My husband and I were together for eleven whole years before we got married, but it’s only since saying our vows that the world has expressed displeasure with my propensity for traveling solo. Eleven years isn’t an obscenely large amount of time to maintain boyfriend-girlfriend status for high school sweethearts, but it’s a decent period …

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A woman treads lightly upon the moss covered ground, her senses are her guide, she carries nothing but a knife. She carefully picks plants as she moves through the forest and back to her home. She lives in a hand-made house in the woods where she stores her herbs and treats people with her medicine …

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I am a buffet for a horde of biting insects. The all-you-can-eat kind of buffet, that never seems to deplete. Whatever romantic idea of the road trip I had before we left is gone. Finito. Dead. It’s all reality now, baby. The reality is sleeping in a van that cooks you like a toaster oven. …

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This traditional, open-air market is over a century old, in the heart of a now otherwise ultra-modern city. Souq Waqif translates to “the standing market.” I spent several days at this market—standing and sitting—with shop owners. It’s about an eight-hour drive from my hometown in Saudi Arabia (or a one-hour flight). In this series, I didn’t focus …

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Café culture is central to the life of porteños, as the people who live in Buenos Aires are called. They get together to talk about anything and everything over a cup of coffee and usually a couple of medialunas (the local version of croissants, sweeter and denser than the regular ones). There is no set …

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I think fell in love with the woods when I was a kid. It must have been those camping trips we took every weekend, fishing out of the creek with found lines and the smell of smoke in our hair that never seemed to wash out. Maybe it was on my first multi-day backpacking trip …

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In a piano bar one night   Winter I am reading Frank O’Hara in Moscow, thinking of his samovar embroidered with basil   leaves and Ukrainian mottos. He called that poem Poem, which makes me bold. I have a vodka drink   called the Raskolnikov in a piano bar one night, with Piano Man in …

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The sunshine has won over the dark, the jean shorts are out of the closet, and fair-weather outdoor lovers are running for the mountains: it’s summertime. Forget wondering which radical adventure will consume your summer or where your next unique Instagram post will be. Wherever you are and no matter the radness, it comes down …

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Picture this. You’re in the office. The glare from the artificial lighting is burning your retinas and you see the clock in the right hand corner of your screen tick over to 5pm. You. Are. Out. Of. There.Tonight though you aren’t heading back to your homestead after a sweaty commute wedged between strangers with the …

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I could feel the heat from the roiling lava lake immediately below me. If this were anywhere else, there probably would’ve been some sort of railing or safety precaution, but instead our guide simply told us to stay on this side of the volcano to avoid the smoke billowing into the sky. The smoke was …

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Evening was setting in although we couldn’t really tell; the sky was just as dark as it had been all afternoon.  The clouds were low and monstrous, “the embodiment of evil,” my father called them.  He laughed as he said it. Those clouds filled the space around us.  They were dark, and robust, and thunderous. …

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“The mountains are calling and I must go.”  ~John Muir Summer is here—the days of longing for trail time and adventure have finally arrived. I’ve had my summer planned for months. As a trail runner, I sign up for races months in advance and then wait (and train) in anticipation. This year, my itinerary includes …

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