t reciprocating the feels that the Frenchman was putting out, so in my drunken brillance (insert sarcasm), I decided that we needed to break away and run home. So that’s what we did- we literally sprinted a whole mile through the crowded streets of Lisbon until we made it to our hostel. We huffed and puffed all the way up the stairs, set an optimistic 7 am alarm for a day trip to Sintra, and I passed out while Allie binged Birdbox on Netflix.

My biggest achievement on the whole trip was making it out of bed for the 7 am alarm the next morning. To this day, I have no idea how we did it. But I’ll be damned if we didn’t wake up, get ready, pack our bags, check out of our hostel, carry them to the next hostel, check in, and then get on a train to Sintra by 8:30. How? The world may never know.

I’d be lying if I said we were joyful creatures that day. It’s not that we were unpleasant or hungover, per say- miraculously, we weren’t- it’s just that we lacked all enthusiasm and energy to be good tourists. I’ll never forget, we booked a privately guided tuk tuk ride to see Sintra’s best sights, and at one of them, our driver just looked at me with all the sincerity in the world said “you look very tired.”

Truly, the sky could have turned green and Allie and I would have responded with an unfazed “Oh. That’s nice.”

Thankfully, our lackluster responses failed to detract from an otherwise lovely day, though the New Years Day closures of all of Sintra’s parks and monuments was less than ideal. In typical Allie and Sydney fashion, our day was characterized by lots of food sampling and a myriad of photos. Even though we weren’t able to visit some of Sintra’s biggest attractions, the tuk tuk tour we finagled was well worth it. Our driver was a local, therefore quite keen on all the little town’s hidden gems. After knocking out all of our must-see Sintra sights in half a day, we spontaneously decided to take a bus to the small seaside town of Cascais.

The internet is buzzing about this little Portuguese resort city, and since all the New Years closures made our day in Sintra an ultrafast one, a trip to Cascais seemed reasonable. We boarded the bus at the Sintra train station and took a stunning ride through picturesque smalltown Portugal. With every turn, I swear our bus would come within inches of taking out a house- the front walls of these homes were quite literally the edge of the street.

The last stop before the city of Cascais was Cascais National Park. The problem with bussing through this little gem of a destination en route was that it made everything after it feel like a total bust by comparison. Where Cascais National Park had rolling green hills, a regal lighthouse and staggering cliffsides, the city of Cascais had…. below average everything. In fact, we were so underwhelmed by Cascais when we stepped off the bus that we legitimately considered getting right back on it and going home.

We stuck things out, and to our delight, things did improve ever so slightly. After a short trek from the bus stop into the heart of the city center, we wandered onto a beach, past a ferris wheel, through the brightly lit Christmas decorations… and we were still not massively wowed. Perhaps it was just a continuation of our uninterested mood from earlier. We scoped out a dinner spot, and after stuffing our faces with sides and appetizers, we dragged our exhausted bodies to the train station. I think dinner might have been the highlight of Cascais.

The next morning, we rose at a respectable hour. Phoning up our friend over at the Smart Car-esque Lisbon Tour company, we reserved a mini hot rod for the entire day and chased the debatably poor decision with free hostel breakfast and loads of coffee. At 10 am, we met a representative outside the train station (our hostel was on the second floor of the train station- cool right??) and loaded inside. In the comfort of a parking spot, we learned the ins and outs of the little vehicle, how to program our GPS, and any other little thing that you might need to know about driving the toy. Holding me to my word a few days prior, Allie got the back seat and left me to pilot the beast. Having never driven in a foreign country, I summoned my best go-kart skills and all the good Portuguese road juju, and we set out.

I must say, I was a much better driver than I ever expected myself to be, sans a few psychotic mid road u-turns. Truly, I impressed myself. Now the bit on following GPS directions, though… yikes. We’d be cruisin’ along and I’d unknowingly breeze past my turns. Occasionally, we’d make the same circuit multiple times. Other times, I’d overcorrect and whip out my signature u-ies. The first hour of our tour, I drove us in the same circle probably 12 times. I wish that was a funny exaggeration. Different country, same ole me…

Once I figured out how to hijack the GPS bluetooth and play music from my phone, our ride went from a solid 7 to a 10. Whenever our guided tour would route us past a cool spot, we’d whip our little road parasite into the most laughably small parking spot. I’m talking pulling-it-into-a-parallel-parking-spot small here. It was iconic in every way. The only downside was that I had no handling skills in this thing. I’d hop curbs and nearly flatten 1 out of every 5 pedestrians that I encountered.

Among the day’s notable stops was the ever stunning Miradouro de Sao Pedro de Alcantara. We skirted our lil car into a parking spot fit for a bike and moseyed on over into the park. Many European countries hold Christmas Markets over the holiday season, and Allie and I were lucky enough to hit Portugal in time to see the tail end of it. Vendors set up in clusters all over the city- including the outskirts of the Miradouro de Sao Pedro. We browsed through the shops to the overlook, eventually making our way to the cafe for a food and coffee pit stop.

Other notable stops were the purple street, authentic Portuguese lunch at Adega Portuguesa, the MAAT (Museum of Art, Architecture, and Technology), and the many makeshift parking spots we created a la correcting my general lack of direction. The real MVP of the ride was our golden hour drive along the water. You can’t imagine the beauty of Portugal’s waterside sunsets. My only complaint- because I was driving, I only took ~mental~ photos and shitty iPhone ones when possible. Whenever we stopped, you better believe I took full advantage of photo opps.

Handing over our little car at the end of the day was tough. Partly because I wasn’t ready to give up the keys, and partly because I was scared we weren’t going to get our security deposit back per all the knicks and scratches I knew I’d collected over the day’s drive. I avoided looking for them, and thankfully the reps weren’t too keen on seeking them out either. Reverting back to exploring the city by foot, we enjoyed one last dinner in Lisbon, finishing it off with the perfect cup of gelato.

The next morning, we were off to Porto! And I must say- Porto was the best part of Portugal.

At 8 am, the company’s hostel pick up service was a nice perk, and the drive was a beautiful one, too. We chased the first rays of morning sunlight into the foothills of the Atlas mountains. Hot air balloons were silhouetted in the distance, the blue and yellow sky setting the mountains aglow. Once we’d made it to the outskirts of the city, our 4x4 took an off-road detour, sending the backseat passengers flying in the air and smashing into the roof of the car.

Allie and I did our fair share of sliding and smacking into the hood while our driver gassed it over dirt hills and laughed at his lopsided passengers. Eventually, we arrived to what I’m going to call our base tent, albeit a bit disoriented and motion sick. Our car was the last one there- of course- so the two of us wasted no time snapping pictures and fixing ourselves some coffee for the morning hour. 

Before long, everyone was being loaded back into vans and taxied into deeper depths of the barren desert land. Oddly enough, after veering off the road into a dirt field, our caravan of cars got lost. I was confused, as it seemed near impossible to get lost on a roadless, open field. After all, it wasn’t like it was difficult to see our balloon in the distance. We learned that the drivers actually have to locate the hot air balloon each time it lands, which is a task in itself given that it lands somewhere new every single time. 

After a few three point turns on the rolling fields (still have questions about the logic of that one..), we finally located our balloon, and somehow, Allie and I were the last ones in line again. As I looked around, I realized everyone was dressed for adventure, meanwhile, I was wearing…. a silk skirt. Really, really solid move there, Syd. Knowing what must be done, I then proceeded to straddle the chest-high basket in my calf length skirt, and if you’re wondering how that went- well, it didn’t. Somehow I made it in, but it was a fight until the brutal end. The one great thing about being the last two passengers in the 16 person basket was that we got the two corner spots, which provided immaculate views once we were hovering above ground. The downside was that I’m pretty sure I flashed everyone.

