When I was living in Australia, I once took a drive with a friend down the Grand Pacific Drive. Our destination was the journey itself and an oceanside pub, a wide stretch of grass wedged between the winding road and the Pacific.

As we sat with our beers at a picnic table in the sunshine, conversation ceased as we watched the lull of the waves against the rocks. It was a comfortable sort of silence, one of those peaces that you can’t take for granted with just anyone.

“Someone once told me that being out here like this, it’s emptying your wastebasket,” he told me. “You have to take the time to clear out all the stuff that builds up in your everyday life.”

Living in a fourth-floor walkup, it’s easy to let the trash build up: it’s the most-procrastinated chore in our apartment simply because it’s cumbersome and heavy and, really, more effort than it should be. Life in New York City is like that: it’s easy to let it all add up: the comparisons, the anxiety, the stress, the never-ending list of things to do and people to see and errands to run.

There’s a lot that I love about life in a big city: the ease of public transportation, the quality of the restaurants, the diversity of people in age and origin and dreams. Every morning, I look around at the faces in my subway car and am simply overwhelmed by the sheer volume of human experience I’m surrounded by: the heartbreaks, the successes, the good days and the bad.

But it’s those times that I get out of the city that I realize what we miss when all of those souls are pressed up against each other in the hot, heavy rush of the train: it’s the fresh air, the pure water, the sound of nothing but the wind. It’s when you see that the most beautiful places are always the result of nature’s long-winded but seemingly-effortless work, that not even the most spectacular building can compete with the vivid red cliffs of the desert or the stunning crush of a waterfall.

I grew up with a lot of open space, in a house that bordered a wildlife preserve and was only a few blocks from a park, a few miles from farmland. The cookie cutter homes of the suburbs are noted for overtly creating that distance between neighbors: the garages, the fences, the backyards. Most of the time, I revel in the novelty of the close proximity and fast pace of city life and the juxtaposition of relaxing in park surrounded by skyscrapers.

But without the bitter, the sweet ain’t as sweet. And the longer you go without an escape, without a chance to empty your wastebasket: the more overwhelming life can become.

I turn 25 on Sunday. I’ve been struggling to come up with some pithy, witty way to celebrate here: 25 things I’ve learned in this quarter-century, 25 incredible things I’m going to do this year, 25 favorite moments of the past year.

But when it comes down to it, 25 is just a new year after 24–and I’m so excited for it.

24 will always was be the year that Mimi‘s cancer came back with a vengeance. It was the year of driving her to infusions, and then letting her sleep instead of kissing her good-bye the night before I drove across the country. It was the months of waiting for the call, lighting candles in cathedrals in France and wondering if I should buy a souvenir from Croatia and crossing my fingers I’d be able to tell her about Mrs. Wilkes Dining Room in Savannah.

I had just returned from a perfect beach day at Taboga Island when I saw the voicemail, had just taken a shower and rinsed off the sand and the salt water. In the shower, I had thought about how unfair it was that some people died so young when other people lived far longer than they wanted, when their body (that has already failed them in so many ways) just won’t give up. I had decided long ago that when the call came, I wouldn’t go home: but regret and guilt will always tinge those quiet moments at sunrise in the San Blas Islands.

Cancer is one of those things that… It changes people. The pain eats away at the person, at their family. You watch the struggle, wishing you could do something and realizing that you can’t. Sometimes, even the small comforts you offer won’t be enough to overshadow the agony. You realize what a blessing it is to have a body that works, one that lets you sleep through the night and wake up without pain and enjoy a glass of orange juice and a bowl of cereal.

24 was the year when I learned to be grateful. To realize how lucky I was to have 23 good years with a woman who taught me how to bake, ride a bike, be a lady and to appreciate the things she left behind: the most stunning sequined jacket, crocheted baby blankets carefully folded with a note for “someday,” her engagement photo that wears a vintage filter that Instagram will never be able to replicate. I laughed when I recently tried to make cornbread in an unfamiliar kitchen without measuring cups: of course it would fail. The first thing Mimi taught me in baking was to measure precisely and read the entire recipe before you begin.

So, 25. I want to bake more. I don’t want to forget the nuances of the complicated, from-scratch recipes for pizzelles and almond cookies and nut quiches–or the near-meditation that comes in the repetition, the dexterity, the precision. Mimi would bring her homemade specialities to the bank tellers and the call center workers, making friends for life because it truly showed she cared. I want to always have chocolate chippers on hand for neighbors, and always tell them to take two–one for each hand. I want to celebrate birthdays with icebox cake or cheese pie.

