“If you could choose to live here in Cuba or to live anywhere in the world, what would you pick?” asked Diego. While Yasmany thought about his response, I watched sunburned blonde tourists struggle to negotiate their way into one of the “Gran Car, Rentar Una Fantasia” vintage taxis lined up behind us, rims gleaming. “Well, let’s see,” responded Yasmany....
Walking through La Havana Vieja, I couldn’t stop taking pictures of streetscapes. I’d be walking down one block when I’d catch a glimpse of another and hurry there to capture it before it—I don’t know, disappeared? Changed? Before the onion seller moved his cart? The pristine vintage Studebaker pulled away? The wind moved the sheets drying from the windows into...
Diego and I left Mexico City yesterday. Not for good—we’ll be back for New Year’s Eve—but we left our bright-red one-bedroom apartment directly across the street from Bosques de Chapultepec with its extremely beautiful window views and its extremely bothersome street noise and its earthquake-proof foundation. And I won’t miss much of it. I almost wrote “I won’t miss any...
Yesterday, I started crying in a pedicure chair. I’d gone back to the place where I'd gotten a manicure the week before and where I’d had to bail on my planned pedicure because it was the Friday of Día de los Muertos, or the Day of the Dead, and I was running late. (I had to be at a friend’s...
Today I’m thinking about home. About wanting a home and about the tradeoffs and opportunities of having one. I’m thinking about all the homes I’ve been in over the last three months (we’ve officially been on the road in the U.S. for a quarter of a year!). All of the couches and air mattresses I’ve slept on, all of the...
The West is quiet. It’s far apart. I feel none of the Midwest warmth, but also none of the Midwest focus on who you are, where your family comes from, what you look like. There’s no small-town feel; there aren’t towns. Just big stretches of completely different landscapes, studded now and again with a big city, each with its own...
It’s 1 p.m. and I’m in a stale-smelling hotel room in St. Louis, Missouri regretting this trip. I know these moments come. I know travel sometimes chafes like a polyester blend and leaves me uncomfortable. It can make me tired and grumpy, nervous and anxious, regretful and asking myself why (why!!) I thought this was a good idea. So I will...
My hands are clasped around a fired clay bowl, still warm, though I’ve finished the soft humita (corn stew) and tender ternera estofada (braised veal) it contained. The air is heavy with the rich scent of heat, and I can identify each spice—cinnamon, cumin, sweet paprika, pepper, salt, chili flakes, thyme—because I measured them into what we’re eating. I inhale...
For months backpacking around South America, I introduced myself as a solo traveler. I’d meet other solo travelers and we’d talk about how wonderful it was to solo travel—the freedom, the lack of drama, the ability to do our dream trip without compromising, the lower barriers to meeting new friends. We all patted ourselves on the back for being brave,...