We were introduced to our pilot after we took off, which depending on how you look at things, is absolutely horrifying. As it turned out, our fearless female leader was a Russian with lots of jokes about our basket’s malfunctioning trap doors and our individual parachute landings. And, on top of that, she was like, some sort of international hot air balloon racing champion. Because apparently they have those.

Down below, our drivers furiously trailed after us like little ants, taking no care of the lack of roads. From above, hot air balloon views look and feel a lot like the views from an airplane, except you’re scared to hold your phone or camera over the edge. It’s also surprisingly hot, which was the opposite of what Allie and I had prepared for. We thought we were being smart taking into account the different atmospheric temperatures, when in reality, we were being scorched by the fire above our head in our layers of puffy clothing. Halfway through our ride, our pilot passed around a fancy platter of chocolate (what??!), which wound up being the content of mine and Allie’s most miserably awful food picture of the entire trip. We laughed about the ugly snap and took some other redeeming ones until it was time to make our grand landing.

Speaking of, I’d always wondered how hot air balloons land. I can now safely say I was better off not knowing. Our pilot had originally scouted out a good landing spot, but the crew on the ground redirected her to find another one. From above, landing spot #1 looked a bit rocky and like there were a few dead branches littering the ground. It was a wide open field, but sure, we could probably find something a little less dicey. I assume the wind must have picked up or something, because after passing up on the first option, finding a new landing spot seemed increasingly urgent. 

Pretty soon, it became apparent that we’d found a new landing spot. Our balloon creeped closer and closer to the barren land, and to my horror, I realized our fat, unwieldy beast of a hot air ballon was going to land between two very sturdy looking fences. To the right was a barbed wire fence and a mangled Eucalyptus tree straight out of an apocalyptic movie. To the left was a straight up brick wall that towered over the legitimate village behind it. All in all, it was probably about 50 feet of landing space, and that’s a very generous estimate. 

The entire population of the village had gathered outside to watch the horrifying spectacle. I’m laughing in denial, trying to find an explanation as to HOW this spot is even 1/4 as good as our old one while our pilot instructs us to grab onto the loopholes of the basket tightly and bend our knees. No sooner had we all done as told did the entire basket proceeded to smash through the entire top half of the eucalyptus tree. The sweet scent of eucalyptus masked the smell of certain death, and I found myself swatting branches during the .002 seconds of our collision. Inevitably, the haus of a basket won, and upper half of the the tree came crumbling down like it’d been slayed by lightning or some other extraordinary feat of nature. 

Having legitimately just gone through an ancient tree, our landing was only slightly less rough. When we made contact with the dirt, we all slung around the basket, at first 45 degrees to the left, and then back to the ground with a grand thud. The only problem was that our balloon was still attached and the wind was ever present, so we had rough landing after rough landing as our basket was dragged along the long rocky runway. 

Eventually, the crew got the balloon under control and we were finally stationary on the ground. The locals were just absolutely traumatized and enticed all at once. Kids gathered around the basket to greet the sky intruders, which was actually really funny. After doing another ugly basket dismount in my skirt, Allie and I loaded back up into the vans and headed back to the base tent.

Moral of the story: hot air ballon rides are kind of overrated, except for their landings, which should not be given the courtesy of a rating at all. Unless you’re into tree vandalism and whiplash, in which case, I would 10/10 recommend.

Back at the base tent, our traditional breakfast appeared to be pita bread, Moroccan pancakes (basically deliciously fancy tortillas), olives, and an assortment of jams and spreads. I fixed up my favorite Moroccan pancakes, lathered them in honey and sipped on some delightful mint tea. 

The remainder of the morning was to be spent riding camels, which quite frankly neither Allie or I had any interest in partaking in. We begrudgingly decided to tag along to the camel post and snap some pictures against our better judgement to hail a cab home. The pictures ended up being totally worth it, but my body completely rejected the idea of camels whenever I got too close. I kept my distance (and thankfully the camels kept theirs) and all was well in the end.

The family we’d been riding with all morning to and from our excursions were really friendly, and they gave us some phenomenal suggestions for things to do for the remainder of the day. Once we were back in the Marrakech medina, we got directions to locale #1- the spice market- from our hostel homie Yousef and then pepped ourselves up for the ultimate struggle that shall henceforth be known as following directions on a map.

By absolute divine intervention, Allie and I somehow managed to locate the spice market, although by nothing more than a series of accidentally lucky wrong turns. We’d gotten so wrapped up in shopping along the way that we’d entirely turned ourselves around. At some point, we stopped to buy beautiful vintage looking postcards, and only after paying did we notice signs along a corridor pointing to the spice market. Well, well, well. If I ain’t good with directions after all.

Similar to the main square in terms of vendors, the spice market differed in its smaller size and textile and spice focus. I think my favorite pictures and Morocco memories were in this little haven. Rugs were draped from balconies and rooftops, and higher end merchants occupied the stores along the side. Iguanas and turtles were on display (an upgrade from the cobras and the monkeys in Jemaa el-Fnaa square if you ask me) and bright bowls and barrels of spices lined the edges.

Allie and I inevitably found ourselves in a vintage and handmade jewelry store and got possessed by two rowdy shopping demons, which, as I am reflecting on it now, seemed to happen pretty routinely. We originally stopped in to buy Allie a journal, and both came out with some sterling silver garbage of varying degrees. I say garbage as affectionately as possible- our new bling was beautiful, it’s just that we lack all human restraint when presented with cute trinkets. In all seriousness, our experience in this jewelry store was so incredible that I would advise anyone who’s visiting Morocco to stop by. The owner was so attentive and knowledgable about all of his pieces, and he even threw in a free thank you gift after our heartfelt and enjoyable exchange.

After we’d taken advantage of our lunch spot’s free wifi and mapped out directions to our next destination, the Jardin Secret, we were back on the tourist prowl, weaving our way in and out of market stalls and escaping eye contact with the salesmen on their hustle. After failing at following our directions two minutes into our trek yet again, we decided we’d ask directions from the same salesmen we’d been avoiding and see where it’d take us. I’d say all in all, we pretty successfully followed the directions of the locals, although I’m not convinced we took the most direct route. We somehow wandered inside what felt like the heart of the market into the leather shops where cobblers and tanneries were in abundance. It was extremely, extremely cool… just also extremely, extremely smelly. Part of me felt it was a shame that the hoards of tourists back in the square were missing out, but I also sort of loved being one of the curious few who’d made it into what I felt was the crown jewel of Marrakech’s medina.

Finally at Jardin Secret, Allie and I whipped out our student IDs for that sweet sweet student discount (travel hack #917482). As soon as we stepped foot inside the actual gardens, I think we both knew that it was going to be the highlight of our day. I don’t think words or pictures would do the architecture and botany of the gardens justice. Little tile pathways disappeared into dense shrubbery; cactuses were intermixed with delicate flowers; the inset water ducts dead-ended into an intricate pavilion where people lounged blissfully. The only downside was that it was a total death trap for clumsy people like me because your mind would wander aimlessly at the surrounding beauty… not to the narrow water filled death trap trench beneath you.

In every way, the gardens felt like a preserved slice of ancient history. Perhaps like a movie set, even. In the front corner of the main garden square was a little cafe. Allie and I treated ourselves to a cappuccino and lounged in the shade of a lemon tree, admiring our new silver jewelry and the flora around us. If there ever was a moment where I peaked in life, this was it.

Ironically, while we were (shamelessly) taking pictures at the Jardin Secret, we bumped into Jacqi and Danny who had just happened to stumble into the gardens while we were visiting. We stuck together for the rest of the afternoon, making plans to watch the sunset from one of Marrakech’s top rated rooftop cafes. On our walk back to the main Jemaa el-Fnaa square, we passed by merchant after merchant, until lo and behold, we passed a rug merchant and I feasted my eyes upon *THE* rug hanging from their awning.

