An end-of-summer visit to the Neon Boneyard in Las Vegas, in haiku and photographs.
A collection of door images from around the world, from Macau to Malta and Granada to Lisbon.
After a recent conversation with my husband, I realized that our tiny house is the bastard child of these two very different dreams. Built on wheels, with a traditional facade and an interior with bits of modern design, the house is a confused byproduct of two goals and two lifestyles — and a symbol of my fragmented self.
I was away for most of October, first for work — at the annual Automattic grand meetup in Park City, Utah — and then on a two-week road trip with Nick through Utah and Arizona. I’ve traveled so much around the world in the past two decades. This trip has easily become my favorite.
Combined, our imaginations shape and create these places, now more than ever.
In her essay about life on tour with a rock band, Claire L. Evans says that travel teaches her more about time than it does about place. I agree. My favorite kind of “travel writing” — or I suppose writing about place — embarks on an inner journey, and uses a physical location as a diving board into one’s depths, into their mind. On a recent plane ride, I read a lovely piece called “Seeds” by Thao Thai about her grandfather and his garden, growing up, and Vietnam. The post isn’t about “travel,” and yet the journey the writer takes me on is expansive and revealing: about more than just place, and about something within me, my own childhood, and those who are close to me. A number of the writers at Vela take me on these journeys: traveling into those hidden, secret parts we have, deep down, that we also share. This blog is often included on “top travel blogs” lists, like here and here. I’m flattered to be recognized alongside sites of note, but puzzled by …
I recently had a long layover in Seoul and took the train into the city to wander for the day. With twelve hours, I did what I love most: explored a new city on my own, wandered down alleyways, hunted for street art, and got lost.
As you weave through the traffic of Hanoi, you become one with it.
I remember then feeling I had to rise against it, that Hanoi was something to be conquered. Maybe I wasn’t in the right place; maybe it wasn’t the right time. You never really know with cities. They’re like people, and you don’t always hit it off.
August was a busy month — weddings, time with family and friends, and exploring cities we’ve never been.