The Sauntering Llama

It began with a discussion on the Appalachian Trail over a few beers and turned into a trip to Peru 2 weeks later.

MP llama friends
New friends in Cusco!

Llamas and alpacas. Copious amounts of llamas and alpacas! A majority of my experiences in Cusco involved these silly, smiling creatures. They were a part of the community. If they weren’t dressed up, being led down the streets on a rope by the locals, they were being served on the local menus, things PETA would’ve been horrified by. Alpaca fur dominated the clothing in every market. Women waved fluffy scarves and ponchos in my face, informing me they were “baby alpaca”, a sure indication the material would be soft. From the cozy town of Cusco, to Rainbow Mountain and Machu Picchu, they were everywhere. As I wandered around in wonder at a culture so different from my own I found amusement in the realization that I had ended up in Peru in December, spring time in the southern hemisphere, when initially I had been planning on going to Iceland.

​As is typical of my travels, Peru happened in a spontaneous way. I met a backpacker in town from Pennsylvania at my favorite local bar a few days prior to Thanksgiving. I was discussing my desire to hike the Appalachian Trail when JD overheard my conversation and hopped in. It turned out he had hiked the entirety of the trail. Recognizing the energy of a fellow traveler, we were soon engaged in swapping travel stories. He informed me he works 6 months at a time and backpacks the other 6 months of a year. With my flight attendant schedule, I typically take shorter holidays every 3-6 weeks, jet-setting across the world anywhere from a weekend to 6 weeks at a time. Although we practice two entirely different travel styles, the general traveler mindset made it easy to get lost in conversation. Before I knew it I heard myself inviting him to the Friendsgiving dinner and party I was having the next day.



​Two weeks later, after a week of working and a week spent relaxing in Hawaii, I found myself heading to the airport with my new friend in Orlando. He drove as I booked his flight from Lima to Cusco. I laughed as he informed me he hates airports and flying whereas I love the excitement of it all. JD, despite his laid back persona and spontaneity, is more of an organizer than I am. I prefer to take life and traveling a moment at a time, making it up as I go along. We celebrated the efficiency of our teamwork over an airport beer before heading to our respective gates. I flew from Orlando to Atlanta to Lima to Cusco in exactly the same time frame that he flew from Orlando to Ft. Lauderdale to Lima to Cusco on completely different airlines. We spent a cold few hours in a sleeping bag in a sterile airport hallway in Lima on our layovers until security kicked us out at 4 am. We arrived in Lima within 30 minutes of each other around 6 am, exhausted yet adrenaline filled.



​Ignoring the men outside baggage claim gesturing to their unmarked cars yelling “Senorita?! Senor? Taxi?!” We uttered a few solid, “No! Gracias!” giggling at our horrible Spanish accents and continued on our way in the general direction of the city center. We both agreed we were in no rush. We wanted to see Cusco’s character as we wandered through the residential outskirts and local businesses. The number of adorable stray dogs greeting us had us pausing at every corner. We crossed streets with the local children who artfully dodged and weaved at opportune moments.

MP hello cusco

​Breakfast took place in a dark, single hole in the wall building off the street we were walking down with a smiling woman who spoke no English, offering us pollo and rice. Starved for anything edible we could get our hands on, we ordered a few smoothies. Minutes later our waitress ran out the open door and down the road, returning with the fruits we had ordered for our smoothie and a hospitable smile. Cusco wormed its way right into my heart in that moment. As exhausted as I was, the first impressions of our Peruvian home town for the next week charmed me. The next focus was to find somewhere with wifi so we could figure out where to stay for the evening.

​Our stroll to town zig zagged from distraction to distraction. Searching for an atm we stumbled upon a local market in an alleyway. The fruits and vegetables were stacked high between booths. Dark skinned local women in long dresses sat scattered amongst the stands with braided hair and large hats. Merchants offered to sell us anything our gaze fell upon, assuring us their deals were best. We turned a corner and the most nauseating sight was before us . . . a separate partitioned area that made up the meat market. Raw meat of every kind sat open on the stands. Heads, hooves, ears, organs; it was all there. We paused to observe a woman beating something over the counter, lifting her arms over her head for stronger impact. I turned questioning eyes to JD. “What is she doing farm boy?” I whispered, using the name I’d endearingly gifted him after learning he works on farms and vegetables are his favorite food. He hesitated and then his eyes widened. “She’s . . . it’s a cow tongue! She’s tenderizing it.” Horrified I quickly moved in the direction of the tent opening functioning as a door, passing the large slaughtered pigs with their organs on display. The pungent aroma of dead things repulsed me but I also couldn’t look away.



