Lauren Deeley (aka Mer) is quite possibly the most badass woman I know. She climbs up cliffs, jumps out of planes, and rockets down Experts Only trails the first time she straps on a snowboard. On top of all that, she’s also an amazing human being. She’s supportive, encouraging, and generous with her time, her smiles, and her delicious home-cooked meals. She’s been living in Vermont for the past year and a half, but no matter where she is in the world, I’d go out of my way to see her. That’s why I flew to NYC, and that’s why – with barely any time to stretch in between – I boarded a six-hour bus to Vermont afterwards. I had to see this girl. Mer made a good life choice moving to Vermont. It’s an ideal ... read more

Istanbul to Kiev – an hour layover – Kiev to New York. I was going back West, and that was how I was getting there. On paper, at least. I got as far as Kiev before things came to a screeching halt; the airplane’s questionable brakes were only the beginning of the problem. Airport employees were being vague to say the least, but from what I could gather, AeroSvit hadn’t paid their docking fees. Or they hadn’t kept up the maintenance of their aircraft to American standards. Either way, all of their flights out of Kiev were canceled for all foreseeable future. It sounds like the beginning of a bad story, but it’s actually the tale of the single best airport experience I’ve had – ever. Misery loves company, and in this case, it made for ... read more

My Turkish friends have noticed that I can’t stop smiling. “This is what happens to people in India,” they say. While I can’t argue the truth in their statement, I can contend that this is also what happens to people in Istanbul. I love Istanbul for completely different reasons than I love India. Each place has its own special set of circumstances and conditions that make the corners of your mouth turn upward; the corners of your eyes crinkle. Each place has its own set of things and people that I miss when I’m not there. But, missing no longer has the same meaning for me that it had at the beginning of this trip. Before, missing was tangled up with longing. It meant that something or someone was lacking in my life; that I would ... read more

Couples desperate for a few unsupervised moments alone line up like linked sausages to neck on the beach. All India STD refers not to a rampant venereal disease, but rather a place to make phone calls. Fights are fought with pointed fingers, not closed fists. The unmistakable whistle that signals a dance party… Tweeeeeeeet! Tweettweettweettweet! Tweeeeeeet! That all parties are dance parties. This is there also, hnnnh? Salwar kameez worn with tennis shoes for an evening walk. Shiny polyester pants, ironed with a sharp crease down the center, worn as casual daywear. Handkerchiefs wrapped around shirt collars to protect them from sweat stains. Fabric billowing around bodies that have jumped fully-clothed into the sea. Mullets have not yet passed out of style. A cow, a dog, and a rat sharing dinner out of the same garbage ... read more

I love everything about traveling – even the inevitable aches that arise from long, uncomfortable bus trips and missing home. I’ll travel until I’m old and gray, but I make a horrible tourist. I don’t use a travel guide, I don’t snap pictures of myself in front of iconic landmarks, and I never buy souvenirs. To put it bluntly, I don’t need neat tick marks on a “Must-Do” list, digitalized memories, or a bag stuffed with knickknacks to prove that I went somewhere, that I did something. In all honesty, I don’t much like to do anything. I’m perfectly happy to just be – to walk down random streets and talk to strangers, to eat street food against the advice of others (and better judgment), to never know what or where the next day will bring ... read more

From my seat on the windowsill, I look out the open window. A man, either fearless or so desperate to earn the day’s bread that fear isn’t a factor, scurries up a palm tree with bare feet, a rope and a sickle. Precariously balanced at the top – eye level from my position in a fourth story flat – he cuts down bunches of coconuts, ties them up and lowers them to the ground 30 meters below. He pulls the rope back up, loops it around the trunk and shimmies back down to (relative) safety. Just beyond the palm trees, an inlet of the Arabian Sea lies still as glass, reflecting a blue so calm it could quiet even the most restless of minds. Its shores are wrapped in verdant green, the vegetation untouched by the ... read more