Sarajevo: A Love Letter From a Girl Madly in Love + My Top 10 Nooks

sarajevo, bosnia
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Old Town, Sarajevo, Bosnia and and Herzegovina

Old Town, Sarajevo, Bosnia and and Herzegovina

I feel a piece of my soul dislodged itself from my body and hid itself in Sarajevo pre-birth. I have so much love for this city that I have had to force myself to write about it. I want it to stay my hidden diamond forever, but the world needs to know the endless troves of beautiful humanity that dwell within its streets. Pardon me and my appropriately partitioned romanticism.

I will always be grateful to my friends Lejla and Adi who first showed me the beauty and strength of their home that, despite atrocities, has walked out of the tunnel to greet everyone with a smile and ask them for a dance.

One sentiment you will not find here is pity. Yes, the people have been through recent destruction. But if you are so lucky to venture here, you’ll understand that these people have always been jovial beings sans even the slightest hint of bullshittery. They’ll give you the shirt off their back with a smile and will also tell it like it is till the cows come home. Bad things sometimes happen to really good people who make great fucking coffee.

The mountains and city of Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina

The mountains and city of Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina

Looking over the city’s entire geography feels like admiring a carefully woven sweetgrass basket similar to the ones I used to eye during summer trips to South Carolina as a child. Women at the Charleston street markets would sit in the humidity weaving their happiness, sadness, anger, and dreams into entire blocks-worth of these vessels.

Sarajevo is surrounded by mountains on all sides with the center nestled in the heart of the round. Standing at one edge of this natural coliseum, I felt the pulse below my feet of one of the many threads that have woven this magical place into a goldmine of culture, community, and coeur.

Favorite number on a street in Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina

Favorite number on a street in Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina

You’d be good to spend your days simply strolling from coffee house to coffee house, but because I’m a gracious host with the scoop on some of my most favorite spots in the world, here’s a list for you:

 

Zlatna ribica

That translates to Golfish. This is, to date, my favorite bar in the world. If you’re an old soul who loves collecting postcards, knick knacks, memorabilia, Edison lighting, and dark corners, this place is for you. The (often times only 1) employees look like they walked out of the 20s and the drinks are served in glasses you’d see on Mad Men. It’s such a visual and immersive experience that I’d rather you read this and just go. Don’t look up pictures. Order plum brandy for what equates to $3 USD.  

 

Havana

I’ve had the strangest and most wonderful chance encounters in this bar. Doesn’t hurt that their music solely consists of superb live local music and throwback American jams. Either famous Bosian musicians will be on stage or you will be twerkin’ to Baby Got Back. Those are your only two options. Go here for a more rowdy night out.

 

Čajdžinica Džirlo

Oh, man. There are coffee shops. Then there’s Čajdžinica Džirlo. Frequented by age-old locals and tourists alike, the place will just never feel gimmicky no matter how popular it gets. I sat in this place for hours daily getting to know the coffeetender whose matronly spirit was impressed upon every patron. It might as well have been my living room if my living room were adorned with colorful fabrics and walled with jars of medicinally-oriented tea leaves. It’s just that damn cozy and then some.

 

Morića han

I put this as the destination to get you to this general area. This is a little cave-esque spot in the old town that’s part marketplace, part coffee shop, and part restaurant. It’s hidden away so you wouldn’t know about it unless you happened upon it. The market in here is one of the most colorful and beautiful spots in the entire old town. It’s darker and lit up by hand-painted lights. Go get swept away.

 

Egipat

So let’s forget about what seems to be overtly racist signage above this tiny, tiny gelato shop in the city’s main square (right near the cathedral). It’s only a dancing Egyptian, but I can’t help but think it’s an unkind antiquated cartoon. This is not your average gelato. Think creamier and textured slightly like caramel. You can get all 4 of the only flavors they offer. Get at least 1.  

 

Inat Kuća

Also known in English as the House of Spite. Basically at the end of the 1800’s Sarajevo started demolishing buildings in order to erect a new city hall. One old man owned a house on a plot of land the city needed for the new structure. He refused every monetary offer the city proposed for years. Finally, he accepted a bag of gold for the land--with one condition. He commanded the city rebuild his house right across the river brick-by-brick. Exactly. I don’t know who this man is, but he’s my hero. Now it’s a restaurant. Ask to eat in the attic. Bring a date if you can find one. Exchange flirty banter for stubborn hard-to-get insults the entire time.

 

Petica

Sorry but you haven’t had ćevapi until you’ve had it in Sarajevo and you haven’t have ćevapi in Sarajevo until you’ve had it from Petica. Order with a kupus and paradajz salad (cabbage and tomato).

 

Forino

Burek. Fast food. But still real food. You will dream of it post-consummation. Meat or cheese or spinach wrapped in dough. That’s about it.

 

The Four Rooms of Mrs. Safija

In the afternoon, enjoy the outdoor patio with some delicious local wine. At night, go here for a fabulous dinner with local and foreign influences. Walk through the rooms. Be a lady. Get into trouble. This place is beauty and grace and enough history to possibly have dirty secrets. Ponder them while you feast.

 

Kibe

This is your grand finale of Saraejvo. Located at the very top of the northern mountains, Kibe is nestled between houses and even looks like a house itself. Beginning as a local food stand, this restaurant has grown over the years to celebrity-visiting status without the pomp. You’ll get beautiful, unique architecture, extremely local food, and a panoramic view of the city. Getting there before sunset and sitting on the top floor is highly recommended.

 

Upon finishing this line-up, I realize my list is mostly comprised of food and drink. This, however, is Sarajevo. Relax. Move with the city. Don’t do too much. Walk along the river. If anything, Sarajevo is about being. Not doing.

The only sight I would highly recommend seeing is the 1984 Olympic Bobsleigh Tracks. They’re outside the city, but worth the trek.

Bobsleigh Tracks of the 1984 Olympics, Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina

Bobsleigh Tracks of the 1984 Olympics, Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina

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Malibu couldn't be more of a dream come true. Thank you for all you've given me so far: inspiration, love, hope, spark, motivation, and stillness. Thank you for everything that is yet to come. My heart belongs to you. #malibu #california #malibumorni
As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
En route to Denver ⛰ #southernbelle #nomad #roadtrip
Nothing like day drinking in a tiny town. Helllllo, Durango 🦌
Dandelion wishes 💫

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No Longer A Rolling Stone. Kind Of.

Los Angeles, CA
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Franklin Canyon, Los Angeles

Franklin Canyon, Los Angeles

The past couple of months have been one giant step forward followed by the sensation of finding my footing and praying to jesus christo I don't fall over or down. The step forward was an amalgamation of realizations, among them that I didn't want to live in Paris, I wanted to live in California, I didn't want to be a professional nomad, I still wanted to travel the world, and I wanted to begin creating a solid foundation for the rest of my life.

Cool, right? Up until the waning of 2016 post-college, I had mostly worked, saved, traveled, worked, saved, chilled, travelled with no real end in sight. That was all good and well until I realized I have the capabilities to create the life I truly want. A life that has roots with the possibility of regularly residing on the stems.

To really land on that directional shift and lean into it was a special kind of liberation. To realize structure isn’t an opponent of adventure. To realize creating a home doesn’t have to be settling. And better yet, that settling isn’t inherently a bad word. My child self was like "woah, this is some adult stuff!"

The most exciting of all is creating a life. Creating a life! It’s like being 5 years old again and only picking the Starburst flavors that make my tongue dance (pink, duh). I can aim for a career that allows me to bring in regular income and travel. I can live in a place that allows me to revel in the city life and the rural life. I can be a regular at a grocery store or a bar and walk into a new spot anytime I want and become a stranger like I would in Sarajevo or Copenhagen to get the mysterious fix I crave.

I can live somewhere long enough to foster a loving community of friends I’ve so longed for my entire life. I can create a home for myself where I can rest, relax, and retreat. I can leave that home whenever I want when I’m itching to be nomadic.

To really feel that the two opposites in me—the rooted Southern home-maker and the free-spirited, untamed renaissance woman—can truly coincide in harmony is a relief. But the day-to-day pendulum between the two is still a balancing act (one I look forward to expounding upon here in the coming weeks). 

The other side of creating a life perfectly tailored for me? CREATING A LIFE PERFECTLY TAILORED FOR ME?! Wait, how do I do that? Where do I start? What is this perfect job that’s going to allow me to actually make money and travel? Where is this community of people? Probably somewhere drinking champagne, meditating, and not eating kimchi. California is actually an entire state…Well, at least I got a state, but jeez, I could’ve picked one with a smaller land mass so I could have, ya know, fewer cities to choose from as home.

As it turns out, with one stone turned comes another stoned covered with beautiful, glistening moss I will gleefully and most likely awkwardly untangle. I can’t wait to see what’s underneath, but at the moment the thickness of the green is a sight to see and if I tried to step on it right this moment I would most definitely fall and bust my ass. Here's to breathing and patience. 

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Malibu couldn't be more of a dream come true. Thank you for all you've given me so far: inspiration, love, hope, spark, motivation, and stillness. Thank you for everything that is yet to come. My heart belongs to you. #malibu #california #malibumorni
As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
En route to Denver ⛰ #southernbelle #nomad #roadtrip
Nothing like day drinking in a tiny town. Helllllo, Durango 🦌
Dandelion wishes 💫

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Go Into The Arts, The Arts Alone

Paris
in

We run away from our roots for all kind of reasons. I know I had mine. I wanted more. Of everything. More knowledge. More friends. More experiences. I wanted to be more. More interesting. More cool. More beautiful. More thin. More likeable. More fun.