​Resurfacing from the meat tent we embarked once again on our journey to the town center. A peaceful parade of protestors wandered down the street holding signs and speaking through megaphones. Police escorts with shields walked alongside them. We climbed up a steep set of stairs for a better vantage point of the city. The brief moment of stillness reminded us of our fatigue. We found ourselves sitting down to rest for a few minutes . . . then we were lying down with our backpacks as pillows . . . before we knew it we were asleep on an overhanging sidewalk of a small walkway near a homeless man and some strays. The smell of urine was just prominent enough to remind us where we were, but not strong enough to overpower the exhaustion. JD woke me up when he felt a woman stepping over us. That was our cue to end our much needed hobo nap.

MP protest

​Feeling the thinner air from the altitude of Cusco, around 11,152 ft/3,399 km, combined with heavy smog from an assumed lack of pollution emission regulations, we worked our way through the layered levels of the city. Each side street became a new adventure. We wandered into an archaic church and many different shops. My first purchase was a handmade threaded bracelet by an older local woman for just cinco soles. I quickly learned of JD’s weakness for nice jewelry as he stopped to look at everything silver and shiny. Each shop’s personality enticed us deeper into the city.

​Finally arriving in the main square, much to my distaste we stumbled upon a Starbucks, a guaranteed place to pick up wifi. A hostel in an elevated area just outside the square was booked and google maps were consulted. We did some basic research on ways to get to Machu Picchu in the following days over espresso and then we were off. To our delight, our hostel room overlooked a beautiful view of the city. Red wine and probing conversation was to ensue in the later hours looking out over the twinkling orange city grid. Small talk amongst travelers is simply impossible.



MP Cusco evening
Cusco city center at dusk

The main purpose of my trip to Peru was to hike Machu Picchu and see a new country in a new hemisphere. I’d not yet traveled to South America. The conversation leading up to this decision was something of this sort:
Me: “Wow you’re going to Peru! That’s amazing. It’s on my list. I’d love to make that trip!”
JD: “Yeah I’m looking forward to it. You’re welcome to come along.”
Me: “Well . . . don’t say it if you don’t mean it, but sure, why not? I could probably get the time off work. When do we leave?”

​Two weeks from our initial meeting we left for Peru. To anyone who travels frequently, this is not surprising. I oftentimes meet travelers along the way in which one of us will reroute completely and tag along with the other because of a simple suggestion and invite. Half of the fun of backpacking comes from the people who join you for the journey and pure serendipitous spontaneity. I’ve gained some of the most informative travel tips from these experiences in addition to some amazing friendships. I do, however, realize this sounds crazy to those who do not participate in this kind of lifestyle. If you have not yet had this experience, I highly recommend it.

​The trek to the base of Machu Picchu, also known as Aguas Calientes turned out to be a bit of a challenge. JD and I wandered around town to different tourism centers looking for the best deal. He bargained and haggled in his Spanglish, each package becoming cheaper than the next. I admired his gusto, taking mental notes and keeping track of each price package in a note pad on my phone as he refused to settle for anything less than what we wanted. According to our research we needed transportation to and from the town, the entry fee to the ruins and a guide. Everyone told us the guide was mandatory, much to our chagrin. As for accommodation, we figured we could just camp, book a hostel or Airbnb it for a cheaper price than any package could offer us. With our three points of focus we finally settled for the cheapest package offered through our hostel. That evening we settled in for an early night. We choked on a sampler of pisco, the local brandy, and then promptly gave the rest to some European backpackers. I consumed my first alpaca burger over a grueling round of Incan style chess. Then it was time for bed.



​We departed our hostel at an early hour and were met by a tour guide who spoke limited English. We followed him down the road to a white van. The door seemed to be stuck and we watched from the sidewalk, chewing on a mealy apple, as the men inside and our guide yelled back and forth to each other in rapid Spanish. It was clearly just another normal morning in their lives. Once the door was pried open we crawled into the last row of the 14-seater white van.

​Every bump in the rocky road hit us as we weaved through the primitive streets, picking up other backpackers along the way. 7 hours later, after some terrifying mountain roads, we arrived in Hydroelectrica, a stop in the middle of nowhere. A partial overhang with a small kitchen offered us a warm meal. From here there were two options to get to the town; we could either take a train for about $40 or hike along the tracks for approximately 10 km. We chose the hike, arriving in the charming Aguas Calientes just a few hours later. Our arrival was celebrated over pina coladas in a café offering wifi as we figured out where to book our stay for the evening.



This slideshow requires JavaScript.