I took after my grandfather. Although he passed away of a heart attack when I was 11, plenty have remarked that my mom and I are just like Poppy: we’re straightforward, we’re hard-working, we get what we want.

But this year, I want to be more like Mimi. I want to be kinder, whether that’s with a plate of homemade cookies or being extra nice to the grocery check-out girl. I want to appreciate the beauty of nature, even if it’s just the flowers on my nightstand and the birds outside my window. I want to be frugal so that I can really enjoy the splurges, really make them count. I want to keep writing letters, but maybe work on making my handwriting not only more legible but also pretty.

The only thing I regret is that I was never able to tell her–a woman born and bred in the frigid winters of Pennsylvania, a woman who escaped to Florida beaches in retirement, who hesitantly moved to California as a widow–that I, a true California girl at heart, survived my first East Coast winter. That, I think she would have been proud of.

Note: I’m flying to Iceland tonight for a week. Instead of stressing out about scheduled posts and scheduled tweets (I have enough of that to do over at ONA!), I’m taking the week off to take photos, soak in the Blue Lagoon, snorkel under the midnight sun, catch up with my best and RELAX. Thank you for understanding! 

p.s. Mimi was my grandmother who taught me plenty about traveling.

Wadi Rum translates to Valley of the Moon: the largest desert in Jordan is also where the stars shine brightest. As T.E. Lawrence said: “Our little caravan fell quiet, afraid and ashamed to flaunt its smallness in the presence of the stupendous hills.”

We first explored Wadi Rum in the back of a 4×4, and then, on the back of a camel. The native Beduoins navigated effortlessly through the seemingly endless dunes of sand and nearly-identical rock formations as we sat stunned by the beauty, trading between iPhones and DSLRs and our our two eyes.

We camped (practically glamped!) at Captain’s Desert Camp, where we were treated to traditional Beduoin songs, dance and pita bread cooked on the fire and lamp cooked in the ground. Falling asleep under the stars–more stars than I’ve seen anywhere except along the beach in rural South Australia–was one of those experiences that, even as it’s happening, you know you’ll never be able to recreate.

What’s your favorite photo of Wadi Rum?

Note: I was a guest of the Jordan Tourism Board, but all opinions are my own.

If you want to see more of Jordan: check out the best of Jordan, via Instagram.

“Are rich people ever going to grow up to be writers or are all writers like Mr. Rocque with no money? My father is always saying STARVINGARTIST or STARVINGWRITER. Maybe I better reduce.” -Harriet the Spy

Lately, I’ve been pulled in two directions: one is of love and creativity and happiness, and the other is ambition, negotiation, money.

I found myself nodding along as I read this Elle piece on whether creative ambition is enough to get financial security: “It’s not just time for family. Women want meaning and purpose in their work. They value great colleagues. They also like to give back to society in terms of the work they do, some healing of the planet, and they want flexibility, which is not the same as family stuff—it’s so that they can have a life. Women have much more complex goals, but they also do want money and power. They recognize you’re likely to have much more control over your life if you have those.”

As I traveled from France to Australia to the USA and back again, my priorities changed. On the beaches of Southeast Asia and in the cobblestone alleys of Europe, I became more laid-back, more carefree: I worried less about success and building a career as I spent my mornings rock-climbing/lying on the beach/learning how to cook and spent my afternoons writing. I bought into the “hippie bullshit” of following your dreams, defining yourself by your experiences instead of possessions, not being trapped by cubicles and a 9 to 5 schedule.

But now, I’m living in New York City. Even if I’d rather spend my money on experiences, I still have to spend most of my income on rent, food, public transportation. I work from 9 to 5, Monday through Friday. I’m cramming my travel into those infamous 36 hours from Friday night to Monday morning, even if those little New York City joys sometimes surface as we pour a drop of barolo during a midweek patio happy hour or a break spent reading on the steps of the New York Public Library.

I just finished reading “Lean In” by Sheryl Sandberg. When I graduated from university, I finished magna cum laude and was named the top student in the journalism department. I focused in women’s studies, taking classes in how women were portrayed in the media and writing papers on how women were expected to balance work and family. My goal was to become a VP in a PR agency, buy a house and get married before I was 30, to shatter glass ceilings and invest wisely and “have it all.”

