That Time I Drove To Buffalo | Travel Essays

She furrows her brow for a moment, scribbling down another name on the piece of receipt paper. “Lucy!” she calls excitedly towards the back of the shop. “Where else should she go?”

That Time I Drove To New York | Travel Essays

“This looks like a good place to stop,” I say to Morrie, turning into the Wawa parking lot. I park, rolling the back windows down a touch. It’s before dusk, and it’s much cooler in Virginia than it was in Wilmington.

Max Patch | Travel Essays

It’s hot. My grey tank has become another layer of skin. I run my hand through my short, cropped hair, taking a deep breath as I push forward.

Cycling in Asheville | Travel Essays

“Matt, smile.” I hold my phone at a different angle, cutting out my face. Tess smiles and Matt glances over. “Let’s do another one,” I say. We try again. Matt’s face is even more awkward. “Matt doesn’t need to be in the picture,” Tess decides.

20 Strangers & Even More Clichés | Travel Essays

There are two things I’m not very experienced with. Skiing and West Virginia. So it seems counter-intuitive that this past weekend, I ventured to Snowshoe, West Virginia to ski. With 20+ strangers. (That last part seems more like me.) It’s not that I have anything against West Virginia – I just haven’t spent a significant…

A Smoky Room in Berlin | Travel Essays

In January 2016, I ventured to Berlin with my little sister for a cold conclusion to the end of my New Years tour. We spent our last couple of days in Europe eating pierogies and unsuccessfully eluding smokers.  

Melissa Melissa Barcelona | Travel Essays

It’s around 2 AM. I’m scrunched up, in the corner of a beautiful closet. A foot away from me, is one of my oldest friends, also named Melissa. Between us, a bottle of dry, cheap red wine from a market down the block. I’m reciting Sylvia Plath’s fig tree quote from “The Bell Jar”, with…

New Years In Iceland

I desperately tap on my phone. “It’s dead,” I say loudly as someone brushes past me. “Dammit.” The British equivalent of Aziz Ansari, Shami, grins at me and says, “It doesn’t matter. No one will believe you.” He starts laughing, near maniacally as he has all night. He disappears into the crowd of young travelers…