​Our alarms went off at 4:15 am the day of the big event. I snoozed until the last minute as JD coaxed me to arise in a much too chipper tone while he gathered things we might need for the day. It was a dark mile or so hike to the first checkpoint. The guards requested tickets to pass through. We had never received paper tickets. With the help of a translator app we spoke back and forth to them, starting to realize that maybe we had gotten ripped off. While I remained at the checkpoint, JD ran back to town to borrow the hostel phone.

​His phone calls were unsuccessful. The tour company didn’t answer. The original hostel we booked through seemed uncertain as to what happened, but assured us they would attempt to make things right when we returned to Cusco. We were on our own. The tour guide waiting up at the gates of Machu Picchu said he could meet us a few hours later than planned. On my end, the security guards began making conversation, mostly through charades and my limited Spanish skills, asking where I was from, if I was a student, and if JD was my husband. Upon learning I was unmarried and a flight attendant, or rather a “stewardess” as they chanted excitedly to each other, they suddenly became overly accommodating. They called up to the gates and read our passport information over the phone, requesting information as to whether or not there were tickets at the top for us, which there were not. By the time JD returned, we were both very aware that we needed to come up with a plan B.

​After hiking into town and buying our own tickets, we did an about face for take 2. The sun had fully risen at this point. We cheered as we passed the checkpoint this time and began the hike up. Unfortunately Machu Picchu has turned into a massive tourist attraction, so there are buses constantly running up and down to the top. For authenticity purposes we chose to take the steep rocky stairs to the top. The view among the clouds became prettier with each turn in the path.

MP llama 2

​Our guide had agreed on the time of 9 am to meet at the gate. We arrived almost 30 minutes early, choosing a place to sit and eat while we waited. 9:00 came and went . . . then 9:15. The chill in the air encouraged us to put on all of our layers. We assumed our guide worked on Peruvian time so we weren’t concerned. When 9:30 rolled around, the feeling of dread returned. JD once again went in search of a phone. A while later he informed me the guide wasn’t coming, but one of the tour guides at the top, upon hearing our story offered to include us in whatever group he led next for a discounted price. After waiting for another 15 minutes, with no signs of groups looking for a guide the man came back and apologized that he wouldn’t be taking us. Then he said the words that left us incredulous. We didn’t actually need a guide for our first entry . . . with that we were up and smiling again, thanking him profusely as we were waved through the gates.

Neither of us was too upset about the situation, choosing to find humor in how ridiculous the whole situation was. We were simply happy to finally pass through the gates! Despite the annoying amounts of tour groups passing through with flags and speakers as if this were Disney, the trip and our efforts proved to be worth it. My first view of the ruins had me floored. I’m sure I stood on the mountain edge with my mouth open for a few seconds of silence, taking it in. “Wow!” Seemed to be the only appropriate response.



An island of rocks, piled into mathematically shaped rooms and compartments, surrounded by intertwining levels of stairs reminded me of the legos I used to build structures out of as a kid. The intricate layering perfectly complemented the shape of the mountain in which the civilization lived upon. Clouds floated along the mountaintops surrounding Macau Picchu, shrouding the peak from view. Generations of time gone by yet the elements had still managed to leave much of the original structures untouched. I could almost imagine the ancient people milling through their homes, cooking and sharing laughter in everyday life, children hopping from stone to stone as they played among the mountains. Llamas and alpacas wandered in and out of the ruins as if no time passed. I laughed at how goofy they looked but remembered to be careful to stand clear of the cliff’s edge as the animals pushed their way through the crowd, unconcerned about the photoshoots that ensued in their wake. JD and I explored with newfound energy, drinking in the experience. Halfway through we took a nap in a patch of grass overlooking the ruins, enjoying the stillness as many of the tourists dutifully boarded their buses to town for lunch. Eventually we returned to town for a nap and a much deserved meal, ready to plot our next adventure, making plans to return to Cusco the following day.


We did eventually get our money back from the hostel we had booked the Machu Picchu package with, receiving a heartfelt apology as well to our surprise. Hands were shook, apologies were accepted and appreciation shown on both ends. With everyone content we had rainbow mountain next up on the list! Although it hadn’t been on my radar prior to my Peruvian adventure, it soon became one of my favorites memories. I highly recommend it to anyone planning to visit Peru. I warn you now though, the biggest challenge with this hike is the elevation. Born and raised at sea level in Florida, I was not prepared, despite my previous hiking experience.

JD and I had booked an Airbnb with a kind Peruvian family near the airport in Cusco after our return from Machu Picchu. They spoke almost no English, but a lovely woman from Switzerland and her Peruvian husband also happened to be staying with them and spoke both fluent English and Spanish. With her help we were able to request information on how to get to Rainbow Mountain efficiently. It turned out her husband had a connection with a tour company in Cusco that sells packages for that trip. With his help we were able to work out a fantastic price including transportation there and back as well as two meals before and after the hike for that day trip.

