Storytelling

Cuba is much more than a time capsule for visitors to gawk at: during my time there, I learned that it is a country still deeply entrenched in a complex political situation, a struggle for financial stability, and teetering on the brink of a collective craving for a better life.

After three years of living in New York City, I decided to call it quits.

While I’ve always felt a magnetic pull towards San Diego, I couldn’t have imagined that my first visit would be the result of an unexpected breakup.

We find in Nature the same qualities that we find in our creative, instinctual selves – the inexplicable, the limitless, the part that is unapologetic and determined to express itself to the world in full force. 

Since I started this blog over a year ago, I’ve been trying to understand what it’s really about. I love to write, and I love to travel, so I figured – why not write about travel?

I decided to spend my last weekend in Siem Reap, home to the ancient Angkor temple complex. 

Before I stepped foot into this country, I was fully aware of Cambodia’s widespread battle with child labor and prostitution. Yet for the first time, I truly felt like I saw it.

I’ve spent a lot of time contemplating the nature of Cambodia’s people, and I’m still somewhat at a loss. 

I continue to be taken aback by how sweet and affectionate the children at CCH are. Every day upon my arrival, I am greeted with tender hugs and smiles.

My first weekend escape was with two fellow volunteers to Sihanoukville, a highly recommended beach town about four hours car ride from Phnom Penh.

I’ll be honest – I did not know what I was doing on my first day of class. I was wholly unprepared for the realities of teaching, and slightly worried about whether I was qualified enough to provide value to the children. 

After learning about Cambodia’s terrible history and the suffering of its people, I arrived at the Center of Children’s Happiness with a solemn heart.

We grow up hearing about all the terrible things that happen in the world. I’m sure many of us have at least witnessed one in some shape or form.

Twenty-four hours of crossing the world gave me plenty of time to conjure up an elaborate fantasy of my arrival to Phnom Penh.

For the next couple of weeks, I will be volunteering at an orphanage in the projects of Phnom Penh, Cambodia’s capital.

Anyone who possesses a desire to travel has at some point fantasized about a dream destination. My first travel fantasy materialized at 12 years old, when I fell in love with Bermuda.

I visited Boulder, Colorado during a period of high-strung, self-absorbed, drinking-the-New-York-Kool-Aid stress, desperate to find clarity by walking away from the asphyxiating confines of my concrete jungle.

I found Chicago on an impossibly sunny winter weekend, right on the cusp of spring. Since I’d first heard of the city years ago, I’d felt inexplicably drawn to it; something about its reputation ensnared me, carrying with it a delicious allure of prohibition and bright city lights. 

There are few obstacles that can deter a traveler from pursuing our wanderlust. No money? We plan ahead, couch surf, and scour the Internet for deals. Not enough vacation days? We take weekend trips and work remotely. No time? We make it.

There are many types of loves you encounter while traveling. The most common is the love tied to expectations: you know what you wish to find, and your love for that city is conditional upon achieving these goals.

There will always be a voice of authority telling you that you cannot do something. 

When I dreamt of the quintessential fairy tale prince as a little girl, I did not realize that Prague was what I was looking for.

I don’t know what came over me when I decided that I had to explore the Amazon. It began with a gnawing and rapidly intensifying curiosity

As a Westerner with hardly any prior exposure to Asian culture, I couldn’t even imagine what my first venture there would be like. 

I must admit, as much as I wanted to get to know her, London did not fully reveal herself to me this time.

I am almost hesitant to write this, because that is how badly I don’t want more people to find out about the Islas Del Rosario.

My pull towards Napa was initially hesitant due to its over-hyped name.

Well, Milan, you did it. You’ve managed to capture what only two cities before you have done – my commitment.

I believe that each one of us, whether we know it or not, has one spot that we instinctively run to when we are in desperate need of stability.

I knew nothing about Montreal other than the usual regurgitated generalizations: the city is quite European in style, the people are young and beautiful, it gets unreasonably cold, and – …

My name is Celinne Da Costa, and I have never lived in the same home for more than a few years. My entire life is peppered with memories of moving and adjusting

Name Brazil’s three largest cities. For most of you, this will be a piece of cake: Sāo Paulo, Rio de Janeiro, and…. Oh wait. What on earth is Brazil’s third largest city, anyway?