I finally bought a professional camera three months ago before I left for Paris. I know very little about photography. At some point in time I have been a writer, a musician, a singer, an actor, a dancer, and now I’ve added photographer to the list. I fluidly moved from one creative pursuit to the next trying to find answers to questions I didn’t even know I had. Let’s hope to god I don’t ever get to painting because I cannot draw and would like to keep one artistic space a grand mystery.

Photography, for me, is the least conscious artistic pursuit. Most likely because it is a hobby. The others were always presented to me as a means to an end. A record deal. A series role. A place on a Russian twerk team. Photography was just photography.

Walking around the Luxembourg Gardens today with my camera I kept following a trend I didn’t even notice was a trend. I always take pictures of trees. No matter where I am. The middle of rural America or standing by the Eiffel Tower, I look for the trees.

I never thought much about it until today.

My roots are rural. My roots are my nature. I was raised with a vegetable garden on acres of land with so many trees in sight. But I never paid much attention to them growing up. I was always coming and going and searching. If you haven’t noticed, I’m still coming and going. I run away from my roots towards something unknown on a daily basis. And I realized today that when I reach the unknown, the objects I see most. The objects I seek most. Are trees. Are roots.

At some point in time every other artistic pursuit has landed me on my roots. Writing lives in my bones. Music has lived in my soul since the first time I heard Patsy Cline on the radio. Acting lives in my heart as I try to understand and love every human story I come across. But somewhere along the way, they were all muddied by the more. I asked more of them. I asked them to make me more. They all looked me in the eyes and showed me my true colors. I asked them for more and they couldn’t give it to me. I asked them for more until I got fed up with rejection. I burned out. And I walked away from all of them.

I came to Paris and elsewhere and I started taking pictures. I’ve been taking pictures everywhere, every day. And today I have finally consciously seen a parallel path.

I keep looking for roots without even trying. And through that action, I can feel the other creative trees I had cut down sprouting roots again inside me. I have started to write again with pure love. Without asking more from it. I have started to go to the movie theatre again without feeling the pain of an industry I vehemently shut out of my life. I feel the desire to enter the mind of a character again. I had a heartbreak a few weeks ago and last night I sat down to write a song like I did when I was 12. Alone. On the floor with tears and asking no more from that piece of music than to help heal my soul. To help me live fully in my roots. Not more. Just me. 


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Malibu couldn't be more of a dream come true. Thank you for all you've given me so far: inspiration, love, hope, spark, motivation, and stillness. Thank you for everything that is yet to come. My heart belongs to you. #malibu #california #malibumorni
As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
En route to Denver ⛰ #southernbelle #nomad #roadtrip
Nothing like day drinking in a tiny town. Helllllo, Durango 🦌

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A Rant From a White Southern Liberal Millennial Woman Who is Sick and Fucking Tired of Being Nice to Nice People: Hope You’re Triggered

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If you have ever met me briefly, you probably identify me with the word “nice.” If you have known me for a longer amount of time, you might know me as “nice” or you might know me as a raging bitch. I’m not here acting like I’m God’s gift to earth, but in general, I’m an extremely “nice” person. In lots of circumstances, I am well-liked. In any number of them I also am holding my tongue, quietening my voice, or trying not to anger someone else.

This ends today.

I spent the first day after the election in disbelief. Then in grief. Then I tried to understand the roots from whence I came. At each stage I wrote a different article. Now I sit in rage. And wonderfully enough, this is the first article I’ve felt proud to publish because it’s the truest emotion I’ve landed on when it comes to recent history. (To any from-birth feminists (which I am not) reading this, I’d like to highlight just how fucking hard it is to even GET to this stage. Disbelief, where I was raised, isn’t accepted from women. Much less rage for anything you’ve been spoon-fed by your community.)

I grew up in a town in the rural South where everyone was “nice” to “the other.” No one was ever overtly rude to anyone, but here is where the silent majority lurks.

Black people, okay???
Slight hesitation.
But oh I have to be nice.
So I’ll be nice.

Gay people, okay???...
Slight hesitation.
But oh I have to be nice.
So I’ll be nice.

Trans people, okay???...
Slight hesitation.
But oh I have to be nice.
So I’ll be nice.

Muslims, okay???...
Slight hesitation.
But oh I have to be nice.
So I’ll be nice.

If I had a penny for every time I heard “I don’t have a problem with black people…[somebullshit]” growing up, I’d be a fucking millionaire. Chances are if you have to say out loud you don’t have a problem with black people, you probably have a problem with black people. And this makes you, you guessed it, racist.  

For the most part, my community was nice to everyone. But HOT DAMN I knew if I ever came home dating a POC or a woman, I’d be kicked out of the house and my community would look at me like a modern Hester Prynne. I knew, without being told so, that these relationships were not acceptable. In the best of cases, it would merely be tolerated. And in this case, toleration just looks more like ignoring an entire flesh and blood human being.

Now isn’t that a fucking metaphor for all those white people saying “I’m a Trump supporter, but I’m not racist.” You may not be lynching people, but you’re setting up the stage and adorning it with lights while drawing your own curtains, sipping sugared tea and saying “but you know, *I* don’t really have a problem with black people.”

When it comes to being nice, most of you were perfectly willing to expend energy to look like a “good person.” But when it comes to the safety and wellbeing of millions of Americans at the cost of some “way of life” that is NEVER COMING BACK, you basically said “I’m ignoring you. You don’t matter.”

And fine. No one has told you this to your face yet, but your way of life isn’t coming back. Your jobs aren’t being stolen by immigrants and people in other countries. They’re being stolen by machines and a world that requires different skillsets. And no one ever got a laptop and said “yeah, no thanks, I’ll go back to a world where I input financial records manually.” NO ONE. (See: later discussion about what to do when we ALL get taken over by AIs.)

You’ve essentially pled for a world that is dead and you’ve mobilized the people fueled by the future of love who are going to walk all over its fucking corpse. I’m proud to say I’m one of them.

I have too much rage to correctly formulate all of my thoughts so I’m going to end with this. I am too to blame. I took your point of views and was “nice” back to you. I called you my crazy Republican Uncle or brushed you off as dumb or even showed you compassion because I really wanted to believe you didn’t know any better. You did; you just didn’t care.

I am heartbroken that it has taken the election of a sociopathic, narcissistic, inexperienced, crusty fucking Cheeto to make me come to the realization that I’ve been letting you slide. But come hell or high water, I am NOT letting you off the hook anymore. The road to hell is paved with good intentions and I promise you that the chickens do indeed come home to roost. 

 

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Malibu couldn't be more of a dream come true. Thank you for all you've given me so far: inspiration, love, hope, spark, motivation, and stillness. Thank you for everything that is yet to come. My heart belongs to you. #malibu #california #malibumorni
As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
En route to Denver ⛰ #southernbelle #nomad #roadtrip
Nothing like day drinking in a tiny town. Helllllo, Durango 🦌
Dandelion wishes 💫

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How Living Beyond Fear Opened My Life

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Looking back on the last year of my life, I don’t know how I could’ve planned it. Wonderful friends and mentors have waltzed into my life under the most unassuming circumstances. I was dead set on moving to Paris despite the fact that it's insanely expensive and through some miracle I did. One year I had no clue what I would be doing a year from then and for many months I lived in fear of not being able to live the life I wanted to live.

My entire life changed the moment I changed my mindset.

Instead of looking at the future and feeling scared, I started looking at my future and feeling wonder. My life is a mystery that could become anything, and I started seeing that as a fact of extreme excitement rather than a point of crippling fear.

I began to imagine the way my life could turn out wonderfully, and almost instantly, it did.

I imagined myself moving to Paris. I imagined myself finding employment that would allow me to do so. I imagined myself living in LA in the interim. I imagined myself being my own boss. I imagined myself finding a mentor. All of these wishes came true. I actually ended up finding 2 mentors. Lucky me.

This is not to say that I made wishes and *poof* they came true. I worked. A lot. In the real world and in my inner world. But my attitude towards my life drastically changed the outcome of my work.

And here I sit in Paris actually living a dream. I’d like to say I don’t know how I got here, but I do. I moved past my fear and manifested this life for myself. I gave myself a goal and believed it would happen. In trusting it would work out, I opened seemingly inconsequential doors in my every day life that I would’ve definitely passed had I been in the mindset of inevitable failure.

I started to look at life as a series of opening little gifts over a long period of time. And as the great Mary Oliver once pointed out, even the gifts of darkness, sadness, and failure are gifts all the same. If I had kept on living in the mindset of fear, I would still be sitting in a room with a pile of unopened gifts, terrified of opening boxes for fear of opening a bad one. What a shame. Now every day is my birthday. I’m opening gifts left and right. Some of those gifts have included losing a job and ending a friendship. They’re not all roses. But I also opened new friendships. And a life in Paris. And a new creative wind. From now on I will open and receive all the boxes and whatever they hand me. Because I’ll never open the lavish wishes of all my dreams if I don’t continue tearing off each wrapping paper with a fearlessness about what might be inside. 