We awoke far too early, in my opinion, for the long drive out to rainbow mountain. The sun wouldn’t rise for another few hours. As usual JD hopped up nice and chipper at the alarm to pack everything we might need for the day while I snoozed an extra 10 minutes, threw my clothes on in a rush and grabbed the essentials as we ran out the door to catch a taxi to the town square. The owner of the house we were staying in, a maternal elderly woman awoke and walked out with us to ensure we were able to find a taxi. (Taxis are extremely cheap in Peru as long as you act like you know what you’re doing). We arrived at the town center in the dark and stood in confusion until a man walked up saying our names and telling us to follow him down a side street. If I hadn’t already been in Peru for a week, I might’ve been skeptical, but by now I had learned this is just how they operate. We followed him to a group of people who were clearly backpackers as well and stood yawning until our bus arrived shortly after.

We had chosen to explore the nightlife of Peru the previous night, enjoying some side street bars and sharing a bottle of questionable wine, which left maybe an hour or two of sleep. Therefore, as soon as I boarded the bus I went right to sleep on JD’s shoulder. He dutifully pulled out his book to read as we bumped along the mountain roads once again. I dreamily zoned in and out of sleep as the sun rose, smiling at the beauty of Peru and my experiences thus far. I couldn’t get enough of the culture, the people, the beauty of the Andes and the lifestyle. I let myself drift through the dream I was in, half in reality and half otherworldly all culminating from the moment until we arrived hours later in the middle of the mountains for breakfast.

JD woke me up and waited for me to fumble with my boots and jacket as we climbed out of the bus, suddenly starving. We sat at long picnic tables in a one room building while the locals served us much too salty eggs with bread, jam and butter, watered down tea and coca tea. Coca leaves are supposed to help with altitude sickness. Hikers are encouraged to chew on the leaves while hiking in Peru. We made friends with the guys sitting at our table from England and New Zealand. Immediately linked by the travel bond everyone began sharing tips and experiences from their insane backpacking and hiking trips, a different story for everyone even when they centered in the same places. We all instantly became friends.

Soon after breakfast we drove the rest of the way to the entry trail to rainbow mountain. Blue skies, fluffy clouds, horses saddled up and advertised at affordable prices by locals in traditional garb to take the less athletic travelers up to the top on horseback, we had arrived. Starting strong, and on level terrain, we laughed and joked with the guys we’d shared breakfast with. Things took a turn rather quickly, however. Pretty soon we were walking slower, all except JD who apparently has lungs that don’t need oxygen. Soon, we were all in different stages, struggling with the altitude and going at our own paces. Suddenly I envied the people on the horses as they were led to the top, taking in the scenery.


I forced myself on, stopping to catch my breath occasionally, reminding myself this is exactly the experience I wanted. I needed this. I needed to be in another country, surrounded by another lifestyle, pushing my limits like this. I craved it. Years later, it seemed, I reached the top, JD bounding up to me like it was the most casual thing in the world. The temperature freezing, I donned my layers, and borrowed JD’s opossum gloves. When I finally caught my breath and warmed enough to focus, the view took my breath all over again. Words cannot describe the beauty of the colors of a place that seems so untouched by civilization. It truly mesmerized me.

RM views
I spun in circles at the viewpoint, marveling at every angle, overjoyed to be alive. These are the moments, blocking out everything and everyone else, alone with nature, that satisfy every part of my being.


We returned to Cusco that evening, hearts full, bodies tired and relaxed. The nostalgia already creeping up on me as I felt the end of my time in Peru drawing near. Mentally I began to withdraw, recapping the journey, allowing myself to be fully in Peru, mind, body, soul. America seemingly on another planet, I listened to the people in Cusco speaking rapid Spanish, I watched the children run through the streets laughing, dropping their science projects in the town square, enjoyed the smells of the street vendor food and surrounding restaurants, even began to find the young men trying to sell other people’s art to us charming. In my final few days, a part of me became Cusco. I stopped connecting my phone to WiFi to check my messages, enjoyed every sip of my beers and every bite of the food that was entirely different than what I had ordered. Home was Cusco. It didn’t matter that I could barely understand Spanish. The non verbal communication spoke louder than anything verbal. The kindness and servitude of the people reminded me how jaded I’d become to assume that all customer service tended to err on the fake impersonal side as it often is in America. The genuine kindness of Peruvians moved me.