Somehow, before I knew what was happening, I was in the top floor of this rug shop with the rug from outside splayed out at my feet. With it in perfect view in front of me, I realized that my dream rug was not the dream size for my tiny New York bedroom, and after asking the cost, the 4,000 Dirham price tag felt a biiiiit more of a nightmare. But the same shopping demons from earlier had reentered my body, and smaller rug after smaller rug was hurtled onto the rug before it. After exhausting the merchants with my request to find a smaller handmade Berber rug as beautiful as the first, the stacks upon stacks of textiles around me were in disarray and the rug at the very bottom of the pile was still leagues ahead of the others. “Let’s just make a deal on the first one,” the very worn out salesman offered. And make a deal, I did. I had no idea if this rug was going to fit into my room or if it would fit in my suitcase, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t get the 1,700 Dirham deal of a century on the world’s most beautiful handmade work of art.

The unplanned rug excursion (and the ATM fiasco that followed) set our sunset dinner and drinks plan back. We hustled through the hoards of people, b-lining to this rooftop bar the best a few navigationally challenged people could. We snagged one of the last tables on the roof and ate, drank, and gave a cheers to our last night in Morocco. And all in perfect time for sunset, too. Portugal was next, and oh boy, what a time that was.

In all seriousness, it was so refreshing to reboot my travel routine. It felt like a obligation detox, and I’m not going to lie to you, I loved it. Enjoying the moment- every moment- was something I’d robbed myself of these last few years. So here I am writing about my travels in retrospect- let’s see how this one goes, shall we?

Way back when I was booking my flight to Morocco, my frugal flyer heart got the best of me, and instead of flying directly into Marrakech, I booked a significantly cheaper flight into Casablanca. The difference in price was enough to cover all of my hostel accommodations in Morocco, Portugal, and France and then some. And having lived in Morocco for a month in 2016, I was familiar with the train system. I knew I could catch a train from Casablanca into Marrakech, and that a first class ticket would only set me back $50.

…But as my inbound flight to Casablanca got delayed one hour after another in the months leading up to my trip, I got impatient and, ok, my paycheck increased. Eventually, I decided to book a car service to take my antsy ass from Casablanca to Marrakech and make the most out of my already halfway shot first day there. To be fair, the train would have eaten up my first half day in Morocco, and with only 2 and a half days to make my grand return to this city, I wasn’t too keen on the idea of waiting for a train at the airport, making a transfer, waiting two hours at the main station in Casablanca, riding another 3 hours to Marrakech, and then having to pick the least scammy taxi to get myself into the Medina at a reasonable price.

So yes, in one of my weaker travel moments, I booked a private car. And I must say, the $60 difference in price was completely worth the story that came out of the experience.

By the way, before I get into this- you know, just so we’re on the same page- Iberia airlines sucks. That’s a rant for later, and honestly not relevant to this story at all, but my rage towards this airline deserved a place in this post.

Ok, anyway.

After an exhausting 7 hour overnight layover in the Madrid airport, I finally landed in Casablanca. I located my driver outside the airport holding a sign with my name rather easily. Mustering up the remainder of my good spirits, I jokingly asked him if he was ready for the long drive ahead. “Oh, me?” He was amused. “Your driver is awaiting you over there, we must walk to him,” he said as he pointed across the vast concrete slab in front of us. As you might imagine, there was quite a noticeable difference in temperature between New York and Morocco, so I rolled up my sweater sleeves and braced my already overheated body for the trek to my driver. A couple of heat strokes later and we arrived at my private whip.

My parking lot escort shuffled my bags into the trunk (he also carried them across the parking lot- god bless the man) and got me settled inside. My driver, a goofy older man, welcomed me with an mandarin orange of all things. I first politely declined the orange, cautious to incur any extra charge. As my driver- Ali- continued to insist on giving me the orange, I recalled from my previous summer in Morocco the etiquette behind taking food from people. That is to say, you always graciously accept whatever you’re offered, and you eat all of it.

I plucked the orange from his hand, and before I could even consider where I’d dispose of the peels, Ali tossed me a produce sack full of uneaten mandarins for me to put my discards in. I chowed down on my orange, placed the peels inside the bag, and set it down in the empty seat next to me, patting myself on the back for remembering the etiquette.

“Oooh. You like oranges.” Ali said, his tone indicating it was more of a revelation than a question. Being the polite southern lady I am, I smiled, thanked him for sharing and told him I loved oranges.

And that my friends, was the wrong thing to say.

Because then, my 2 hour drive across the countryside of Morocco turned into a 3 hour drive through the countryside of Morocco on Expedition: Mandarin Oranges. In my feature scene, Ali drives me to the most middle of nowhere Moroccan village where he buys me 10 kilos of oranges. Do you know what 10 KILOS of oranges looks like? Looming death by citrus, that’s what. And as I am manhandling this unmanageable TEN KILO bag of oranges, I’m also realizing that this village has probably never seen a foreigner in their life. So now I’m a spectacle, and not just because I’m holding TEN WHOLE KILOS OF ORANGES, but because now, everybody in this village now knows what Americans must really be like. How enlightening!

Before we’re back on the road, Ali and I order a mint tea at a hole in the wall food stand. My first authentic mint tea experience in two years, and it did not let me down in the slightest.

Back in the car, I’ve got my child-sized bag of oranges in the trunk and Ali’s other smaller, though still half uneaten bag of oranges next to me. He’s occasionally checking on me from his rearview mirror, egging me on with his wildly flailing free hand “My oranges are yours! Please! Finish oranges!”

After 5 oranges, you’re like, “Oh, no thank you! They’re so delicious, but I’m so full”. After 10 oranges, you’re just accepting defeat, like, “hell, what’s another 10 more..”

When I tell you Moroccans are the most hospitable, kindhearted people- I’m not kidding. This is a wildly hilarious anecdote of their kind hearts, despite however much digestive trauma it might have caused me.

Finally in Marrakech, I had another surprise awaiting me at the hostel. Apparently Allie and the hostel guys thought it’d be funny to ambush me with Sweet Home Alabama when I arrived. If you thought rolling through small town Morocco with a bag of oranges was humorous, imagine the ridiculous scene that was me laboriously walking into my hostel to the tune Sweet Home Alabama cradling my impossible bag of oranges, greeting a bewildered though overly amused best friend and crowd of every other damn person in the lobby.

“Communal oranges,” I said, plopping them down on the first flat surface my eyes could discern. “Don’t even get me started.”

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If the oranges were an omen for what was to come, I should have known the rest of our stint in Morocco was going to be full of laughs and unexpected little adventures. After I was paraded to my room to the (continued) tune of Sweet Home Alabama, Allie and I unpacked, caught up, and met one of our room co-habitants, Cody, a Californian who was doing a multi-country tour abroad. We decided to meander through the medina together. Our dynamic quickly solidified- Cody would make hilarious, though boderline culturally inappropriate jokes in between intermittent stops at food stands while Allie and I reprimanded him from behind our cameras and avoided the snake charmers like it was a matter of life or death. People asked him about his two wives, and we just carried about our merry way, although I do believe at one point, there was some sort of negotiation instigated for one of his two wives. Hah.

By dusk, we’d stumbled upon La Pergola- an amazing raid that was half restaurant, half jazz bar. We climbed to the rooftop deck and chose a table that overlooked the the jazz band and gave us great views of the palm trees and pool on the ground floor. A few beers and a cheese plate complete with- that’s right- camel cheese later, and we’d quite literally drunk La Pergola out of their beer supply. Before you make any assumptions about my post-graduate drinking abilities and what that says about my life, you must know that in Morocco, beer (and any alcohol for that matter) is stocked on a limited day-by-day basis, as consumption is really driven by tourists, not locals. And the beer is served in 8 ounce bottles. So by American standards, we were juiceboxing it.