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Malibu couldn't be more of a dream come true. Thank you for all you've given me so far: inspiration, love, hope, spark, motivation, and stillness. Thank you for everything that is yet to come. My heart belongs to you. #malibu #california #malibumorni
As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
En route to Denver ⛰ #southernbelle #nomad #roadtrip
Nothing like day drinking in a tiny town. Helllllo, Durango 🦌
Dandelion wishes 💫

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Indecisiveness is a Bitch

Paris
in

Today I had an epiphany in a grocery store. Am I a Southern woman or am I a Southern woman?

To tell this story, I’ll have to back up a bit. These last few week have been a tumultuous roller coaster for me.

After a month of backpacking, I returned to my apartment in Paris for only 3 days before departing for Northern California to celebrate the wedding of my closest person and her soulmate. I spent a week in Northern California and now I’m currently sitting at a wonderful little haunt in Montmartre.

I won’t bore you with the details of my recent past, but I will say it has been one hell of a ride. My insides were all over the place. And at the end of this vague time period, I was one month out from starting this blog and am now 0 days shy of writing a business plan for my own startup. (‘Bout time, turns out I’m a beast at helping other people’s dreams come true, might as well start working on my own.)

Short-hand recent past inner-monologue: Do I want to continue writing on a blog that’s titled in a way that pigeon-holes me? What if I settle in one place for longer? Does that mean I'm no longer traveling "'round the world?" Shouldn’t I just write under my own name if my goal is to present my authentic self? Should I move back to California? I feel at home there. So many of my loves are there. But I need to be in San Francisco. That’s where all the start-ups are. Paris is too settled in its ways. No one is innovating there. People just walk around and drink coffee and wine. They aren’t hustlers. I need hustlers. San Francisco has hustlers. But I couldn’t be there full time. It would be too much. So maybe LA? But I don’t want to be there full time. Same problem. Too many loafers and schmoozers. Now that I’m back in Paris, I don’t care why these people are slow. They have all the croissants and all the champagne. I’m never leaving this place.

Needless to say, I get caught in my indecisiveness a lot. It bogs me down like a pig in 10 feet of mud. Good god it’s exhausting.

Then last night, post-nearly 18 hours of international travel, a dear friend of mine sent me a text telling me to check my e-mail. I love surprises.

He had sent me an article titled “What happens when you take full responsibility of your life.” Click the link to give it a read.

I have struggled with indecisiveness my entire life. Despite lots of self work, I still struggle with it and I might as well accept that I always will. But constant work on my self has sometimes allowed me to dig deeper and figure out what’s really going on.

Prior to reading this article, I once told someone that my indecisiveness presents itself in its most monstrous form AFTER I’ve made a decision. I will choose what I want for myself, but what follows is a period of second-guessing and self-doubt and fear of failure and fear of making a mistake. My authentic self chooses something and then my “dark side” (what I like to call it) says OH NO I DON’T THINK SO.

Per the article, I realized that what really lurks in my brain is a fear of commitment for a multitude of reasons. That dark side is a tricky mother fucker.

That paragraph up there? The one with all the concerns and worries and shoulds and should nots? Yeah. Fuck that. Fuck all that noise. The logistics don’t matter. This is what my authentic self has chosen as of this moment and I want to publicly make a commitment to myself right here. I commit to:

Writing

Building a supportive community for women

Traveling

Staying healthy / self-care

Connection

Creating a home wherever I am

See: grocery store epiphany. These commitments to myself don’t exist in a place or in other people or in a blog title. They exist in me. All the worries I listed above were, in a sense, asking for outside sources to love me back. I wanted Paris to embrace me and shift to my needs. I wanted different parts of California to embrace me and shift to my needs. I wanted my blog or my business venture to give me validation for the kind of life I want to live. In letting the indecisiveness and self-doubt take over, I looked everywhere outside my self for ANY KIND OF ANSWER. Because let’s face it, that dark side bitch wants to ruin my life.

But just like a relationship with any person, trying to force it to change to your own will taints it. You are no longer truly giving love to the authentic Paris or Los Angeles or San Francisco if you ask it to change for you. And trying to change myself to fit into a place or blog title taints my own authentic self. No matter where I am I'll always miss somewhere else. And if I were just writing under “Tanna Key” it wouldn’t give the site space to grow. I want other Southern voices up in here.

I vow to commit to the things I’ve listed above. And the list will grow longer. And I will change my mind all the time when it comes to logistics, but the core truths of my soul will remain constant. And through true consistency I will nurture my authentic self and foster my own validation of my own self worth that has existed within me all along.

Cheers, y’all. I need to finish my champagne. 

 

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Malibu couldn't be more of a dream come true. Thank you for all you've given me so far: inspiration, love, hope, spark, motivation, and stillness. Thank you for everything that is yet to come. My heart belongs to you. #malibu #california #malibumorni
As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
En route to Denver ⛰ #southernbelle #nomad #roadtrip
Nothing like day drinking in a tiny town. Helllllo, Durango 🦌
Dandelion wishes 💫

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Throwing Rotten Peaches Into The Flames: A Sexual Assault Story

Paris
in
Portrait-Magic-Lite-Image.jpg

Before sitting down to write out this story for you I went through multiple vicious cycles of self-doubt, unworthiness, invalidation, and silence.

This is an article about sexual assault. I was not physically harmed in any kind of serious way in this assault, which is why my mind initially thought “it could’ve been, and has been much worse for so many, this isn’t a story worthy of sharing.”

Never having been a victim of what my brain has been washed to believe is “real” assault, I felt it unimportant to speak up.

In a cascading swoop, it dawned on me that this is what women who are “actually” raped feel like. Well, he didn’t touch me. Well, he didn’t take my clothes off. Well, he only put his hand on me. Well, it wasn’t painful. It must not have been assault.

As much as I like to believe I am confident in the line between right and wrong as far as how someone else treats me, it appears my mind, through conditioning, still questions whether or not I have been treated with respect. It still gives the benefit of the doubt; he’s still just pulling my pigtails because he actually likes me.

****

Outside a bar in Munich I ran into a guy who heard my American accent, ran up to me, and said “Hey where are you from?” I replied,

“HOLY SHIT. I’m from Georgia. Where are you from?” With his initial question spoken in a ridiculous Southern accent, I expected him to reply with Alabama or Mississippi.

“Germany.”

Turns out he had studied for a year in Tennessee when he was in high school.

We walked inside and got a drink and started an incredible conversation about fried chicken and education systems. It is rare to find anyone from another country that has truly lived in the Southern United States and understands its charms and faults.

Somewhere in the conversation, we landed on politics. A man standing nearby butted into our conversation and asked what we were talking about. These were bars chats so whatever, the more the merrier.

He begins to tell me about his work and says he's from [English speaking country] and asks me where I’m from. I tell him I’m from Georgia.

“Are you a Georgia Peach?”

“Well, yeah, all women from Georgia are Georgia Peaches.”

“Not true.”

“Seriously, dude? You’re going to question my own fucking roots?” [genial, sarcastic bar talk]

“I went to [Southern state] and they say everyone knows that besides being from Georgia, there are two things that make you a Georgia Peach: you can hold your alcohol and you would never ever be a dick.”

“Be a dick?”

“Yeah. You’re not a Georgia Peach. You were already a dick just now. Georgia Peaches never cause any problems. They don’t ask questions. They don't make waves. They’re just fun and hot as fuck and never say any stupid bullshit back to you.”

[Post-writing proofreading thoughts: "Wait, did I mishear him? Was I in the wrong? Was he just kidding around?"]

“You mean like when you’re raping them and they just lie back with no objection?”

Cold. No response.

“You mean when you harass them and they stay smiley and still and silent?”

Cold. No response.

“You’re despicable.”

“You’re an asshole. See, I told you you weren’t a Georgia Peach.”

I ran out of the bar and the first thoughts that moved through my mind were: ANGER.

How DARE he disrespect my home state? My home girls? Who the fuck are these [Southern state]ian people making my home girls into silent pretty faces who learn to drink their alcohol and never peep of discomfort? Who the fuck does he think he is to talk to me like that? Why am I at this fucking bar? What means Germany? Go home dude, you’re drunk. I’m too fucking CHILL for this shit.

My larger group of friends were in the upstairs of the bar, so I headed back through the darkness, grabbed my newfound Southern German friend and, in turn, felt another hand grab me forcefully.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

I yanked my arm from his hand.

“Of course. [Laughing] Overreacting like a typical American.”

That was it. I ran upstairs to find the bathroom.

I made small talk with my friends upstairs who hadn’t seen me for 20 or so minutes. Long enough to ask where the bathroom was, holding back rage and propping up dams.

I found the door, opened it, closed it behind me, and I lost it. I broke down into the most fervent tears I’ve experienced since the last time I was verbally harassed.

I call this stage: TRAGEDY.

And as much as I’m not trying to make myself out to be any kind of martyr, I couldn’t help but feel a new kind of tragic rage. I cried for all of the women who have been conditioned to embody this perception. I felt their silent voices speaking to me the words they never felt were valid to say. He disrespected me. He hurt me. He assaulted me. He raped me. No, I'm just overreacting. 