One of the most beautiful things I found about Cusco was the genuine happiness of the people, no matter their societal standing. They say Thailand is the land of smiles, which I found to be true, but I think Peru is equal in this. Much of the population seemed to be populated by a lower class, yet they were seemingly content with their lifestyle. They are hard workers but they live without unnecessary material possessions. It was amazing to see this first hand. If you’ve ever watched the Netflix documentaries “Minimalism” and “Happy”, this is the main focus. People and countries that tend to be “poor” monetarily generally have higher levels of happiness than westernized societies focused on capitalism.

Now that I’ve experienced this firsthand, it’s only increased my desire to live the life of a minimalist. I’ve ended my lease on my apartment, preferring to live entirely through couch surfing, moved to a new state, am living off of the things I fit into my two seater car and surround myself with amazing people in between and during my adventures. I’ve never been happier! They call me a hippy, they tell me I’m crazy, but the lifestyle takes over and changes a person for good. Cusco has imbedded its lessons into my heart and I can’t go back. I never live a day without living.



For those of you who would like to follow JD’s journeys through his photography and blog:

Jonathan David Photography (Facebook)

*Thank you for sharing this journey with me JD. I’m grateful to have crossed paths and learned so much from you. Until next time! Xxx


Simply Serendipity

I boarded a direct flight to Portland, Oregon. I didn’t know where I was going to stay, what I was going to do, or how long I would be in town, but I felt extremely positive vibes pulsating within me. My fate was left to the mercy of the universe.

Portland, Oregon

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the thick archaic trees as old as time itself. A gentle lulling rhythm with the occasional addition of a squirrel disrupting the pattern whilst leaping amongst the branches. My long curly hair swayed to this music, with the occasional strand entangling itself in my purple lip gloss. A smile playing on my lips, I listened. Nature approved of our presence. She graced us with warm rays of sunshine peeking through lazy scattered clouds. Athena, a majestic English terrier much too large to properly represent her breed, nuzzled the sheer floor length skirt of my fairy costume as it too danced with the wind.

My attention returned. The bride and her husband-to-be clasped each other’s hands in a patch of sun-kissed grass with a semi rusted tractor as a backdrop. The ongoing construction of their tiny house sat atop the nearby hill amongst the mountains, a member of the joyous audience eager to share in the couple’s ceremony, promising to bless them bounteously in all of their days to come. The groom’s son served as an officiate as joyous tears filled the eyes of the glowing bride. Each member of the cozy wedding party experienced the tangible energy of the couple as they sealed their vows with their wedding kiss. We erupted into cheers and applause, toasting our drinks to the new mister and missus. A perfect moment within a string of serendipitous events.

My mind wandered again as I took in the scene before me. I’ve been many places. I’ve met a variety of people. However, Portland, Oregon is home to some of the most unique souls I’ve experienced so far in all of my travels. It may be the mindset of “Keep Portland Weird” that draws me in, it may be the level of acceptance that people practice towards others, or it may be the way Portlanders take the time to observe the energies and vibes of people and experiences surrounding them. The combination of all those things immediately resonated with me.

One week ago I concluded I wanted to make a return trip up to Fairbanks, Alaska. My last experience in Alaska was a mystical winter wonderland back in February and I decided I wanted to have the summer experience before the season changed. With this decision came the question of where I wanted to stop on my way. Flying from Orlando, FL I knew I had to stop somewhere and I knew I wanted to make that place count. I had no idea how much this trip would affect me.

The very next day I boarded a direct flight to Portland, Oregon. I didn’t know where I was going to stay, what I was going to do, or how long I would be in town, but I felt extremely positive vibes pulsating within me. My fate was left to the mercy of the universe.

With the help of Alaskan Air’s wifi on my 6 hour flight, I scanned the couch surfing app on my phone for hosts in Portland. I sent out a few messages to surfers in the area, but most were already booked, out of town, or busy. I continued to drink my red wine and watch my inflight movie options without concern, trusting that I would soon be provided for. About halfway through the flight, an angel entered the scene. A friend from college who I’d mostly lost touch with about 5 years ago had seen my Facebook post broadcasting my next adventure. Within minutes we were chatting through messenger, and the arrangements were made. I was to stay with Briana and her longtime boyfriend Zak for a day or two.

I landed in Portland as the late afternoon sun cast a serene glow over the mountains. The scene was picturesquely set. Using google maps I navigated my way through downtown Portland on the Max, the main overground transit system. About 30 minutes into my journey I stepped off to change lines. Hesitantly standing at the new stop, I consulted my maps. As I was doing this a man about 30 feet away began speaking to me and walking in my direction as if we were old friends. Something about the delays was said and then, “So you like to do yoga?” in reference to the yoga mat hanging from my shoulder. It was soon apparent that I was from out of town as I struggled to understand what he was saying about the transit lines and he asked where I was from.