Having just merely warmed up at La Pergola, Allie and Cody convinced my rather sleep deprived self to scope out the bar scene elsewhere. Our searched proved fruitful, and next thing I knew, we were in a tuk tuk, rattling and rumbling down the main road to the New City. When we finally got to the promised land- New City’s bar row- we were equal parts stunned that we made it without breaking down and excited to see what Marrakech’s bar scene had to offer. Our bar of choice must have been the dive-iest most locals-only option on the table judging by their clientele’s reaction to our entrance.

We shuffled to the back with our eyes glued to the floor, ordering a round of beers as soon as we sat down. To set this scene up for you, there was a two man band playing some groovy moroccan tunes; the three of us are unquestionably the only non-locals there, and there’s a whopping total of two other women. Eventually, we earned our place among the patrons after polishing off a few beers. The night continued on this way until beer turned into bottles of wine and food started to magically appear at our table. I have no explanation for the food, though I can assure you it was unquestionably the worst food we ate on the entire trip.

We stayed out until the bar closed, and miraculously, hailed a taxi home. As soon as I stood up, I was plagued with what turned out to be a 2 hour long case of ugly hiccups. Once inside the cab, Cody asked if the driver could hook us up with beer to take home, which, as it turned out, indeed he could. While I was preoccupied with my hiccups in the corner of the cab, Cody and our driver underwent the most unnecessarily secretive drug-like booze deal of all time. We were back on the road in no time, and before long, our taxi driver had dropped us off at the edge of the medina. The rest of our journey home was by foot. Apparently that did not agree with my hiccups because they reared up, louder and more aggressive than ever. For the 2 am hour, there were a surprising amount of Moroccans out and about in the medina…. all of whom, upon hearing my demonic hiccups, looked at me horrified, and then proceeded to mock me. COOL GUYS, cool.

It was more of the same back at the hostel, too. Yousef, one of the hostel workers we’d befriended, greeted me with imitation hiccups that night… and every other time he saw me afterwards. I did not live those down. The rest of the evening was spent on the rooftop drinking beer and discussing 70’s music. Apparently, after sucking wind on the rooftop for a good while, I decided I’d had enough, and I held my breath for like, 2 minutes. I can neither confirm nor deny the claim, but I am here to tell you that the hiccups finally went away.

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If we’re being completely honest, day 2 in Marrakech was sort of unremarkable. And to continue with the honesty, that was probably of mine and Allie’s own doing. We attempted to get a start on our day at the respectable hour of 9 am, heading over to this cute little cafe down the street from our hostel called Cafe Kif-Kif. After we’d ordered mint tea, orange juice, and water (and water, water, more water), our waitress told us they weren’t going to be serving breakfast for another hour. Woof.

We finished up our first ~hydration~ course at cafe Kif Kif, paid, and then set out to find some cheap breakfast elsewhere. We landed in Zeitoun Cafe where we ordered a second hydration course and of course, food. I think of all the food I ate in Morocco, Zeitoun was the most tasty. I chose Moroccan pancakes and some other array of bread, all of which I bathed in honey. Upon standing up, Allie and I instantaneously decided we’d need to afternoon to recuperate from the night before, so we made a pact to regroup with Cody at 5 pm and do dinner at this uber swanky place we’d discovered the night before on our walk through the medina.

In our down time back at the hostel, we caught some Zzs and recruited Yousef to help us book a spontaneous hot air balloon ride over the Atlas Mountains for the next day. As we’re finally gearing up to make our debut outside for the second time, we get to talking with our Australian bunkmates, Danny and Jacqi, who’d just arrived at the hostel. As we’re chatting and inviting them to dinner with us and Cody, we come to the realization that they’d actually met Cody a few days prior in Tangier- how crazy.

Allie and I told the girls we’d see them back at the hostel at 5, and we set out to do some shopping in the medina. We dragged our sad bodies through the streets and into the main square where we were prepared to throw down some change in exchange for some fresh squeezed juice.

To give you an idea of the main square in Marrakech- the entire Jemaa el-Fnaa square fills with fruit and nut stands, snake charmers, henna artists, and smoothie stalls by day. By night, it transforms into chaotic madness. Food stalls pop up, one jam packed against the next, which explains why their “promoters” for lack of better words chase you around trying to win your business. Now this is problematic for many reasons, the main one being that they assume everyone who is going through the main square is looking to feast on local cuisine, which is just entirely not the case. You’d pass through, eyes glued to the ground- “LADY GAGA! SHAKERIA! BEST PRICES, COME SIT, COME COME!” they’d holler as they walked backwards with you, shoving the menus as close to your face as possible. …You know, because that facilitates reading.

As soon as we had paid for our juice, we hustled out of the main square. Allie exchanged some money, and soon after, we found a little side street full of of shops and immediately got sucked in. We wandered through all of it- up some stairs, down some stairs, inside, outside… you name it. Eventually, we stumbled across a guy selling “cashmere” scarfs. I put it in quotation because upon our post-purchase conclusion, the scarfs were one thousand percent not cashmere. Soft polyester at best. I kid you not, we see these scarfs hanging from the top rack of a store and the shop guy, not missing a beat, has them pulled down and in our hands before we could even ask to see them. He points out this tag that’s sewn onto the inside of the scarf that proclaims these fine textiles to be cashmere. So naturally, thinking we’re getting a deal, Allie and I fork out the big bucks and walk out proudly, both of us smugly wrapped up in our fine polyester purchase. I’m not sure when exactly it hit us that the scarves were total knock offs, but either way, we got duped by a tag.

Before heading back to our hostel to meet our friends, we decided to stop for a snack. At a nearby bakery, we grabbed some sweets and embarked on some heavy duty people watching from the tables outside. As people passed, we munched on our Chebakias (sesame cookies coated with honey that are to die for) and devised theories for differentiating the different nationalities of tourists. The men with the shortest shorts were Aussies, followed by the Brits. Americans were dead giveaways because theirs hit at their knees, and no shorter. Just in case you were wondering.

In typical Allie and Sydney fashion, we made it to the hostel a bit after 5:00. Still, we’d arrived before Cody, which, even then, wasn’t saying a ton. Dani and Jacqi decided they’d join us for our fancy dinner, and the four of us posted up on our bunk beds while we awaited Cody’s fashionably late arrival. At 5:20, we were starting to get a little impatient- we didn’t have cell service, so there was no way of checking in with him. By 5:30, we’d decided his snarky comments had either gotten him in trouble or he’d decided to ditch plans. A few minutes later, a very clean shaven and very bald Cody mopes inside our bunk room, putting an end to our speculation. Turns out, Cody had dropped in a local barber shop for a beard trim on his walk home and left with the world’s most extensive beard trim in the history of beard trims ever. Like, the beard trim was a entire facial shave. Legend.

Dinner was honestly a total let down. Don’t get me wrong- the live entertainment leading up to our meal was great. It’s just that the food itself left something to be desired. We all indulged in a 3 course meal and unlimited access to the bread basket, which I must say, outshined the bellydancers at some points. Funny how our most expensive meal in Marrakech was one of the worst, and one of our cheapest was the best. The bottle of wine we split amongst the table made the Tagine I ordered tastier; there was really no helping Cody’s pigeon pie, though. Lest we forget the real reason we picked this restaurant in the first place- its mega curb appeal. I swear to you, this place was an underground Moroccan castle. I’m talking velvet everything, crystal chandeliers, candles, tile masterpieces. Genuinely worth the price tag just to dine in a place like that, if you ask me.