I have never felt so violated, so empathetic, and so lucky at once. I cried for myself, for others, for the man with so much hatred in his heart. And then I was able to walk back to my circle of friends, unharmed. Because nothing happened to me. I was fine. Totally fine.

FORGET.

Some divine intervention occurred that night. My Southern German friend got it. He listened. To what I could explain. And he understood. Always look for the helpers. I will always be grateful for the space he gave me to speak and feel.

I spent the rest of my evening at my joint birthday party of October birthdays with beautiful strangers I’d only met that evening. We finished eating our cake. I was driven to a dance club via a stolen shopping cart (sorry, Munich). We danced until 7 AM.

I am a Georgia Peach because I am unrelenting. I am a Georgia Peach because I am kind. I am a Georgia Peach because I am loving and giving and imperfect. I am a Georgia Peach because I use my voice loudly and proudly. I am a Georgia Peach because I don't give any fucks what you think of me. I will take back this title and I will not have it be tarnished by gross superiority and control. And I vow to give my heart and my space to any Peach or man or woman who has ever felt like they have had their dignity tampered with as if it were a faulty smoke detector. I want to hold your hand and help you ring the alarm.

This is not okay. This is not okay. This is not okay. This is not okay.

REMEMBER.

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Malibu couldn't be more of a dream come true. Thank you for all you've given me so far: inspiration, love, hope, spark, motivation, and stillness. Thank you for everything that is yet to come. My heart belongs to you. #malibu #california #malibumorni
As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
En route to Denver ⛰ #southernbelle #nomad #roadtrip
Nothing like day drinking in a tiny town. Helllllo, Durango 🦌
Dandelion wishes 💫

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Vienna for Dessert + 10 City Treats

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A lone street somewhere in Vienna, Austria.

A lone street somewhere in Vienna, Austria.

Walking around Vienna feels like eating a meticulously rounded scoop of multi-colored sherbet ice cream out of a gilded coupe glass. It’s pastel colored and sweet and pristine and fresh and breezy and elegant. The buildings are immaculate, but somehow never hard. Despite their formidable composition, they look as if you touch them they’d be soft as silk.

In its entirety, Vienna reminds me of the beautiful glass menageries that house desserts with such perfect angles they look like the work of a protractor rather than a human. The ones you often see children and adults alike gazing at with admiration and wonder. The ones that house confections you feel guilty putting in your mouth because in actuality they lean more toward artwork than food.

My entire time here was a direct reflection of this state of mind. For some reason I was inclined to live my perfect day here every day; my perfect slice of chocolate cake. I didn’t rush. I wandered. I ate good food. I drank champagne. A lot. I rested. I wandered more. And photographed. And wrote. I meditated. I listened and paid attention. I discovered new music. I went to see an Impressionism and Pointillism exhibit. I cried through pretty much the entire display. I felt romantic. On top of all of this it rained every day, and I think rainy days are near perfect.

Vienna was my perfect dessert. It inspired me to indulge in my kind of perfect day and I felt no desire to do anything other than what I wanted to do. That kind of power in a city is mesmerizing.

Sadly, I couldn’t live in a glass house of perfect tarts, cakes, and puddings forever. As with any good dessert, too much can make you sick. I actually ended up leaving a little early. Not because I wanted to leave, but because I knew if I stayed too long I might lose my appetite. And what a shame that would be. I want to be able to have Vienna for dessert for the rest of my life.

10 City Treats

For a fancy dinner of traditional Viennese food: Plachutta

For coffee in an extravagant room: Café Central (it’s worth the wait)

For coffee laid back coffee and bomb cupcakes: Brass Monkey Coffee & Cakes

For the best sausages as heard from a local: Bitzinger’s sausage stand at Albertina

For the original Saucher Torte chocolate cake: Hotel Saucher

For champagne lovers: Moët outpost at Le Meridien Hotel

For any drink: Cafe Espresso

For some ridiculous Neapolitan style pizza with chill staff: Disco Volante

For a counterbalance to all the meat and potatoes, grab salad and sushi at: DO & CO Albertina

For a nighttime rendezvous: walk through Stadpark and then through Resselpark to see Karlskirche, it’s a sight in the dark

 

 

 

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Malibu couldn't be more of a dream come true. Thank you for all you've given me so far: inspiration, love, hope, spark, motivation, and stillness. Thank you for everything that is yet to come. My heart belongs to you. #malibu #california #malibumorni
As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
En route to Denver ⛰ #southernbelle #nomad #roadtrip
Nothing like day drinking in a tiny town. Helllllo, Durango 🦌
Dandelion wishes 💫

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What Moving From City to City Has Taught Me About Influence

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One of my favorite pictures that shows the scar on my forehead, the cellulite on my thighs and behind the scenes of what most photoshoots look like. No mirrors. Photo credit: Easton Schirra. 

One of my favorite pictures that shows the scar on my forehead, the cellulite on my thighs and behind the scenes of what most photoshoots look like. No mirrors. Photo credit: Easton Schirra. 

It always hits me like a rare song from my childhood I haven't heard in 17 years. No matter how often it comes, it's always the same poignant feeling. Every single time I move from one city to another, I feel a shift in influence. It's so great it cannot go unnoticed, but it's only the changing period, the greatest period of noticing, that I can hear its full effect at loud speaker volume. The before and after speak more quietly. And it's only recently that I've begun to listen to those interim voices.

I used to feel the same dissonance when I moved back and forth between Georgia (where I was raised) and California (where I went to college). In Georgia I would feel such a strong nostalgia for "home" and childhood. On the flip side, California felt like freedom. Like my own song that had been raging within for 18 years finally set free. And the two always felt in conflict. At least I assumed they were in conflict because at that time I didn't trust myself enough to believe what my body knew.

Different circumstances open up different parts of ourselves. They can sweep us back to our youth and pull on our inner child's heart strings. They can make us feel open and limitless. But either way, I believe we feel, see, take in and project whatever is in front of us. We mirror the qualities of our surroundings by spitting back the only thing we know how to spit back: what already exists inside of us.

And we have a choice. We can take in influence and mirror the best of ourselves or the worst of ourselves.

I just left Budapest this afternoon. And now I sit at a bar in Vienna. I feel my mood shifting. What follows is my own exploration of my inner self:

Class difference. I come from money. Growing up, there were stipulations that came with that. Saving face. Looking pretty. Cleanliness: literally and metaphorically. Vienna has that poise of wealth I know. I am more in my "comfort zone" here. But the remnants of Budapest still lurk in my shoulders. Dirtiness. Scrappiness. A night crawler. A little more edgy. No paying attention to money. No wealth but the ability to survive.

At this moment I feel Vienna and Budapest coexisting within me. Some of the reflections good. Some of them bad.

And in these moments. The moments of grand awareness. That's when I have the brilliance of clarity. The clarity I strive for every day. The realization that though these influences shape me, nurture me and help me grow, I have the power to choose which mirrors I look into.

I do not have to look in the mirror of vanity. Or selfishness. Or class systems. Or unworthiness. But I can choose to look in the mirror of loyalty. Of faith. Of strength. And in the rare moments of pure unadulterated bliss, I can authentically look into no mirrors at all. I can simply be, reflection transcended. 

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Malibu couldn't be more of a dream come true. Thank you for all you've given me so far: inspiration, love, hope, spark, motivation, and stillness. Thank you for everything that is yet to come. My heart belongs to you. #malibu #california #malibumorni
As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
En route to Denver ⛰ #southernbelle #nomad #roadtrip
Nothing like day drinking in a tiny town. Helllllo, Durango 🦌
Dandelion wishes 💫

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24 Things to Do in Budapest in 2 Days (More Importantly, 3 Nights)

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Budapest's Buda Castle at night as seen from the Danube.

The streets of Budapest are Paris. And Munich. And Florence. Of course, my history tells me. Of course they are. This hit me in a real way the first night I walked around the city only hours after arriving via an 8 hour bus ride, a 4 hour layover, and a 6 hour train ride. My body was exhausted, but you do not sleep here. It’s a city for the night warriors, street dwellers, and tree crawlers.

Calling Budapest hip and trendy is about as banal and irrelevant as calling Steve Jobs an innovator. And the vibe is so chill I can’t even think of a real-world simile. Like maybe Britney pre-2007 add a little bit of weed subtract all the basicness? You come here as you are. You walk around. You slowly feel your shoulders drop. Your mind floats. You're inclined to look for some super loose pants to meander in with your newfound attitude. Then you go as you please. If you ever do.

There’s something slippery about this city and every time you try to put your finger on it, it slides out from under you. You find yourself wanting to stay with no real answer to “why?” And for me, I realized after my first day in Budapest that it wasn’t that I wanted to stay another day. I wanted to stay another night.

Days in Budapest feel akin to the perfect hangover. The one where you wake up with absolutely no side effects, but you feel a refreshing lightness. So you find yourself going back to the night, trying to figure out what you did to come out of it with such a swagger. But it’s usually not about what exactly you drank. There are so many factors. Who you were with. What the occasion was. What you had for dinner. The perfect, elusive combination that leads to magical hangovers is Budapest at night.

The Little Princess statue on the railing by the Danube. 

At night that slippery thing rears its head a little and tells you to come hither. You’re trying to see it, but the modern Christmas-esque lights on buildings, bridges, and churches throughout the city always make sure your vision is always a little out of focus. You want to keep searching. When you realize you’ll never find it, you surprisingly accept it gracefully. And upon reaching this acceptance, you gain a deeper understanding of the people who call this place home.