Reading the book reminded me of those ambitions and those gender-specific assessments. I was criticized in internships and activities for never being nice enough, for being more results-focused than people-focused. My mother and I are remarkably similar in how we interact in business environments: it’s a style that is more masculine and assertive than gentle and kind. In Australia, my bosses joked that I had ice in my veins and a place of coal where my heart should be–mostly because of my curt, brusque style when answering the phones.

I wonder sometimes if those two worlds collided: those people whom I worked with and the friends whom I traveled with. Would they describe the same girl? Would any of the adjectives match up? I’m not sure. As authentic as I want to be with others, as honest as I need to be with myself: as much as I’ve evolved and grown up and adapted to fit the situation, I’m not sure if the beach bum I was would recognized the city girl I’ve become.

I can say this: my travels have made me more creative, more flexible, more willing to look at a problem from all sides. They’ve taught me that while a new dress or a delicious meal might not give me the same enduring happiness as a plane ticket, I can still enjoy it quite thoroughly. Just as you don’t get points for going to the most countries, you don’t get points for working the most hours. And being able to wake up in the morning without an alarm, but to the sun streaming through the window and an entire day of possibility ahead: that’s my favorite feeling, no matter where I am in the world.

Every once in a while, you get the fortune of staying in a place that is the perfect combination of natural beauty and man-made luxury. While in Jordan, we were lucky enough to stay in Evason Ma’In Hot Springs for not just one but two nights. And holy moly, was it incredible!

The only injustice was that we only got to spend the sunsets and sunrises at the resort: no morning spa treatments, no lazy afternoons by the pool, no entires spent hopping between hot springs and waterfalls. But we were able to squeeze in a group trip to the public hot springs under the stars, and I snuck back up for a solo session behind the waterfall to watch the sunshine splash over the hills. The rooms were beyond beautiful (and had two balconies!), the staff were incredibly friendly and helpful, the food was delicious: it’s everything that you would expect from a five-star resort plopped down in the middle of Jordan’s most beautiful scenery.

Honestly, the resort itself is incredible–but it’s expensive. Even if you can’t swing the cost of a room–it runs about $250-$300 a night–it’s worth it to visit the region. You can visit the public hot springs for about $15 a day, and I actually enjoyed the public waterfall area more than the private springs. Pack a picnic and make a day of it–it’s a beautiful road trip out of Amman on the way to the Dead Sea.

Soaking in the warm springs was the perfect way to relax after a nine-mile hike and a morning camel ride.

First order upon waking up: spending sunrise by myself at the public hot springs…

…and then writing postcards and drinking kiwi juice.

Sunrise over the Dead Sea, as seen from my room’s balcony.

What’s your favorite photo of Ma’In Hot Springs? 

Note: I was a guest of the Jordan Tourism Board, but all opinions are my own. I fully admit that I likely would not have been able to afford this resort for much more than two nights out of my own budget–but I do think that it would have been completely worth the splurge.

OK, so I’m about to damage the little fashion credibility I may have held and make a confession: I am fully obsessed with Vibram Five Fingers. Yup, those weird toe shoes/foot socks/barefoot running shoes that people awkwardly point out whenever they see them.

I thought they were super weird when I first saw them, too. But then I read Born to Run in 2011–on a whim, it was actually on my dad’s bookshelf when I was home and searching for a new read–and was instantly intrigued by the book’s argument that barefoot running can help improve foot strength and minimize injuries. I’ve had three knee surgeries (ACL, MCL and meniscus tears and ruptures as a result of a few bad turns while playing soccer and lacrosse); after my last surgery at 19, I quit contact sports, but still had problems with shin splints and knee pain while running. Author and Men’s Health editor Christopher McDougall draws on the history of an ancient tribe of runners to explain why modern running–with its sneakers and its arch support and its concrete–is making running harder on our bodies than ever.

If you’re at all interested in running, I highly recommend the book: he weaves the history of running and the modern-day phenomenon of ultra-marathons into a very compelling narrative.