Allie and I called our night early- the next day was a big one- we were going to venture across the Atlas Mountains in a hot air balloon. And, knowing us, you probably guessed that’s another story in itself. Part 2 of my Morocco journal coming soon…

So what is Global Entry anyway? What all does it entail? And who should apply?  Glad you asked. I’m tackling these questions and more in this here blog post, so scroll down for a comprehensive guide.

TSA PRECHECK VS. GLOBAL ENTRY- A BREAKDOWN

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Global What? 

For those of you that are familiar with TSA precheck, Global Entry is like that… but on international steroids. First, let me break down the difference between the two.

TSA Precheck is that super short line next to your monstrous line in airport security that you’ve probably begged the TSA agent to let you into when you’re running dreadfully late to your flight. TSA Precheck gives travelers an expedited security experience, allowing members to skip the long security lines, avoid having to unpack their carry-ons, and forgo the joys of halfway undressing (ha, it’s so true though…) as they pass through security. TSA Precheck can save you tons of time, especially during busy travel times like Thanksgiving, which almost makes the $85 price tag worth it in itself. The downside is that it TSA Precheck only works domestically, which means you can’t go through an expedited security line in, let’s say Istanbul, Turkey. 

Global Entry, on the other hand, includes all the benefits of TSA Precheck and more- and for only $15 extra. Diverting your attention away from the fact that I sound like a washed up 2000’s infomercial host, I can’t adequately convey to you what a phenomenal value I’ve found Global Entry to be. So, breaking down all the benefits you get with your Global Entry membership:

• 5 year membership

• TSA Precheck (expedited security experience)

• Expedited Customs experience upon return home to USA

• Negates the need to fill out customs forms on airplanes

• Allows expedited airport experience in partner country’s airports

• Works on all US borders, across all modes of transportation

• Membership card serves as secondary form of government ID

For a more detailed glimpse into what Global Entry offers it’s members, check out their website. Likewise, here’s the website for TSA Precheck, which is included in Global Entry.

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But is it for me?

Essentially, if you’re a “time is money” kind of person, then Global Entry is right up your alley.

For everyone else, consider the amount of times you brave airport security (both internationally and domestically) and international customs, and figure a “price per use”. I’m about as frugal as can be when it comes to traveling (I talked myself out of Global Entry for 5 years straight until my incredible grandparents insisted on reimbursing me for it *cries*), so I understand the hesitation to fork out the big bucks. 

For me, I figure I travel through US security 12 times per year, give or take, and US Customs and Border Patrol about 3 times. That’s about 15 interactions with TSA and CBP each year, so 75 times in the span of 5 years. Even if that’s a generous estimate, that’s roughly $1.30 for each interaction. 20 times (so 10 roundtrip domestic or international flights in the span of 5 years) would set you back a whopping total of $5.00 per interaction. That’s like the price of an airport water bottle. If you packed an empty reusable water bottle and filled it up instead of buying a water every time you flew, Global Entry would practically pay for itself. 

And that’s just security lines at the beginning of your trip! If you’re returning from an international trip, Global Entry allows you to bypass those ridiculous re-entry customs and border patrol lines before you get to baggage claim. Basically, instead of going through the long and tedious process for regular international travelers, Global Entry members get an expedited experience. You scan your passport into a Global Entry kiosk, give your fingerprint, and then get a receipt to take to the agent.

Fin! That’s it!

The fine print- unlike TSA Precheck, small children must be enrolled in Global Entry to get the same benefits you would get as a member. TSA Precheck, however, (which, remember is included with Global Entry) has different rules that allow children under 18 to accompany Precheck members in the TSA Precheck line, even if they are not enrolled in TSA Precheck. Also, both programs require renewal after 5 years, which means forking out another $85 or $100 bucks, respectively. #worthit

WHAT TO EXPECT- THE APPLICATION PROCESS

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I’m sold. How do I apply?

Easy as pie. Well all of it except the government login portal part, but that part is only slightly maddening. If you’re planning to apply for Global Entry, you can expect to do the following to get started:

• Create a login on Gov. Site

  • make sure you write your login down somewhere- you’ll need it every time you login

  • provide your real live, functioning phone number- they’re going to blow it up every time you try to login with a text… and you’re going to have to copy and paste a new six digit code they send you every. single. time. you try to login. Oh, and it automatically times out your session after like, 10 minutes…. Me? Frustrated?? No…

• Fill out the application, which takes about 30 minutes

  • Provide comprehensive list of countries you’ve visited in the past 5 years

  • Provide criminal background

• pay $100 fee- aka the only fee you pay in the entire process

• wait to be notified about your acceptance!

_

Some things to consider: 

Lucky for me, I have a running list of most of the countries I’ve been to in the last 5 years. Just as I was about to submit my application, I recalled the extensive number of Central American countries I’d visited on cruises, like four and a half years ago. Thankfully, my mom came to the rescue and was able to provide me with the list of countries. You may want to take some time to think back to all the countries you’ve visited and make a comprehensive and complete list. I can’t imagine how much it would suck to be accused of lying on an application because you forgot to list a country.

The $100 fee is non-refundable, which means if you’re not approved, you won’t get it back. From what I understand, the only instances where people are denied membership are those in which the applicant lies on their application or where there’s history or criminal charges. So be warned of this before applying.

ALSO- travel hack of the day- some credit cards (like some AmEx cards) or corporate companies reimburse you for the $100 application fee, which means this entire service is like…you know, free.

-

Once you’re “Conditionally Approved”-

Yay! Your application checked out. A little forward planning (aka scheduling your interview) is all that’s keeping you from your coveted Global Entry membership! Now get to scheduling your interview asap.

• Pick your office for the interview

  • You’re either going to make the drive to your local TSA office, or if you’re lucky, you can schedule an appointment at a TSA office in an airport during a layover.

  • Slots typically open up 1 month out in my experience, and some offices are booked further out than others. For example, I found the Mississippi office to have more availability than the Atlanta office.

  • Check back frequently for cancelations. I wound up booking a cancellation appointment and having my interview a few days upon being conditionally approved.

  • That said, rescheduling is NOT a big deal- don’t be afraid to take the earliest appointment you can get and then cancel and reschedule if ya have to!

• Gather all documents you need for the interview-

  • TSA recommends Passport, ID, and the printed letter of conditional approval (if you’re having trouble opening it, try disabling your pop-up blocker)

  • It doesn’t hurt to print out gas bills, water bills, electric bills, etc- just in case.

  • The full list of things you can bring (and the combination of what to bring) is here.

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During your in-person interview

I was super nervous for my interview, but it wound up being incredibly chill. In fact, I’d go as far as to say it was the least intimidating experience I’ve had with a TSA officer.

• Pre-Interview preparation

  • If you have a flight scheduled in the future, be prepared to answer questions about that flight. I had my appointment a few days before a scheduled trip to Ireland, and my TSA agent knew exactly where I was going, down to the times I was going to be landing back in the states.

  • Wear whatever you’re comfortable in, but nothing slobby or too casual. Keep in mind you will have your picture taken for your membership card.

• Arrive on time

  • Expect to buzz in and check in with a receptionist once you arrive. He or she will review all your documents to make sure you have everything for the interview.

  • Be punctual! You are assigned a specific time slot for a reason.

  • For commuters: since I was driving from Birmingham, I arrived to the ATL TSA office early because I wanted to give myself wiggle room for traffic. I called the office and was told I could wait inside, though that I’d be seen in the order of appointments.

• The actual interview

  • In terms of documents, my particular agent only asked to see my passport, though he had a copy of my application with him. It varies for everyone, so your experience will likely be different than mine- come prepared with all docs.