They don’t give a fuck about you. In the most genial way. People here reside in their cliques like they do in New York City, but there is no pitting of one against the other. No judgement when brushing shoulders. To go out to a park or club here at night is like watching highly individual herds of cattle, sheep, zebra, and horses nestle right up next to each other without mingling. Each group has bonded over the way they try to figure out mysteries. Personally, I felt like a brightly colored unicorn among the black leather jackets and low-key fashionable hooves. But the brilliant relief is that not one person here could give a shit about my unicorness. I was free to prance as I pleased throughout the narrow divides in the herds.

2 Days 3 Nights

Night 1

Arrive in the afternoon around 4 PM. Rest, change up if you need, then head out for kebab. If you stay on the east side in the north of District VII like I did, you'll be able to walk to Török Étterem on Teréz krt. (there are multiple locations throughout the city). It’s essentially at the corner of the thick of Budapest’s nightlife and if you start here, you can move west hitting lots of spots along the way.

With gyro in hand, walk two blocks down the road and you’ll find Instant, a bizarre staple ruin pub with a hostel on the top floor. It’s worth a visit to see the wall images depicting naked ladies and cauliflower-headed humans, but make it a stopping-by visit only unless you’re keen on slowly feeling like you’re living real life Willy-Wonka-in-the-boat-tunnel only with lots of groups of frat boys “doing Budapest.”

Next slip down to Anker’t, an outdoor beer garden two more blocks away with pretty lights and a much more bookish vibe. You’ll find a strong mix of locals and tourists. It’s a spot where you could hang for a while and meet a number of people from all over the world without having to deal with crowds or obscenely loud music.

Five more blocks away you’ll hit Fogasház, a rooftop ruin pub. Game hall. Vineyard. Treehouse. Whatever you want to call it, Fogasház is a hotchpotch of randomness that rightfully resides within beautifully decrepit walls.

For your last stop of the night walk two blocks to the train stop at the corner or Erzsébet krt. and Wesselényi u. It’ll be the 4 train toward Széll Kálmán tér M. Take it 5 stops and get off at Margit híd. If you can, step directly on the train when you get on and face the opposite window. Face that way until your stop. Turn around for a surprise. Trust me. Word to the wise: just make sure you do this before 12:30 AM.

 

Day 1

If you’re unsurprisingly hungover after the night before, head over to Bors GasztroBár for one of the best sandwiches you’ll ever eat. Added bonus: they pump Hungarian gangsta rap and the sandwich crafters are rad as fuck.

Here I’ll make an insert about the famed House of Terror museum. I went and did not care for it at all. We're all different, so it might be your thing, but it was not mine. My favorite movie is Silence of the Lambs and one of my favorite museums is the EL-DE House in Cologne, but I just couldn’t get down with this museum. In addition to images and movies of terror during the Hungarian Nazi reign, there is ominous music playing throughout and you absolutely need to get an audio guide to know what is what. There are lengthy English print outs of historical facts in each room, but they do not tell you about individual pieces as you walk through the museum. I didn’t like the design, the music, or the overall feeling. I don’t like audio guides. Total pass.

For your afternoon, take a walk up the hill that contains the Buda Castle and St Matthias Church in one giant walkable space. Do as you please here. The Buda Castle contains the Hungarian National Gallery and there are little shops and crevices all around this area.

For the early evening, head over to the Inner City and have a fancier traditional Hungarian dinner at Cyrano. Post-dinner, walk around the area to discover a mix of high-end shops, large open squares, and even more buildings.

 

Night 2

After nightfall, you could easily head back over to the river without going back to your Budapest home. I recommend walking the length of the river at night if you’re the walking sort. If you head directly west of the Inner City and walk north up the river you’ll hit a few bars and one 5-star hotel. I’ll go in order of direction.

Stop by the Four Seasons Hotel Gresham Palace just to see it because #fluxury. The building alone looks like a palace and if you wander around inside at night you’ll likely be alone and able to take in all its beauty.

After you’ve gotten your luxury hit, walk two doors down to get nasty. No, actually. Bob Bár down the street pumps the BEST rap music from the 90s to today. You can hear it from the hotel’s front door. As a woman who is well versed in twerking sensibilities, I couldn’t resist. Go.

On the river bank directly across from the hotel and Bob Bár, you’ll run into PONTOON, a riverside bar that’s a mellow relief from the former. Stop by for a drink and continue along the river until you run into Shoes on the Danube Bank and then the Hungarian Parliament Building up close and personal. Upon seeing its level of perfection in architecture and lighting, try not to judge yourself too hard.

After your long, silent river walk, end your second night at the Akvárium Klub and surrounding area. There was a private party in the club the night I went here, but the giant square surrounding it has a beer garden, a pool, grass space to chillax, and tons of people everywhere. This is a a must-do epicenter night spot. 

 

Day 2

Go for breakfast at Centrál Kávéház. The food is delicious and you’ll have a lovely street square view that almost makes you feel like you’re in Paris. I had the goat cheese salad with elderflower dressing and it was as sparkly in my mouth as it sounds.

Post delicious breakfast, go get a massage at the yellow and blue toned Széchenyi Baths and hang around until the moment right before your fingers start to prune. After you're all relaxed, head out for an afternoon walk. 

Take a walk down both Király u. and the famous Andrássy út. Maybe stop at the Book Café to see this overly-priced bookstore café that essentially looks like a palace instead. Walk some more. Stop at the stores. Walk. Stop and have coffee. Walk. Stop and have champagne. Walk. Walking around a city has so much value. Do it.

For a late-ish lunch or dinner, there are any number of beautiful and I’m sure delicious restaurants up and down these streets, but I can’t not recommend falafel. Because Budapest. And falafel. It’s a mouth party. You'll find falafel everywhere, but I found a special, tiny gem called Olive Tree Hummus and it was perfect in every way from the hummus to the falafel to the topping ratios. Speaking of hummus, Hummus Bar. No further explanation necessary.

 

Night 3

The last night is short but sweet because it consists of one place: Simplza. If you go during high tide, you will wait forever to get in. But it’s so worth it. This is the ruin pub of all ruin pubs. And for all those who don’t club or don’t like public places or don’t like to dance or don’t like people or just aren’t feeling life, THIS IS YOUR PLACE TO FORGET ALL THAT STUFF AND GO CRAZY AND BE FREE.

Meet people from every corner of the globe. Do the chicken dance. Do the YMCA. Kiss strangers (responsibly?). Try out public speaking. Or public table dancing. Do whatever the fuck you wanna do, it’s Simplza. 

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Malibu couldn't be more of a dream come true. Thank you for all you've given me so far: inspiration, love, hope, spark, motivation, and stillness. Thank you for everything that is yet to come. My heart belongs to you. #malibu #california #malibumorni
As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
En route to Denver ⛰ #southernbelle #nomad #roadtrip
Nothing like day drinking in a tiny town. Helllllo, Durango 🦌
Dandelion wishes 💫

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Fluxury: The Art of Traveling (and Living) the Way You Damn Well Please

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Fluxury = Fluctuating Luxury.

I am a Francophile. I think they do #fluxury pretty damn well. Photo credit: Easton Schirra. 

I am a Francophile. I think they do #fluxury pretty damn well. Photo credit: Easton Schirra. 

In short, I define fluxury as sometimes living in the skating-by range and sometimes living like Beyoncé.

The concept is very simple, but I’ve realized the actual action of living this way is much more difficult because in its truest form it’s about figuring out what you like and choosing (here’s the hard part) to put your money towards the things you choose.

When you find yourself under the influence of friends, old people, an ad on the back of a milk carton, or a highly curated Instagram account, you may find yourself placing value on things you don't really love. Lots of entities vie for our attention, trying to talk us into putting our hard earned money toward hand-welded water bottles with rich mahogany finished caps.

If I had all the money back I have spent on things I didn’t care about, I would definitely be rich enough to travel for a year without working. Easily. Money for drinks at bars I didn’t want to go to. Money for gyms I talked myself into going to even though I strongly dislike gyms. Money on food and wine that were at best mediocre. 

At the moment I have the luxury of traveling alone meaning I run into less instances where I feel like my true nature is compromised when it comes to how I choose to live. Every now and then, however, outside influence creeps up on me.

For example, I’ve had more than a few people say to me “OMG YOU HAVE TO STAY IN A HOSTEL YOU’RE MISSING OUT ON SO MUCH!”

For a second I feel some FOMO. I feel like maybe I’m not experiencing everything I should be experiencing as a nomadic twentysomething. But this is absolute bull malarkey. Hostels? Nope. No thank you.

I don’t stay in hostels because I don’t want to stay in hostels. I like the quiet of my Airbnbs where I can work and relax and have a place to recharge after being out all day meeting people. I like that my hosts are locals who can give me city tips. I like that I can generally find Airbnbs cheaper than hostels in almost every city.   

There are a number of things that 99% of the time I don’t pay for while traveling despite the fact that they are widely accepted and advertised traveling purchases. Multiple drinks a night multiple nights a week. Run-of-the-mill guided audio tours. Group tours. Tours. Cover charges of any kind besides museum entrance fees. Transit unless walking is completely out of the question. Flight upgrades. Tourist food; I will go hungry before eating tourist food. 