Two points in particular stood out to me. The first is that modern-day sneakers–with their padding, arch support, gel insoles–are essentially like casts on our feet. If you’ve ever broken a bone, you know that the muscle atrophies and becomes much weaker while it’s in a cast. Western societies promote wearing shoes from a very young age, whereas Asian cultures that have a lot more barefoot time–inside the house, for example–have a much lower rate of foot, knee and hip injuries. Essentially, we’re keeping our feet in casts our whole lives and not letting those muscles develop. The other is that an arch is a structure that doesn’t need support. Just as you would never think of sticking a column up in the middle of a dome–a perfect example of modern architecture–your arches can support themselves. Even for someone like me with fallen arches–flat feet are common on one side of my family–they still don’t need to be pushed up.

So I decided to try out Vibram Five Fingers–and I was instantly sold. I run more, hike more, walk more and I don’t have any more shin or knee pain. I’ve traveled around the world with them, and I’ve been struck by how great they are for traveling.

They’re perfect for any active situation.

I wear them when I weight-train or take kickboxing classes at the gym, when I go for runs along the beach, when I take long walks. They’re particularly brilliant for hiking or trail running: because I can feel the ground beneath my feet, I’m much more agile and able to move efficiently on rocks or pebbles.

They make you stronger.

It takes some time to get used to Vibrams–I don’t recommend taking them out on an all-day hike the first time you wear them!–but you definitely work your muscles in new and unexpected ways. Your feet get stronger, your calves get stronger, your thighs get stronger. It’s super hard to go back to overly padded sneakers after you get used to your feet working so much!

They’re easy to pack–and you don’t need to pack socks.

Because Vibrams are much lighter and flatter than regular sneakers or hiking boots, they’re a cinch to pack. And because you don’t need to wear socks–well, that’s one fewer thing to fit in your bag!

The only downsides…

They start to smell (easy to clean by soaking overnight in a sink with denture cleaners) and people will point at your feet and snicker. But in my opinion, it’s definitely worth the trade!

Note: Vibram Five Fingers did not compensate me or request that I write this post. I just really like their product and wanted to share why I think they’re a great travel shoe. 

I’m not one for taking photos of people. I prefer to blend into the crowds and the coffee shops, wait for that magic moment when everyone shifts for a split second and I can capture an unspoiled landscape or the blur of urban energy. I’d rather watch the barista, the market vendor, the security guard–their mannerisms, their conversations, their smiles–than actually interact with them.

I can usually get away with that, with observing and reading my book and hiding behind my viewfinder instead of interacting. But one of the first things I noticed in Jordan was that the friendliness was overwhelming and the hospitality impossible to ignore. Here are a few of my favorite characters from around the country:

The security guard

When we were leaving the Blue Mosque, we came across this guard eating his lunch. Instead of being annoyed by the group of tourists brandishing DSLRs and iPhones, he grinned and chatted with our guide. When I went to take a photo of his deliciously traditional lunch–pita bread and hummus–he immediately handed me a piece of pita bread to try. At first, I demurred, but he insisted–and it was some of the best I ate in the country.

The students

Gathered on the steps of the Amman amphitheater on their lunch break, this group of young nursing students were eager to practice their English with me. In their late teens and early twenties, most of the women were already married, engaged, mothers. They were shocked to find out that I was 24 and unmarried!

The Algerian saleswoman

We stopped at a local craft store on the road to Madaba: a sprawling space of artisan jewelry, handpainted bowls, beautiful rugs. I was immediately drawn to the wall of Dead Sea products: mud masks, exfoliating scrubs, creams and lotions and soaps. When the saleswoman gave me some exfoliator to try, I detected a hint of a French accent and started to speaking to her in French. I found out she was Algerian, married to a Jordanian. We chatted about products, spa days, living in Jordan. Then, I convinced just about everyone in our group to go test out the exfoliators and hand creams–and made quite a few sales on her behalf. She was just so beautiful and friendly–I’m so glad that I came home with a slew of spa products by which to remember her!

The Beduoin on the road

We stopped at a desert vista point, and this man motioned for me to sit down next to him. In broken English supplemented with Arabic, he proceeded to tell me that I looked like the moon–supposedly, an Arabic compliment.

The local guide

One of the most impressive features of Feynan Eco Lodge is their commitment to the local community. This young Bedouin man spoke excellent English, telling us about his family, their history, their traditions, their everyday life, their relationship with the land. After leading us to watch a hazy desert sunset, he brought us into his family’s compound where his father made us traditional Arabic coffee. One of my favorite pieces of advice popped back into my head: “I’m not saying it’s right, I’m not saying it’s wrong, I’m just saying it is.” From the outside, it looks like Beduoins live in shabby tents–but up close, we saw that each piece is handwoven. Our guide told us it takes the entire village of women years to create.