  • Smile for your picture! My TSA agent took my picture while I was in mid laugh… that’s how informal this whole process was!!

  • I was asked application-related questions and the purposes of my travels (leisure for me!), though my agent seemed far more curious about asking how I funded my travels and if I made my parents nervous by traveling to certain countries than verifying the countries I had been to in the past. (psst… more on that here)

• I was told that I had been approved on the spot!

  • My TSA agent gave me my Known Traveler Number (also abbreviated as KTN, aka the unique number associated with your Global Entry account that identifies you), explained how to use global entry for my upcoming flight, and asked if I had any questions.

  • I had my fingerprints taken, and then I was done! So easy.

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And some other points worth noting about the Global Entry perks and process…

• The membership card!!? Yes, you get a card- BUT you do NOT use it for air travel.. that’s what your fingerprints are for. Your card is mailed to you within a few weeks of your interview. The card is only used during border-crossings via car.

• How soon can you use it? Once you’re officially approved, you can use Global Entry instantly for air travel (so you just need the approval email before you go through security. Mine came 20 mins after my interview)

• Renewals You must renew Global Entry every five years. Mine expires on my birthday, which I’m not sure if that’s coincidental or by design. Either way, you go through the same process every 5 years, including the payment of the $100

• Opting Out? You can opt to not use your TSA Precheck benefits when traveling with a friend or family member who does not have Precheck. Kids 12 and under can go through Precheck (domestic security lines) with you for free, but unless they are infants, they will not be allowed through Global Entry lines (when you return from international trips). Similarly, you can opt out of the expedited customs global entry kiosks when you return to the USA. The agents might ask, but they will be completely understanding according to my TSA agent.

• Reaping TSA benefits- must include your KTN (known traveler number) when making airlines reservations so it appears on your ticket, otherwise you will not reap the benefits of Global Entry or TSA Precheck when traveling.

• Blue Customs Form- That blue customs form they give you on the plane? No need to fill that sucker out with your Global Entry membership! #bless

• Secondary form of ID- Global Entry cards are a great secondary form of ID

• Better Seats?? And, perhaps by sheer coincidence, I’ve been getting better seating assignments and earlier boarding groups since enrolling in Global Entry. Again, it could be a fluke… but on the off chance that it’s not, it’s one more added benefit.

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If you’re giving my Global Entry argument an A+ (or, ok, if you want to do some research of your own), head over to the TSA’s Global Entry website. I seriously cannot recommend this service enough- it has transformed the way I travel domestically and internationally and saved my BUTT on a few flights.

If I didn’t cover your specific question about Global Entry, or if you have a question in general, let me know in the comment section below. I will do my very best in responding.

Hope everyone has a very happy holidays! I’ve got some trips lined up here in the next few weeks, so travel posts to come. Cheers guys!

Week by week, I'm learning to navigate this new world of adulthood. As I stumble along the way, I become increasingly self aware of the new opportunities for growth that lie ahead of me. While I work to pave my future, I find myself more and more grateful for the experiences that have threaded the tapestry of my past. In college, I traveled independently; I became a fervent collector of cultures and experiences. 

My identity today- this weird brand of obsessive traveler-  came entirely at the expense of one decision in my past: college. And by expense, I'm talking lack thereof. This is my plea to every high school junior or senior caught in the crossfire between the school of your dreams and money. If you have the luxury of deciding between scholarship offers, pick the one that will graduate you with the least debt. Student loans are the mortal enemy of unobstructed access to the world. And, at the end of the day, travel will teach you more than any top tier university could.

If nothing else, this post is a letter to myself four years ago. This is everything I wish someone had told me when I was a high school senior facing what I realize now to be the most decisive, gravitational decision of my life. Take this for what it is: advice. Only you can make the best decision for yourself. 

-

For my four years of college, I had the world at my fingertips. The money I made from working part time jobs went directly into my savings account, not student loan payments. I mused over unfamiliar cities freely from the other side of my computer screen and in-person, too. With time, I learned to hack the otherwise ostentatiously expensive travel industry to fit my frugal, college-kid budget. My scholarship-based college decision graduated me with a degree I'm passionate about, zero student debt, a generously padded savings account, and more passport stamps than I can count.

Rewind to the four years before that. I was in high school. I was numb to any future that laid beyond whatever "top tier school" I had my sights set on that week. My sense of self in high school was rooted in my GPA, how many AP classes I took, and how many bullet points I could squeeze onto my two page resume. Unequivocally, I was the poster child for the "well rounded" student that the college admission counselors carried on and on about. 

Yet, as I quickly learned, the absolute very best you can be has its limitations. I got in to all but one of my top tier schools with varying levels of scholarship. To my dismay, the school that best positioned me financially was the same in-state university that I had sworn off very publicly. No amount of scholarship seemed to justify setting aside my lofty college ambitions. Perhaps it was pride, perhaps it was a genuine belief that college diplomas are created inherently unequal, but I couldn't stand the thought of "settling". 

This mental parasite of "top tier" infected my rationality. I saw no issue in blowing through my college savings and taking out student loans in some cases. By some miracle (read: continual crusades from my money savvy parents), I begrudgingly made the "financially mature" decision. I forewent enrolling in the top-tier schools of my dreams for the state school that would graduate me without student debt. I was devastated, disoriented, and on the brink of an identity crisis. Dramatic, right?

The funny thing about human nature is our tendency to fill our raw voids with emotion. My first semester of college was spent wallowing in self-pity, anger, and resent. I made myself miserable every chance I got. Surely, I convinced myself, I would be so much happier if I just transferred schools! Many transfer applications, acceptances, and one housing deposit later, someone imparted upon me the simplest token of wisdom: the grass is greener where you water it. Suddenly there was ceasefire in my brain. I decided not to transfer. Instead, I became fascinated with the world.  In the midst of losing myself, I found the shell of the person I am today.

This worldly fascination is really where my story starts. Inevitably, I quickly fell in love with every corner of the world. The more I traveled, the more I realized just how little I knew. Unfamiliar cultures and foreign cities became my addiction. I learned to prioritize the depth of my experiences rather than the distance covered. As I nourished my sense of adventure, I grew to value the financial guidance of my parents more than anything. 

Following the very scholarship I resisted has, quite literally, taken me across the world. That's the painful irony of it all.

If you hear nothing else, hear this. Save your money. When you spend it, spend it sparingly. Prioritize travel responsibly. Remember, memories multiply with plane tickets, not college tuition.

-

Three of my best friends from college- what a weird sentence, now that we're not in school together- put together a low budget, one week trip out west. Rachel, Jenny and I flew into LA where we met up with Emma. Emma played hostess for the week, touring us around her home state. We managed to cover Los Angeles, San Fransisco, Yosemite, and Sequoia National Park in 6 days. I can't explain to you how many hours we spent in a car, but man, was it worth it. 

Scroll down below to see a few of the highlights from our whirlwind California tour and a few recommendations for maximizing a short stay in each destination.

Los Angeles

To eat:

Paradise Bowls-  the king of all acai + pitaya bowls... which is a fancy way of saying a smoothie that is served in a bowl with a spoon and delicious, fresh toppings.

Petros- For delicious Greek food in Manhattan Beach, I highly recommend.

Lemonade- A California cafeteria-style chain with the most amazing food. Bonus points for being pretty affordable.

East Coast Bagel- Super cheap, super filling breakfast stop. Amazing bagel selection, plus they have options beyond bagels.

Cafe Vida- If you're in Culver City for brunch, this line is worth the wait. They're known for their healthy latin food, but I'd argue they're more famous for their incredibly tasty dishes.

To do:

Manhattan Beach- beaches, piers, shopping, food... just yes.