This strange character, I soon learned, is known as Peter Pan. A native to Portland, he carried on the conversation, seemingly unaware of my surprised and slightly guarded stance. Growing up in Orlando, I was taught not to talk to strangers, especially in the city. Portland is seemingly backwards in that belief. The friendliness of the locals is wonderfully refreshing.

As Peter and I boarded the Max together I found myself drawn to his genuine openness and easy going nature. Jumping around in topics he gave me tips for the city, engaged the 18 year old boy next to us in conversation and managed to offer to show me around all in a span of 25 minutes. My head was spinning by the time I reached Briana. Our reunion instantly brought back the friendship we had once shared as if no time had lapsed.

My original plan was to spend 2 days in Portland and then head to Alaska. Well, 2 days quickly turned into 6 thanks to the fascinating people of Portland. Briana, Zak and Tigger, the cat that presides over the duo, are family to me now. Their apartment has the rich feeling of another era, adorned with intricate and creatively placed antique pieces. Large canvases of enchanting trees, a tapestry of an exotic tiger and vintage photographs line their walls, illuminated by mood evoking lamps and an assortment of artistically placed candles.

Zak could be found lounging on the couch in his work clothes in the evening, pants held up by suspenders, dark rimmed glasses slightly lowered, an overall intensity of wisdom beyond his youth, the epitome of a man from another time. Briana is the perfect complement to his personality. Kind, beautiful sweet, receptive to the energies of those around her and overwhelmingly gracious. Their combined intellect and intrigue of the world made for thought provoking conversation. These two instantly made me feel at home.

The living room served as a stage for many philosophical discussions amongst us over the past few days. I was challenged to see the world in a new perspective thanks to their open mindset. Music, art, energies, the law of attraction, the state of the world, entrepreneurial ideas, conspiracy theories. . . We debated it all. I grew fascinated with the differences I noticed from east coast to west coast idealogies in America.

Each day bred a new adventure. As Briana and I did some exploring and shopping, I realized just how friendly so many people are. When they ask how you’re doing, it’s not just a rhetorical question but an actual inquiry. Everyone we spoke to along our path seemed genuinely interested in what we had to say. Portland is a city by population but a small town at heart.

The natural beauty of Oregon is breathtaking to say the least. I had the pleasure of doing some hiking with Briana and we couldn’t stop singing throughout the hike from the sheer pleasure of the beauty of the earth and the amazing weather. Blue skies followed us everywhere we went despite Portland’s reputation as a rainy place.

My time was perfectly split between the suburbs and the city. I owe my city experiences entirely to that Peter Pan creature aforementioned. He is the perfect boyish gentleman and I truly feel he is the real life Peter Pan. His 6 foot, 6 inch height completely dwarfs my petite 5’3″ frame and he walks, sometimes skips, with a bounce in his step. With an overactive imagination, a charismatic personality quick to befriend a stranger, easy smile and generous spirit, he led me through his home of Portland Never Never Land.

I didn’t need to make plans with Peter Pan as my guide. I saw a little bit of every side of the eclectic city. We walked along the waterfront, waded in the city waterfall at Keller Fountain Park, explored the Saturday market, ate the famous Voodoo doughnuts, tried weird flavors and shared ice cream at Salt and Straw, and played life size chess and connect four in Director Park. We even did a bit of adventuring through the night life, enjoyed diner food at Roxy, and watched some old movies at an old fashioned theater known as the Laurelhurst. But of all of the things we did, one of my favorite experiences has to be playing air hockey and arcade games in the Avalon Theatre & Wunderland the first evening out.

As my trip continued to extend day by day with more to see and do, the Faerieworlds 2017 festival was suddenly upon me and I found myself booking a last minute ticket to attend with Briana and Zak. I figured I’d come to experience Portland with whatever experiences were presented to me and I couldn’t pass this up. What an enchanting experience it turned out to be! It began with a wedding and melded into a fantasyland of faeries, mermaids, trolls and all sorts of magical creatures.

As Briana and I strolled through the woods we came across an albino peacock preening in a tree. Mystified at the beauty of such a creature I marveled at the perfection of such perfect snowy feathers. Just as I was telling her about the positive omen of finding a single white feather the peacock suddenly looked directly at us. In that moment I felt as if the peacock acknowledged us, as if to say “I see you. You’re doing good things and I give you my blessing to continue.” As we stared back a single white feather drifted to the ground. I happily collected it, settling it into a place in my hair.