When I do encounter luxury it’s the luxury I choose for myself. A luxury I can afford because I no longer spend money on things I don’t choose with my heart. It’s my own definition of luxury.

For me, this typically involves really, really good food and the occasional stay at a nicer Airbnb depending on the season and location. But mostly my luxury equates to nice-ass restaurants with heaven-is-inside-my-mouth food and holy-shit-dead-grapes-can-taste-like-diamonds wine. There are few things I love more than a well-crafted meal, not to mention the cultural and historical knowledge that accompanies tasting the best native food wherever I am.

So I say to you: travel how you want to travel. And by extension, live how you want to live. Stop spending money in places where your heart isn’t and never let anyone tell you you're "not doing it right." What’s the point of having pieces of paper that get you things if those things don’t reflect your truest choices?

#fluxury

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Malibu couldn't be more of a dream come true. Thank you for all you've given me so far: inspiration, love, hope, spark, motivation, and stillness. Thank you for everything that is yet to come. My heart belongs to you. #malibu #california #malibumorni
As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
En route to Denver ⛰ #southernbelle #nomad #roadtrip
Nothing like day drinking in a tiny town. Helllllo, Durango 🦌
Dandelion wishes 💫

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Montenegro: The Secret Garden by The Sea

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in

Montenegro

[mon-tuh-nee-groh]
Montenegrin: Crna Gora / Црна Гора
Meaning: black mountain

View of Budva, Montenegro from a higher vantage point.

My friend Anica from Serbia recommended I stay in Budva and hop out to see everything from there. I would recommend this to most people who are backpacking and want to see lots of spots in Montenegro. Anica also put me in contact with her friend Maša in Budva who rents out rooms for €20/night. I’d be happy to put you in contact if you like. I jumped into this trip blindly without looking at a single picture, only going off Anica’s many tales of this beautiful country. I wanted it that way. I didn’t want to know until I knew.

Now I do.

I arrived in Podgorica via airplane from Paris and was picked up by Maša’s friend Joran. He tells me his English is bad, but he knows the word “cake” and offers me one from a package. It’s similar to a Little Debbie cake; my 5-year-old self is cheering. He drove me the 40-minute journey to Budva that passes over what Joran points out to be Lake Skadar in clear-as-day English. A lone goat stands on the side of a hill steps from the road; he seems to welcome me to this haven.

 

Budva

[buh-duh-vuh]
Montenegrin: Budva, Будва
Often called Montenegrin Miami

Budva is the main coastal spot in Montenegro and it’s the Baltic party town you’d expect. I, personally, am not a rave partier, so this was not a draw factor for me.

I stayed up away from the coast in a room with a balcony that overlooks Budva from a higher altitude. This is the way to see Budva. The view from afar is beautiful. The wonderful thing about this town is that it’s packed with tourists, so there are lots of tourist amenities. The one I was most concerned with was renting a car. I have never rented a car in my life, not even in America, but if you truly want to see Montenegro, I highly recommend renting a car. From what I could tell, it was cheaper than doing any tours with the added bonus of being able to stop wherever you like. You can find car rental shops all around the area that have automatic cars, which, unlike the rest of Europe, won't cost you an arm and a leg. 

Go to the old town in Budva. Especially at night to feel its vibrancy. The city has mixed in some lovely modernity in the way of light décor.

Food recommendations: Konoba Portun in the old town for local dishes, Hotel Budva on the coast for a more upscale, polished vibe.

 

Cetinje

[tse-ti-nye]
Montenegrin: Prijestonica / Приjестоница
Previous capital of Montenegro, extra-previous all of Montenegro

This place is a hotbed of history and charm. I drove here in the morning and stepped out of my car to see what looked like a Mother and Father swinging their 3-foot-tall son by the arms, each holding one hand. I remember doing that in Amicaloa Falls, Georgia with my own parents screaming “higher!”

Like the title says, Montenegro was once only comprised of Cetjnie and a few surrounding areas until the Treaty of Berlin in 1878 that effectively nearly tripled its size.

Pastel colored houses line the white stone roads. There’s an air here that reminds me of Hansel & Gretel—the happy version. It’s the love-child of Amsterdam and Bavaria, once-removed from the Baltic coast.

There are a total of 5 museums in the city square and you can buy a pass for all of them at a reduced rate. They also offer student discounts. If you only go to one, I recommend King Nikola’s Museum. It was the house of Montenegro’s last reigning King. Most importantly (to me), it was also home to two of his daughters, one of whom was a badass princess. She was the first woman to ever drive in Montenegro. One of her sisters, the queen of Italy at the time, sent her a Fiat as a gift. According to the museum’s keeper, Princess Ksenija was extremely progressive for her day and age. Not only did she scoot-scoot around Cetjnie in what I imagine to be a hot pink Fiat, but she was also her father’s trusted advisor and secretary on all issues foreign and domestic starting in her early 20s. She never cared to marry despite the fact she would’ve been the 5th queen of her father’s daughters.

Food recommendations: S.U.R. CRNA GORA. There’s no English on the menu. Order a paradajz (tomato) salad and the ćevapi (if you’re an omnivore).

 

Lovćen National Park

[loov-sin]
Montenegrin: Nacionalni Park Lovćen / Национални парк Ловћен
OMG I can see all of Montenegro from here

To be more precise, you can see a large portion of Montenegro from here after climbing about 464 steps to the Njegos Mausoleum that houses multiple monuments and, past its cube-like structure, opens up to a panoramic pathway on the other side, providing you with a killer view.

The monuments don’t trump the view, but I found the ceiling of the central monument extremely entrancing. It’s gold. Straight up GOLD.

Walking up to the Njegos Mausoleum is a must do, and the entire drive to the top will make you cry and wonder why human beings left nature. But then you’ll remember getting eaten by wild animals and it’ll be okay again.

 

Kotor

[ko-tor]
Montenegrin: Kotor / Котор
Sadly but wonderfully damaged by an earthquake in 1979

I arrived in Kotor after sleeping in way later than I’d like to admit. Seems she knew she was what I’d be needing that day. Minutes after leaving my car in a town parking lot, I found myself in the middle of torrential downpour. Something magical always happens when I find myself in the middle of torrential downpour.

Kotor is beautifully broken from its discolored shingles to its ancient buildings barely hanging on to its vertical cliffs, like Liz Taylor filming Cleopatra without the volatility. She sways in her shambles; aware they make her the star of sleepy port towns.

I sat looking up at the cliffs towering over quiet boats and felt no urge to climb to the top. Whatever is up there saw me looking up, trying to discern its secrets; it chose to keep them hidden from me. 

Food recommendation: Restaurant Galion. Definitely more of a fine dining vibe, but meals range from €15-25. Excellent and it’s on the water.

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As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
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“You Don’t Look Like You’re Backpacking” and Other Sexist Shit I Hear While Backpacking

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“You don’t look like you’re backpacking.”

For Tower Bridge's 7th edition of Art at the Bridge, 15 women were selected to display their art in honor of International Women's Day. Click the picture for a link to a few outtakes. 

For Tower Bridge's 7th edition of Art at the Bridge, 15 women were selected to display their art in honor of International Women's Day. Click the picture for a link to a few outtakes. 

I have gotten this most often, typically when wearing a dress. Fine, I get it, I’m not literally living out of a backpack with a tent and sleeping in the forest every night. I am, however, living out of a backpack for months on end.

I am lucky enough that the smallest piece of socially acceptable clothing I can wear on the street is a dress. Women are winning at something, eh? 

Naturally, I pack mostly dresses in the summer because they keep my bag light, my body cool, and they’re a breeze to wash.

The fact that I’ve now taken 3 minutes out of my day to explain how and why I backpack wearing dresses is beyond me.

 

“You’re traveling alone?” 

Sometimes this is said out of worry, but I don’t hear many solo male travelers tell me almost everyone they know has expressed concern for them being by their lonesome.

This comment carries doubt in my ability to take care of myself. With my safety level as a lone female traveler shifting depending on my location, I do understand and appreciate it in certain contexts. But like, a woman can chill totally fine on her own in London for god’s sake.  

 

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

This question and its inherent sexism has been thoroughly recorded in recent media thought catalogs, yay! To those who genuinely ask this question because you are interested in someone and you GOTTA KNOW RIGHT NOW if you can ride off into the sunset to “Thinking Out Loud,” I get it. But even still, you could both have this feeling and be otherwise committed. HUMAN BEINGS DO NOT OWN OTHER HUMAN BEINGS.  

As a backpacker, I notice the underlying sentiment of “another man owning a woman means she’s off limits” takes on even deeper meanings.

They ask, where’s your boyfriend? As if he must be around here somewhere because a woman cannot travel without a man.

They ask, do you have a boyfriend at home? As if the person who “owns” me is so far away that I might go outside my relationship sentence either to lend a hand in playing out their affair fantasy or let them lend me a hand in my assumed lonely sex life because I have no body property owner near by. 

 

“Oh yeah? I think you’re just trying to get a dick trophy in every country.”

Yes, my only purpose in life as a woman is to proudly and intentionally collect as many penises as I can with my vagina that inherently belongs to the men attached to those penises (and then turn around and be shamed for the number of ones I've had). This one takes the cake and the icing all in one giant bite.