Palos Verdes- don't miss the overlooks and the steep hikes down to the beaches

Century City- shopping, hello!

Brewport Tap House- If you're into beer, wine, or margaritas- and want to make your own "sampler" flight of one (or each)- you're in for a treat. You get a wristband that activates the beer, wine, and margarita taps where you can sample or pour glasses to your liking. The tap measures how many ounces of beer you pour, and at the end of the night, the bartender scans your wristband and prints out your tab. So cool!

San Fransisco

Getting there + where to stay:

We parked about an hour outside of SF and caught a CalTrain into the city. Since we were planning to stay in the city less than 24 hours, we paid a daily rate of $6 to park. That way, we wouldn't have to pay to exorbitant parking rates in San Francisco or brave the crazy confusing streets. We parked at the Redwood City stop and paid $6 for a one way ticket that spit us out in downtown SF. It was $6 back to our car the next day too! Check out the CalTrain website here.

HI San Fransisco City Center Hostel- Not my favorite hostel, but not the worst either. It was Rachel's first time staying in a hostel, and she loved it. Their breakfast was free and yummy, and our rooms were super nice. Plus, the price was hard to beat for a San Fransisco accommodation.

To do + to eat:

Palace of Fine Arts Theatre- Ornate, opulent, and seemingly plucked from ancient Europe, this is a great outdoor venue to roam around for free. If you packed a camera, you'll definitely want to use it.

The Marina- Bop around and see the big and small boats, walk along the beachside trail, detour to the actual beach, see Alcatraz in the distance. It's an easy walk to the Palace of Fine Arts, too!

Pacific Catch-  Casual restaurant with great pacific-inspired dishes. I can't vouch for the seafood, but apparently the fish was great. The drink menu was also lovely.

Yosemite National Park

To stay:

We decided to stay in an AirBnB in a precious town called Mariposa. I can't recommend this AirBnB enough- everything was perfect. The bathrooms, the kitchen, the beds- all renovated and super comfortable. For a small town, Mariposa has quite a bit to pick from in terms of food and shopping. The drive to Yosemite was about an hour each way, which, if you're not staying in the parks, is actually pretty average.

Note- if camping is your scene, I was told the tent camping sites inside of Yosemite are a mere $6 a night. Hold me while I scream!

To eat:

The Mariposa Pizza Factory- We ordered two pizzas after our first afternoon of hiking and fueled up on the leftover pizza the next morning

Packed breakfast/lunches! We made a stop at Trader Joes before we left LA and stocked up on lots of portable food. We bought apples, bread and peanut butter, granola bars, granola, popcorn, and pretzels so we could eat our meals on the go and very cheaply.

To see + to hike:

First thing: entering the park + parking. The park entrance fees as of June 2018 are $35. Upon paying, you will be handed a ticket in the form of a receipt that is valid for 7 days. Tape that sucker to your windshield so you don't lose it and the park rangers can clearly see your ticket as you enter and exit.

As for parking- park at the visitor center and take advantage of the free transportation that will carry you around the park. The buses begin to run at 7 am- the earlier you get there, the less crowded they will be! Note that there is no bus route to Glacier Point- you have to get there yourself!

Glacier Point- If you're up for setting an alarm and getting to the park around 6 or 7, head straight to Glacier Point for immaculate views of Yosemite Valley. You can either hike (4 miles, all uphill) or drive an hour or so up. For hikers and drivers alike, it's important to get an early start and head up the mountain first thing to avoid trail and road congestion. Plus, the earlier you arrive, the clearer your views. Fog and clouds like to set in towards noon, and traffic starts to form around 9 am. Seriously, fake being a morning person for this- you won't regret it.

Tunnel View- The classic Yosemite postcard pic, and another place you've got to drive to in order to see. Definitely one of my favorite views of Yosemite. Again, you won't have to fight for the limited parking spaces if you get there early!

Vernal Falls Footbridge- A relatively easy, scenic 2 mile hike to a beautiful waterfall. The views of Yosemite on the hike up (and down) are amazing, too. This is one of Yosemite's most popular hikes, so the earlier you get to the trail, the less crowded it will be. 

Cooks Meadow Loop- I'd hardly call this a hike, but the views from here are amazing. You're in an open meadow with amazing views of Half Dome, El Capitan, and Yosemite Falls. You can access the trail easily from Yosemite Village.

Lower Yosemite Falls- Another super easy "hike", but with a great view at the end. Get up close to the bottom of Yosemite Falls and snap some amazing pictures. The trail leading to and from the falls is beautifully adorned with trees of all types. Again, accessing this trail from Yosemite Village is super easy.

If you park at the visitor's center, make sure to check out Yosemite Village. There's a cafe with (overpriced) food and drinks, a store, and a counter service restaurant. While there's bathrooms at most trailheads, the ones here are the nicest. There's many other buildings in the village, so make sure to check them all out as you walk through!

Sequoia National Park:

Getting to the park:

While there is bus service throughout Sequoia, I would highly recommend driving through the park. That's a treat in itself because you can see so many trees at your own pace. Also- avoid traffic by arriving to the park early. Seriously, when we left the park around noon, we whizzed past a mile or two of standstill, bumper to bumper traffic.

The entrance fee to Sequoia National Park as of June 2018 is $35. Again, this is for a car load of people!

To stay:

Edge Water Inn: We booked a room here and loved it. Breakfast was included, the staff was amazing, and it was a 30-45 minute drive to Sequoia (which, of all of our options, was one of the closest, ironically). Not to mention, we got an amazing rate on our room!

To do + hike:

General Sherman- aka the highest volume living tree. That is, the tree that is the largest in terms of length x width x height. It's absolutely huge. Mind blowing, truly. You can't touch the tree or get super close to it, though. The NPS is trying to protect the tree by keeping visitors at a distance.

Sherman Tree Trail- hike this easy trail to get up close views of General Sherman. It's .8 miles and all paved. I did feel like the air was thinner because we were at a higher altitude, so be cautious if you get winded easily.

Honestly, we were planning on staying and hiking more... but (and it kills me to say this) we felt like once you hiked one trail and saw the biggest tree in the park, the rest was underwhelming. I hate myself for admitting that, but hey... honesty is the best policy.

. . . 

And if you made it down this far- here's a sneak peak into something I'll be announcing later this week. I'm going to leave this as ambiguous as possible.. but you could give it a solid guess and be spot on, no doubt ;) 

What a month April was. I told myself I would post travel guides on Ireland and Malta- and to be fair, I wrote a little of both. But good god, what a whirlwind life has been recently. These torpedo fast past few weeks finally seem to be slowing down, so I figured I would share a few exciting updates on my life. As for those travel guides- you can expect those to come with time this summer. Ha. 

Scroll down for all the details!

One.

I graduated college. That’s a big one. I packed up and left the city I’ve called home for four years. Tuscaloosa is an awesome city, but at the three and a half year mark, you do start to get a little stir crazy. I said my very temporary goodbyes to my best friends. I sort of didn’t expect everything to be as bittersweet as it was. I’ll tell you this- when you realize graduation is nothing more than a ticking time bomb, you become very intentional in making the most out of every moment.

Two.

Three days after graduation, I got on a plane to New York. A few months ago, my team and I found out we were finalists for an international ad competition. If you’ve kept up with my blog, you might remember something similar happening last year- it’s the same one! While we didn’t win big like we did in 2017, we did get a merit award, which is still a semi-big deal. For anyone curious, I'll link our submission right over here. Anyways, back to my New York trip- I did some exploring and reunited with some incredible friends. I did some neighborhood roaming, particularly in Brooklyn...

Three.