The camel handler

As soon as I walked by my camel, I knew she was the one: we looked each other in the eye, totally bonded, and I announced that this was the camel I wanted to ride. He told me her name was Anyan, and she was three years old. He was the youngest of the camel handlers, soft-spoken with a shy smile.

Our guide, Ibrahim

I saved the best for last: Ibrahim was our guide for 10 days as we traveled throughout Jordan. He knows everyone–EVERYONE–in Jordan. He was always smiling, laughing, cracking jokes and telling stories. A husband and father of four, a former national soccer player, one of the top guides in Jordan: our trip wouldn’t have been half as incredible without him. (If you’re traveling to Jordan and looking for a guide, feel free to email me and I can put you in touch with him. Highly, highly recommend.)

Note: I was a guest of the Jordan Tourism Board, but all opinions are my own.

Also, don’t miss the best of Jordan, via Instagram.

To Western eyes, it’s unlikely that Amman would be classified as a “beautiful” city: it doesn’t have the wide, tree-lined boulevards of Paris or the modern skyscrapers juxtaposed next to the lean-to street carts of Bangkok. It’s a city of rolling hills: geometrically stacked with white square houses, scattered with ancient Roman ruins, the call to prayer echoing through the streets five times a day.

Amman is dusty, dotted with beautifully reverent mosques and cheerfully colorful markets. It’s a city of people, women with their hair carefully covered but their smiles showing. The men hawk goods, drive tourists, perch around tables with cigarettes dangling and teacups full. It might not be the most beautiful city, but Amman has character: even with the colors, the scents, the sounds all stripped.

Note: I was a guest of the Jordan Tourism Board, but all opinions are my own. 

I fully believe that my skin always looks best when I’m traveling–simply because I’m happier. I’m less stressed about deadlines, commutes, errands. That sort of carefree attitude reflects in my face and my style: I tend to wear less makeup, more messy buns. But one thing I never skimp on in my pack is my skincare: wearing less makeup means I want my skin to look flawless on its own.

But when Elizabeth Arden contacted me about going to a beauty event in New York City, I was a little skeptical. Honestly, Elizabeth Arden seemed like a skincare brand that resonated more with my mom or grandmother’s generation than with my own. However, they promised me a makeover (and I can never resist the offer to have someone else do my makeup!) and a chance to check out some travel-friendly products. Happy to announce that I wasn’t disappointed–and I think that all of the generations of women in my family could agree with the Elizabeth Arden quote: “To be beautiful is the birthright of every woman.”

Post-makeover: if only I had someone to do my makeup for me EVERY day! Here were a few of my favorite Elizabeth Arden products that will definitely be in my travel skincare kit on my upcoming trips:

Ceramide Capsules Daily Youth Restoring Serum

So what really sold me on the ceramide capsules wasn’t the insane amount of hydration inside, but the super convenient capsule format. You just twist the top off the little gold pod and out comes the perfect amount of anti-aging lipids. I’ve been using it for a extra hit of moisture at night or as an awesome pre-makeup primer, but I think they’d be perfect to hydrate as a pick-me-up on long flights.

Eight Hour Cream Skin Protectant

One thing that really makes me believe a product is travel-friendly is when it’s multi-purpose: I don’t feel as bad having a tube of cream take up space in my pack if I know it can do a lot. Elizabeth Arden Eight Hour Cream definitely fits the bill: I’ve already used it as a hand cream, for my chapped lips, to soften my cuticles and to soothe some ingrown hairs. It’s also billed a sunscreen soother: it’d be a lifesaver for chapped and burnt skin and lips on sailing trips! (Side note: this cream was developed by Elizabeth Arden herself in 1930 and has yet to be changed–how’s that for a winning formula!)

Beautiful Color Luminous Lip Gloss

One of my usual makeup items that doesn’t make the travel kit cut is lipstick. I love having the option of a bright cherry red or hot pink lip on nights out in New York City, but it’s usually a little bit much for casual beach bars. But this sparkly, vanilla-scented lip gloss would be the perfect way to pick up a look for a few drinks after a day of sightseeing–bonus is the handy mirror on the side. The color–Dulce–is a little darker than I normally wear, but I think it’ll be fantastic once I have a tan.