I have done many forgiveness exercises for this man. When I recall this moment now, it evokes deep sadness and compassion for those whose superiority has cut off their true connection with the world. In one sentence, he effectively invalidated my love of travel, my love of culture, my gratitude for my body, my ownership of my body, the bodies of those I've been trusted to touch, and my voice, and he said it as if he were hungover making Sunday brunch plans.

 

Afterthoughts for the Unconsciously Misinformed (NOT the Dangerous)

I conclude by saying this: I am a bad feminist. I’ve gladly accepted men (and women!) buying me drinks and dinners and inviting me on boats and into homes. I’ve chosen to look at these offerings as humanistic rather than sexist, and I honestly don’t know which ones were which. I don’t want to take life too seriously and see no reason to berate a man or woman about whether they’re trying to flirt with me or simply be kind to me; this solves nothing.

In all the instances above except the final, I have continued talking to whomever made these comments. Like I said, I am a bad feminist, but I also have intentions in continuing these conversations.

I grew up in the Southern United States, which, despite best efforts by some, still has heavy, stubborn dregs of racism. Some of the side effects of this upbringing include genuinely unconscious racism. For example, looking at a painting of a hazy cotton field in rural Georgia passed down from my ancestors, I thought it was beautiful. It took someone with enough openness and kindness to explain to me that it was a boastful painting of a slaver owners’ possessions working in the fields.

What will make this world a better place? Connection. Choosing to set aside assumptions about someone's authentic nature based on simple comments, however hurtful. Instead of condemning and fighting and creating opposites of genders and/or sexualities, I try to be patient and kind. I try to connect.

A brilliant night in Brussels, Belgium.

A brilliant night in Brussels, Belgium.

I do not fight fire with fire. If I feel I am fully physically, mentally, and emotionally safe (crucial), I fight it with a giant ass fire hose. And when I do, something magical happens. We connect. We both cool down, I from my anger and the other from their pre-dispositions. My actions, ever so slightly, change the way they view me, and I secretly hope this revolutionary idea of equality begins to carve out new neural pathways.

This in no way applies to the dangerous and/or predatorial. In this case, I fight fire with silently running as far and fast away as I can. Full mental, physical, and emotional safety for myself always comes first. They are welcome to burn in the house they set on fire if they so choose. 

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As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
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Backpacking Europe: Bus, Plane, or Train?

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Without a doubt, I choose train. Below is a summary break down.

Train view from Naples to Rome.

Train view from Naples to Rome.

Bus / Car Service

  • This is without a doubt the cheapest option
  • It is also typically the slowest option
  • If you’re only in a city for a day or two, it will cut into your sightseeing time
  • Luggage storage can be tight depending on your load of people
  • A lot of European buses are plush as fuck if you care about that
  • You get views of the country side, road trip style

Conclusion: Buses and ride share type vans are cheap and usually fun. You can meet a lot of other people this way who are also traveling/backpacking/hitchhiking. Decide if travel time or phobia of buses is an issue for you and you’ve got your answer.

Plane

  • A 1 hour flight clocks in at a typical 5 hours when you include transport and check in
  • Regulations for carry on and checked bags are a hassle
  • Security is a hassle
  • You always land outside the city center and end up having to pay for transport
  • You get to look at the world from the sky
  • Food and beverages are offered on board most planes
  • You can’t take a snow globe on a plane
  • You can’t take wine on a plane

Conclusion: As much as I love airports and planes, I don’t prefer planes for backpacking Europe. They can be very inexpensive if you have a home-base and want to get away for a weekend at a time. For country hopping, however, they feel a bit clunky in my flow from city to city and I’d only recommend them for long distance relocations.

Train

  • Trains always begin and end in the city center
  • They typically connect easily to local public transportation lines
  • They’re the fastest in terms of total transport time
  • No real luggage size restrictions (most let you have 2 suitcases and a personal item)
  • No real luggage weight restrictions
  • Food and beverages are offered on board most trains
  • Trains also tend to be lush as fuck
  • You get to look out the window at mostly uncharted train territory
  • You can bring wine on a train
  • You can bring champagne on a train
  • You can bring a large ass bottle of shampoo on a train

Conclusion: Trains are the shit. They combine ease with efficiency and enjoyableness. That is all.

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Malibu couldn't be more of a dream come true. Thank you for all you've given me so far: inspiration, love, hope, spark, motivation, and stillness. Thank you for everything that is yet to come. My heart belongs to you. #malibu #california #malibumorni
As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
En route to Denver ⛰ #southernbelle #nomad #roadtrip
Nothing like day drinking in a tiny town. Helllllo, Durango 🦌
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The Schengen Zone: The Key to Bumming Around Europe for as Long as You Want

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Disclaimer: This post is meant to be as informative as possible, but I am only human. Correctly dealing with border patrol is pretty important, so please check local embassies' websites for the most up-to-date information. 

 

The Basics: Your American Visa in Europe

With a valid American passport, you are allowed to enter the Schengen Zone for a total of 90 days within a 180 day period. In laymen’s terms, you are allowed to spend a total of 3 months in the Schengen Zone every 6 months. Your visa does not “reset” if you go outside the Schengen Zone, it resets 6 months after you first enter the Schengen Zone.

 

The Schengen Zone vs the European Union

What is the Schengen Zone, you ask? Correct question. I didn’t know what it was until half-way through my first month of backpacking—please don’t be terribly naïve like me. Or do. It can be fun sometimes.

The Schengen Zone refers to those European countries who have agreed to abolish passport and/or border patrol, meaning you can move between these countries freely once you enter the Schengen Zone. If the world were simple, the Schengen Zone would be the same as the European Union. It, my friend, is not. 

Some countries are considered part of the European Union, but not the Schengen Zone. England, until recently (RIP Brexit), was one, along with Ireland, Croatia, Romania, and Bulgaria. Other countries are in the Schengen Zone, but not the European Union. These include Iceland, Norway and Switzerland.

Long story short, if you want to travel for more than 3 months in Europe, you must split your time up between the Schengen Zone and non-Schengen Zone unless you want an illegal immigrant passport stamp. I recommend playing, but not with border patrol.

For all its confusion, the Schengen Zone is actually awesome because it allows you to hop around European countries for longer than 3 months if you like. It's always my goal to stay here as long as I can because I love to travel, but also because flights back to the USA are so expensive. You go, Schengen Zone!

I’ve created the most basic map to give you a general idea of how all this looks visually.

If you're interested in an EU vs Schengen Zone vs Non-Schengen zone map, you can find tons of these venn diagram types all over the web.

If you're interested in an EU vs Schengen Zone vs Non-Schengen zone map, you can find tons of these venn diagram types all over the web.

Think of the big blue Schengen Zone as its own giant country with the same exact border protection laws. 

Every country outside the Schengen Zone (like the UK, Ireland, or anywhere else for that matter) has its own border protection protocol. Luckily, most of these countries work the same way as the Schengen Zone: you don't need to apply for a tourist visa; you only need your passport.

 

An Example

You could spend 3 weeks in France, 2 weeks in Germany, 1 week in Belgium, one 1 in the Netherlands, 2 weeks in Italy, 2 weeks in Spain and 1 week in Portugal. This would total 3 months in the Schengen Zone.

You could then spend 4 weeks in the UK, 1 week in Ireland, 2 weeks in Croatia, 2 weeks in Bosnia, 1 week in Serbia, 1 week in Bulgaria, and 1 week in Macedonia. This would total 3 months outside the Schengen Zone. You've now hit 6 months.

At this point, you could legally return to the Schengen Zone for another three months. 

This is a very simple example and these locations don't have to be in order. You can hop in and out any time you like; just be sure to keep track of your days.

 

Pro Tips

If you do travel in and out of the Schengen Zone frequently (like I do), keep notes of your days in a calendar. 

Any day you've spent inside the Schengen Zone counts as an entire day starting at hour 00:00. So, if you leave Germany at 6:00 AM on a Tuesday to go to Croatia, that Tuesday still counts as a day within the Schengen Zone. 

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Malibu couldn't be more of a dream come true. Thank you for all you've given me so far: inspiration, love, hope, spark, motivation, and stillness. Thank you for everything that is yet to come. My heart belongs to you. #malibu #california #malibumorni
As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
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Nothing like day drinking in a tiny town. Helllllo, Durango 🦌
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I Travel Because I Can

Budva, Montenegro
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I am privileged. I am quite possibly the most privileged because not only did I grow up with comfortability, but also with the good ole Southern teachings of humility, kindness, and hospitality. From the honest to goodness bottom of my heart, I do not know what I did to be given the life I’ve lived so far.

When I graduated from college, there was always a lingering question in my mind: what do you want to do with your life? There were the intellectual answers: I want to afford to live. I want to be happy. I want to put my work toward something I’m good at. These were all valid, but they weren’t my essence. My essence always answered this question, and still does, with another question: what will make the world a better place?

Growing up on a remote farm in bum fuck Egypt, Georgia, I was naturally inclined to the “other.” The other defined as anything other than my own bubble. I always wanted to go to Atlanta, the “big city.” Post-visiting New York City for the first time, I wanted to go back time and time again. No one was surprised when I went intercontinental and landed in California for college.