Because surprise! I accepted an internship at Huge in Brooklyn. Guys, this is my dream gig. I'll be working as an art director for some of the coolest clients (Google, Hulu, Gucci- just to name drop a few).  I’ll be honest- New York was not where I expected to end up. Visiting NYC is one thing, but I wasn’t so sure I could live there. Visiting New York this past week has quelled most of my anxiety, but there's still that little part of me that's as scared as ever. But- like I always say when I travel- a little discomfort makes for the best adventures. 

I’m nervous in a lot of ways, but I’m also so excited by the possibilities that this city holds. While there won’t be much (ok, any) crazy traveling to do this summer, I can’t tell you how stoked I am to be moving to a city with such a great international airport. Oh, and the photo ops? Immaculate. Check out a few of my favorite snaps from this past week at the bottom of this post.

Four.

And lastly! My last lil hoorah before starting work- I’m going out west on a very mini road trip with some of my best friends. I don’t want to spoil the trip details, but I do promise to post pictures and trip details on this here blog as soon as I have them.

Now that I'm sitting down to write this, I'm retrospectively amazed at myself for fitting all that we did into one day. To put our last day in Malta into context: we had to be at the airport at 6pm, so we packed the night before and woke up early to check out. Obviously we wanted to maximize our time as much as possible. 

As per the advice of the hostel's wonderful reception staff, Madison and I walked a block or two to a locals-only coffee shop called Café Berry. Regulars waited outside, the baristas welcoming them by name and asking if they'd have their "usual". Despite being a literal hole in the wall, it was decorated beautifully and the food and drinks were crafted to absolute perfection. I ordered a pistachio latte (I mean, what the!!?? Who's ever heard of that!!?? It was mind blowing good, by the way) and cursed myself as we walked away for not discovering this place earlier on. 

After much indecision the day before, Madison and I decided to do the northern island tour with the same hop-on hop-off bus company we used to see Mdina and Rabat. On our walk to the other side of Sliema, we passed a pastizzi place that our hostel staff had also recommended. As per my Malta food bucket list (yes, I have country-specific food bucket lists), I had to stop and order a pastizzi. Pastizzis are little triangle-like savory pastries. The flaky crust is similar to that of a pot pie, and the filling can either be ricotta cheese or mushed peas. I fought the urge to order two and opted for the mushed peas option while Madison went for the ricotta. We stuffed them in our packs and rushed onward to the bus station to buy our tickets.

As I mentioned in my earlier post, the tour bus was the ideal way to see all of the island at an affordable price. I played my "return customer" cards right and scored Madison and I a little discount on our tickets. Unfortunately, because the northern route covers more area than the southern one, the number of buses are fewer.... and the first bus departs earlier, so we missed it by a few minutes.

Our accidental timing blunder probably cost Madison and I the ability to squeeze one extra city into our itinerary, but our day was so perfect as it panned out that I have no complaints. That Friday shaped up to be a hot and bright one, so Madison and I instinctively retreated to the shade of a nearby open-air cafe while we waited for the next bus. We ordered smoothies and broke into our pastizzis. They were gone in seconds- Madison and I collectively agreed that those pastizzis were some of the best food we tasted in all of Malta, which is saying a TON because everything was so damn good.

Atop the tour bus, I found myself fighting rogue tree branches instead of the cold. For whatever reason, I was in the single seat that I mean just got mangled by mother nature. The whole bus was laughing at my continual misfortune- meanwhile, I was curling into Madison, praying the trees would spare me another stop. Still, the views from the top proved unbeatable.

Around 11, we rolled up to Marsaxlokk, which was our first city of the day. Snaked along the ocean's edge, Marsaxlokk is a picturesque little fishing village, brimming with life and bright colors. The town comes to life on Saturday mornings for the fish market, and while we were a day early to experience the market commotion, I was wholly captivated. Brightly colored boats of all shapes and sizes rocked on the water and fisherman worked diligently on the shoreline repairing and repainting their tiny vessels. Spiritually, I must have died and gone to travel heaven at least 20 times. 

From what I gather, Marsaxlokk was once the hub for tourists. As the decades have passed, Marsaxlokk has been overlooked, with modern tourists flocking to St. Julians or Sliema instead. I have to say- Marsaxlokk exceeded my every expectation. 

Our first order of business was scouting out a place to eat lunch. We afforded ourselves one splurge meal during our vacation, and figured Marsaxlokk would be the end all be all to our fancy dinning search. We sought out the advice of a woman manning the tourist information booth, and her recommendation did not disappoint. Just barely 11 am, Madison and I were the first customers at La Capana, which turned out to be best case scenario, as the placed filled up almost immediately. 

Our table outside offered the perfect waterside views and just enough sunlight to bless me with a #sick sunburn. Our dining experience was one for the books- Madison indulged in a bottle of local Maltese wine, and I treated myself to lots of beer. We had fresh bread, olives and bruschetta brought to our table. Our waiter came around with a iced plate of fish for Madison to make a selection from, all of them freshly caught that morning. Of all the times I've ever sort of felt sad to be a vegetarian, this was one of them. I drowned my sorrows in a plate of freshly made pasta, and was so blown away with how delicious it was that I looked for something else to be sad about so I could order seconds. Alas, Marsaxlokk proved to be too perfect.

Time is but a construct in Marsaxlokk, as our meal took almost two hours. That meal went down in travel history- it was easily one of the best meals I've had abroad, and maybe even at home, too. We had a few moments before our bus came to explore the small market and take pictures. While we were waiting for our bus, Madison finished her bottle of wine on the go like the classy women we are and  I picked up a figoli (another thing on my Malta food bucket list) and stuffed it in my pack for later. Figolis are famous Maltese almond pastries made around Easter time- and boy, they're famous for a reason.

Back aboard the bus, we worked on our sunburns some more and sadly, had forgo our plans to see The Golden Coast- a luxurious beach- in fear of not having enough time.

Our last stop was the Blue Grotto. It's not much of a town as it is phenomenal ocean outlet. The Blue Grotto's claim to fame is its ocean cave that boats can enter through an archway. Unfortunately, the waves were too rocky for boats to access the Grotto, so Madison and I didn't get to experience that. We did, however, score immaculate views from a nearby cliffside.

We walked down to the overlook, took some pics, and then scaled the side (very safely ;) ) to get an even better vantage point. Here, we found some A+ lounging rocks, and so we deepened our already pink sunburns to the sounds of my favorite Spotify playlist, which I'll link below. Had the water been less rough, we definitely would have hired a boat to go to the inside of the grotto. Oh well- always next time, right?

By the time our ride arrived, the sun had drained our energy and we were basically just lifeless bodies boarding the bus. The trip back to Sliema was bittersweet- no part of me was ready to leave Malta, but I was so thankful we had the opportunity to explore the country in as much depth as we did. We saw so much, yet there's still so much more I want to see. Malta, I'll be returning soon...

Here's a funny bonus story-

So we went to Brussels, Belgium for a day after we left Malta. It was legitimately so cold, I couldn't even take my hands out of my pockets to take pictures. I think I tried for like, all of two minutes, and then decided it was time to call it quits after I lost all mechanical function in my fingers. The cold made my eyes water, and I kid you not, I think my tears froze. Anyway- I hope you enjoy all 2.5 pictures I took in Brussels.

I won't be publishing a Brussels guide or a journal, because well, one, I have no pictures, and two, because I felt that there really wasn't that much to do in Brussels. Granted, yes, we did take shelter indoors in some of the most random and eclectic places for most of the day, but I don't feel like any of it was that notable. I guess the takeaway here is visit Brussels, eat waffles and buy lots of chocolate- but don't budget more than a day or so. 

If you missed it, my Malta gallery has been posted. Also- those budget-friendly mini guides to Ireland and Malta are coming soon... be on the look out! In the meantime, blast this playlist and relive all my Malta memories with me!