Many of the blogs I subscribe to are about female travelers fearlessly making their way around the world solo. Having never experienced solo travel myself, I was lucky enough to be introduced to Gerda, an experienced solo female traveler, who was kind enough to answer a few questions I had and give me some advice about solo female travel.
Luis and I love to travel. As busy as our everyday lives have become, we always make room for it.
I have always believed that travelers are born, not bred. They exist with an innate desire to seek out each corner of the earth, sacrificing what they must in order to do so. So it’s not surprising that since we’ve met, just over seven years ago, we’ve been around the world together. And while we still have a lot of ground to cover yet, regardless of where we go, whether it’s the jungles of Costa Rica or roaming around Las Ramblas, our travels usually follow a rhythm; a cycle that repeats itself no matter the place.
Forty-nine weeks out of the year, I’m paid to organize other peoples’ lives; make sure they are where they’re supposed to be, when they’re supposed to be there. So as much as I love to travel, over the years I’ve found that I don’t enjoy planning a trip beyond picking a place to go and a place to sleep. I love to wake up and see where the day takes me. Needless to say, I didn’t do much planning before we arrived in Venice.
I saw Paris for the first time the way a lot of people do, in a photograph. Quintessential Paris in an 8 x 10 frame.
As I grew older, I thought it no coincidence that I had developed an appetite for croissants, relished the scent of lavender and preferred stripes over solids. I had amassed a collection of scarves so vast they barely fit in my petite apartment, and my shelves were adorned with books about Parisian style and French fashion.
A love affair with Paris usually begins with the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower, the picturesque streets of Marmontre or the hurried sidewalks of the Champs Elysees. Beauty is the business of Paris. And never to be outdone in his trade, a true Parisian can find beauty in even the darkest of places.
Continue reading “beneath paris: my journey into the catacombs”
“Andale, andale” Manuel shouted; awakening our horses from their peaceful saunter up the Costa Rican mountainside, into a determined gallop. Certain I would topple off my horse and somersault into the rocky ravine below, I fought the urge to shout “Enough with the andales” and forced a smile instead.
Continue reading “riding and gliding: a costa rican adventure”
It’s 5:00 pm in Coron, Palawan, and our pilgrimage to the highest point has begun. It doesn’t matter why each of us traveled here, we all have the same thing in common this time of day. It’s time to watch the sun set. So we sit, like we have every night before, atop the roof of the The Funny Lion, in silence, staring.
Jetset.Sangria 