An ethereal orange sunset dripped through the enchanted forest, setting the tone for the evening with a sprinkling of faerie lights in the trees. Their was an alluring hum of middle eastern instruments supplemented with belly dancing and hypnotic singing throughout the booths and tents selling potions, crystals, faerie eggs and magical trinkets. By the time the folk band Omnia took the main stage I was completely entranced in this otherworldliness. We danced to the primal drumbeats and lost ourselves in the mystical strumming of the harp. As the band preached the fight for protecting nature in some of their songs such as Earth Warrior I felt myself becoming one with the earth and the collective energy of the spirits dancing around me. It was an evening to remember.

My serendipitous experiences this week have grounded me in the truth and reality of the person I hadn’t fully realized I’ve become. Talking to the people in Portland, I’ve learned to see things more organically. Modern western civilization as a whole has a tendency to focus on material things that are often destructive to ourselves and our world. Immersing myself in a like-minded culture has given me a newfound peace and resolve to focus on living within earth’s blessings as part of a regenerative process rather than abusing and destroying the natural resources we’ve been provided. Thank you Portland for revealing to me a new appreciation for the purity of raw life. The friendships I’ve made in this chapter of my journey are priceless.

*Many of these photos are largely credited to the beautiful Briana


London’s Enchantment

London is more than high fashion and history. The culture and people have permanently settled in my heart.

What is it about London that has me coming back for more?

It doesn’t matter the season or how many times I’ve been. London keeps calling me. Falling in love in the city is easy to do. The historic buildings draped in seasonal decorations, the fast paced lifestyle, bold fashion choices that leave you staring and swinging jazz music seeping from night clubs onto crowded streets. It’s overwhelming in the greatest way. People of varying ages and diverse backgrounds in every state of attire can be found strutting through the streets in their tailored coats and stylish shoes. It may be gray and rainy for half, or even two-thirds of the year, but there is a mood even in that. There is a simple beauty that comes from sipping tea in a cozy café while watching the rain fall.

I fell in love with London almost 2 years ago and have continued to fall harder each of the 8 times I’ve returned since. It was love at first sight. Everything about it appealed to me. Maybe I saw it with rose-colored glasses at first, but over these past two years our relationship has only matured and heightened in intensity.

Of course, as most American females will tell you, the English accent definitely was an appeal. Every girl loves a good accent, especially one that has been romanticized in our movies and media for years. However, I’m picky in the romance department and it takes more than a well-dressed population armed with alluring accents to steal my heart. No, there was much, much more.

The people themselves have a look that I often times only find in larger cities. Men smartly dressed in suits and blazers hastily check their watches as they move towards the tube, grabbing a newspaper from the stack besides the staircase as they descend into the underground. Women in all states of attire from tailored skirts with functional heels to high waist jeans and stylishly cut tops and color coordinated jumpers (sweaters), casually accessorize their outfits to reflect London’s latest fashion. Tall, beautiful people can be seen all throughout the city, lining up at Costa for a cup of tea or coffee to go, or crammed into the many pubs on every street corner. Everyone, whether dressed to the nines or purposefully outfitted to embody a “casual” look, is doing their best to make a visual statement.

Visiting as an adult, the realization that everyone walks or bikes everywhere in London fascinated me. Growing up in the Orlando suburbs, walking was never encouraged, as things were too spread out, with no quick public transportation system. The walking culture of London creates a whole different feeling of community. People are forced to interact while passing each other, even if they’re not consciously thinking about it.

There is even a section in the newspaper called the Rush Hour Crush in which travelers on public transportation can text in personalized comments, appreciation for a good deed, compliments and even requests for dates to people commuting alongside them to be posted in the paper. And yes . . . people actually still read newspapers. In fact, it’s pretty impossible not to spot newspapers littering the floors and benches of the underground each day. Being an outsider to my own generation, in which I prefer an old-fashioned book to a tablet or nook, I find something as simple as reading a newspaper, quaint. With that being said, the simple things may charm me, but I am even more excited by the activities of London.

Coming from a music performance background myself, some of the biggest attractions for me are the bounteous forms of musical entertainment. The London jazz scene drew me in from day one with one of my first experiences being the discovery of Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club. It was London that threw me into venues in which my now favorite style of music, gypsy jazz, was being performed. I also quickly learned what swing dancing is all about. Whether you’re looking for jazz, musical theater, classical, pop, rock, etc. it can all be found in all types of venues in London.

The West End is constantly advertising premier viewings of the newest and oldest running musicals, whereas halls in the Southbank Centre host various concerts from the London Philharmonic Orchestra all the way to alternative forms of new music performed by small bands or even poetry readings. Just a hop over the bridge from Westminster and Big Ben and a brief walk away, the Centre hosts more than just music. An entire art community with frequent markets of freshly cooked foods, used books for sale, buskers, active artists displaying their works and just about every activity you can imagine can be found here.