Today I sit on a balcony in Budva, Montenegro looking out on mountains topped with whispys of water vapor from what I, as a tiny human being, can only guess is the Adriatic Sea. (In my spare time, I like to imagine all water vapor is comprised of baby water molecules from all seas everywhere.)

I don’t speak the language here, but I can walk to the bodegas and smile at the man down the street who sold me his own “vino” even though I didn’t have enough euro coins to pay for it. He said to me “it’s okay, you pay tomorrow.” The magnitude and simplicity of that community and camaraderie with a stranger brought me near tears. It took me back to a recent world. I was 11 years old in my childhood front yard making Pokémon card bargains with my “neighborhood” boyfriend who knew in his heart of hearts I’d never slight him.

What will make the world a better place? Connection. Common ground. Understanding. Hospitality. Kindness. Community. Love. The ridding of the “other.”

Yes, I am privileged. I grew up in a comfortable home. I have no student loan debt. I studied freely without a nation telling me what I could and could not read. I was allowed to go to college. I am allowed to walk on the streets alone as a woman (in my home country). I have two legs that carry me through this life. I have two hands that can touch and love another. I have two ears that still hold melodies from my mother who always sang to me as a child. I have two eyes that can see these incredible crevices that this giant ball in the middle of the universe has carved out of nothing. It doesn’t care whether anyone looks at it or not.

From this moment forward, I choose to take my privilege and move through the world with it in the only way I know how to make it better. I choose to travel. I choose to take my body as far as it will carry me and to meet every person with the most authentic openness I have ever known. I choose to dispel the word “other” from my vocabulary because it does not exist. I travel because I can, and I can because I travel. 

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View fullsize As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
View fullsize En route to Denver ⛰ #southernbelle #nomad #roadtrip
View fullsize Nothing like day drinking in a tiny town. Helllllo, Durango 🦌
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Three Things I Fucking Have to Travel With

Paris, Current Home Base
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A Solid Fucking Scarf

This is not just any scarf. I did not even choose the particular one I have. It chose me right out of my sister’s closet like a Harry Potter wand. I don’t get attached to much, but damn I got feelings for this scarf.

It is an off-pink/beige/champagne-y color. Unidentifiable to say the least. The brilliance of its color is that is goes with anything, but it is neither boring nor extremely vulnerable to stains like true white or beige. The thing about stains: sometimes you need them. You need to wipe the sweat off your face because Barcelona in summer is beautiful but goddamn hot. You need to wipe wine off your chin in Italy. You need to wipe someone’s sneeze off your shoulder on the tube.

Get you a scarf you can fucking live in.

It is very light and gauzy with little tendrils at the end, a very blah and non-fluid shape. The light and gauzy part comes in handy for a myriad of reasons. It will not make you hot. If you accidentally snag it, you will never even be able to find the hole. When you wash it, it will dry super quickly.

Get you a scarf that can do it all.

 

Longchamp Large Nylon Tote

I went to a private school growing up and, needless to say, it was not my cup of champagne. During this experience, I remember seeing girls walking around with Longchamp bags with their pink little monogram on them and rolling my eyes. I’m still rolling my eyes because these girls with these bags didn’t even know the full capacity of their mother fucking brilliance. (Love and light to all of them though, for real.)

First and foremost, THEY ARE WATERPROOF. Completely waterproof. Find yourself standing in the middle of the Roman forum in the pouring down rain? I did. And that shit is fun, but not if your phone, camera, and collection of 20s era erotica are all soaking wet.

With great pride at making a second Harry Potter reference in one sitting (I am, at the moment, headed to London), I will have you know that these bags have an undetectable extension charm. When you think you’ve taken up all the space you can, you find more space.

Backpacking but don’t want to go full hiking boots and cargo pants? (Not that there’s one thing wrong with that.) This bag is an all-in-one. It can carry a shit-ton of stuff, is a great addition to a backpack, can be folded up to nothing if you don’t want to carry it, and can function as an actual stylish purse.

The purse part is so important to me because, as a purse, I only need to throw in my wallet and phone and whatever else when I go trek around for the day. Which means there’s so much extra room for activities! Groceries? Shopping bag. Pharmacy run? Shopping bag. Miniature Eiffel Tower from a street seller because they're so cliché and you don't even cur? Shopping bag. Taking home food even though Americans are the only ones who do? Shopping bag. Accumulating different bags throughout a day of trying to see a new city is the worst and this bag solves that problem.

Last but not least, it has a full zipper and a leather snap cover. I always keep the bag zipped up with the zipper to the front. If I’m walking around with headphones attached to my phone, I throw my phone in the bag and zip it up around the cord. Pickpockets be real, y’all.

Pro note: If you're traveling to Europe, wait to buy one. It will cost around $140 on sale in the US, but it will be around €90 regular price in any European country. 

 

Antibacterial Spray

You will be fine, she said. Your sister is the clumsy one, she said. Ye (me) of little faith in cobble stones, sewage drains, and curbs. I don’t care how careful you are, you WILL cut yourself. I have gashed my toe open multiple times (specifically my right big toe, thank you for all you do BB).

Always carry antibacterial spray. Throw in some band-aids if you like to party. For yourself and for others. I was on a boat with a friend who scratched his back up pretty bad and there ain’t no pharmacy in the middle of the sea.

 

Addendum: Honorable Mentions

Harry Potter and my sister both get 2 mentions in this. Love y’all, thanks for your contributions.

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Malibu couldn't be more of a dream come true. Thank you for all you've given me so far: inspiration, love, hope, spark, motivation, and stillness. Thank you for everything that is yet to come. My heart belongs to you. #malibu #california #malibumorni
As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
En route to Denver ⛰ #southernbelle #nomad #roadtrip
Nothing like day drinking in a tiny town. Helllllo, Durango 🦌
Dandelion wishes 💫

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Cologne: 4 Places to See + 1 Tourist Indulgence

Cologne
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Kölner Dom, Cologne, Germany.

Kölner Dom, Cologne, Germany.

I arrived fresh off the plane my first time in Europe in the city of Cologne, Germany. A friend of mine happened to be working there at the time, and my single motivation for stopping in was meeting up with her. Little did I know, I would stumble upon an enchanting city that is home to my favorite cathedral to date.

Being my first European experience, I know there is some romanticism attached to my story here, but looking back through pictures, I can’t help but daydream about standing under the Dom in the city square, feeling my body shrink down to the size of a pea. If you go there now, you might get to see it before it's as overrun with tourists as the Sistine Chapel. 

 

Kölner Dom (Cologne Cathedral)

I walked outside the central station in Cologne and stepped out on what felt like a giant marble countertop supporting a massive gothic cathedral with the most interesting patina I’ve ever seen. I am including a picture against my will because no image will ever capture the magnitude of this structure.

The Dom stands proudly amid a city that was heavily destroyed during WWII, the aftermath still visible in the sheer disproportionate cityscape. Remove the Dom from Cologne, and the rest of the city appears to humbly sit close to the ground.

I highly recommend climbing the 533 steps up to the top to experience this extreme contrast. It will ground you high up in the sky. On the way up, you’ll also see the largest free-swinging bell in the world. Not too shabby.

 

Museum Ludwig   

During WWII, most modern art was destroyed. Collector Sammlung Haubrich happened to steal and conceal a sizable amount of Expressionist and Classical Modernist art and donated it to Cologne after the war. His collection has ended up here and it’s special. You’ll find a profound appreciation for being able to witness something that easily could’ve been ashes buried under your feet.

 

EL-DE House

The EL-DE House was the Gestapo headquarters during WWII. Little known to the rest of the world, its basement housed prison cells and torture rooms. These rooms and writings on the walls from its prisoners have been kept as intact as possible and turned into a museum. If you do nothing else in Cologne, go here. I urge and beg you; go here. (Side note: the basement is translated to English, but the upstairs floors are not readable unless you know German)

 

Rodenkirchen

I stayed in an AirBnB in this little town just south of Cologne. It was tiny and charming and ended up spending many mornings and evenings wandering around its streets and admiring its little dwellings. If you need a break for the city and want to discover a homey area, talk a walk around Rodenkirchen.

 

Imhoff-Schokoladenmuseum (Chocolate Museum)

This is not a recommendation, per say. It’s 100% a tourist trap, but you get free chocolate and get to see this insane golden rendition of cocoa beans.

Früh am Dom, Cologne, Germany.

Früh am Dom, Cologne, Germany.

 

Locals

Last but not least, what made my experience so memorable in Cologne was the locals. They were vibrant and collective and passionate. If you want to find ALL the people, locals and tourists alike, head to Früh am Dom. I ended up meeting an awesome biker gang I stay in contact with every once in a while. They took me dancing and that’s a night I’ll never forget.

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Malibu couldn't be more of a dream come true. Thank you for all you've given me so far: inspiration, love, hope, spark, motivation, and stillness. Thank you for everything that is yet to come. My heart belongs to you. #malibu #california #malibumorni
As soon as I land here, my body drinks up the moisture and my skin and heart are revived. My body knows it was born and bred here. Traveling the world has made me so grateful for my home. Shout out to my Dad's '90s truck that still runs like new and
En route to Denver ⛰ #southernbelle #nomad #roadtrip
Nothing like day drinking in a tiny town. Helllllo, Durango 🦌
Dandelion wishes 💫

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