This post was sponsored by Elizabeth Arden, but all opinions are my own. Connect with the brand on Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest and Instagram.

My first thought when my trip to Jordan was confirmed: what to wear? As it was my first trip to the Middle East, I knew that it would be not only much warmer in temperature but much more conservative in style. I wanted to be as respectful as possible while still being comfortable and on trend–and be carry-on only!

Turns out I worried far too much about erring on the conservative side: while most Jordanian women are covered from head to toe, it’s not expected of Western women. While it’s best to cover your chest, shoulders and legs in cities like Amman, the rules are bit looser when you’re surrounded by other Westerners at the tourist sites.

However, I’m glad that I chose to cover my shoulders and legs most days: I felt much more at ease among locals. When we were only among our tour group, I usually ditched the sweater in an attempt to come home with a little bit of color.

Here are the key pieces that made Middle East mixing and matching a breeze (and let me get away with just a small duffel for 10 days):

Maxi skirt that doubles as a dress

A floral maxi skirt is an easy way to be chic but conservative: this has actually become one of my favorite work looks in New York City! The woven belt is key to this look: being able to cinch in the waist is what allows it to work as a dress. (Note: this was the day we were heading to a five-star resort on the Dead Sea, so my shoulders were only really exposed for a bit of a photo shoot. Usually I had a sweater on top.)

Basic solid tees

I’ve recently discovered Everlane, and I’m obsessed. The prices are very affordable ($15 for a tee!) for such high quality, and it’s free shipping and returns. The solid-color crewneck tees were perfect to pair with a maxi skirt: they covered my shoulders and my chest without being matronly. Bonus: they just released a bunch of spring colors that would be perfect in the warmer climate!

Something to cover up

I recently bought this super-soft chambray, and it’s without a doubt the best spring staple possible! It was perfect for Jordan since it wasn’t too heavy in the heat, but still covered my arms when we were in more conservative areas.

An “active” outfit

When I saw hiking on the Jordan itinerary, I groaned: it’s one thing to mix and match for city days and nights, but active clothes throw a whole different curve into the mix. And again, I wanted to err on the conservative side: I didn’t pack the short running shorts or sports bra tank that I would have generally worn. My parents (who are avid golfers) kindly sent this Swing Cool Elements shirt: UV protection, cooling, moisture-absorbing and fast-dry! Unlike the rest of the group who wore T-shirts and shorts, I actually stayed fairly cool and hydrated through the hike–and I didn’t have to worry about sunburn! Definitely worth investing in if you’re going to be doing a lot of outdoor activities in the Middle East. (Note: one thing I do wish I had packed was more active outfits: the adventure activities in Jordan like hiking, riding in the back of a 4×4 in a desert, riding a camel and canyoning all would be best in comfortable outfits that you don’t mind getting a little dirty.)

The MBD

When I wrote how to not look like a backpacker while living out of a backpack, one of the things I recommended was a multi-functional little black dress. For Jordan, a maxi black dress was the ultimate perfect-for-everything outfit. It was super comfy–even on long bus rides–and could be dressed up with a funky necklace or dressed down with a chambray on top. I usually kept my shoulders covered with a checkered scarf worn as a shawl or a wore the same scarf around my neck to cover up my chest.

A pair of patterned pants

So, obviously, these are the fiercest pants possible. But what I love about them is that they’re super lightweight and loose: even though they cover my legs, they’re not hot and heavy like a pair of jeans. They also roll up nice and small without wrinkling: key when you’re camping!

Not this.

Honestly, I saw about the same amount of women wearing a full burka in Jordan as I do in my day-to-day life in New York City. They’re definitely a few, but it’s not every woman. You will be required to fully cover if going inside a mosque, but other than that, Jordan is very liberal by most Middle East standards. Most Jordanian women had a scarf pinned over their hair, and wore stylish clothes that covered their chest, arms and legs. You’ll honestly feel comfortable in anything in Jordan–and no one is going to give you a hard time if you choose to flash a little calf or forearm–but I definitely think it’s important to be respectful of the more conservative culture. And hey–I learned that a maxi skirt and a chambray looks just as chic in New York City as it does in Amman.

Have you ever traveled to the Middle East? What do you recommend packing?

Note: I was a guest of the Jordan Tourism Board, but all opinions are my own.