There is always something to participate in. Between the music, arts, nightlife, parks, or history of London, the options are limitless and constantly changing. While it may seem like the fast paced lifestyle never gives locals time to unwind, it’s easy to find many of them enjoying a pint at the local pub closest to their work place at the end of each day. Laughter can be heard coming from the open doors late into the evening. My favorite pubs are the more private ones, tucked off of side streets and easy to pass if you’re not searching for them. There’s nothing better than sitting in a corner with a pint of beer and my notebook, surrounded by soft jazz music and a sprinkle of conversation beneath dimmed lighting from ornate brass light fixtures. I won’t tell you where to go. You must simply discover these gems on your own.

This may all sound dreamy, but I don’t deny the darker sides of the city. As I stated in the beginning, our relationship has only matured over time. I’ve seen the dirty, crime infested sides of the city. I’ve observed the alcoholism and smoking culture that affects a large amount of the population, despite the health risks. I’ve experienced the pretentiousness that comes from people making more money than they know what to do with. I’ve struggled with rerouting myself when the tube workers have gone on strike due to low wages and read the papers as angry citizens who lost their jobs protested they were unable to make it to work on time from unscheduled delays, a byproduct of the strikes. I’ve seen news articles headlining the tragic death of another person accidentally pushed off the tube platform onto the electrically charged tracks in rush hour, or another biker run over by a red bus that didn’t see them in time. I’ve followed the coverage of Brexit and witnessed first-hand the divide among families voting on opposite sides. I’ve spoken to fearful immigrants from throughout Europe in the form of musicians and artists, uncertain of what their fate held the day Brexit was voted in. No city is perfect, just as no relationship is perfect.

Even after seeing this other side, I’m still in love. The darker sides of London create a depth for which art and music can persist to thrive with continued inspiration. Without darkness you have no contrasting brightness or the corresponding appreciations of joy. Humanity needs a balance of each in order to evolve and learn from emotions and experiences. This is what pushes us to grow in our personal development. I have learned invaluable lessons from my observations in London.

I see a city built on the foundation of acceptance; people from all over the world work alongside each other in a harmonious balance. I see a city where music and the arts are appreciated for what they represent, not just for the ways in which they may benefit your health. I see a city where respect is expected, not a privilege to receive. I see a city where healthcare is accessible to everyone, even if it may not be perfect. I see a community driven to expanding their minds and bettering their society at any cost. I see a city in which young adults know and care about what is going on in their world.

Despite a city with history dating back hundreds of years, I feel there is an overall youthful, forward-thinking energy when I walk through London. As I return to London in three weeks for the 10th time, I aspire to learn more from this city that constantly lives in my heart. I may have traveled abroad to many places, but this is still the one that fits me best. The enchantment, the pulsing vitality, calls to me, beckoning to me to return as quickly and as often as possible.

The Conundrum of Happiness

Freedom comes with the realization that your reality is your own doing.

What makes you happy? I work hard to ask myself this question every day. Sometimes I ask myself multiple times a day. It doesn’t always have to be the same answer. In fact, in my case, it’s constantly evolving and changing altogether.

The thing that shocks me is that somewhere along the way in this jaded world we live in, happiness became second in importance to things like stability, the acquiring of certain possessions and making money. Western civilization has become greedy, yet even knowing this to be true, it doesn’t change the focus for many people.

My definition of what makes me truly happy has been changing over the years. Change isn’t a negative thing, but rather a sign that I’m listening to myself as I grow into a person shaped by places I’ve been and experiences I’ve had. Sometimes happiness came in the form of a person, other times a genre of music and other times still, a place. However, even with all of the transformations, I can’t say I’ve ever put much focus in material things. I have my parents to thank for grounding me with this wisdom and freedom from a young age. Things were simply things; replaceable, nothing more, nothing less.

So what is my secret to happiness? I’m known for being a pretty optimistic and upbeat person and I get asked this question more often than I care to admit. Sometimes it saddens me that the answer isn’t as clear to everyone else as it is to me. Now of course, everyone must seek out their own version of happiness. There is no cookie cutter answer here, but I will share with you what I’ve learned and what brings me the most joy.

This will sound extremely cliché, but the blanket answer is that I listen to what my soul craves. The more specific answer is TRAVEL. In fact, it’s incredibly hard for me to sit still. Back when I first discovered how amazing it was to go abroad, I was enjoying the world and everything it had to offer so much that I knew I had to shape my life around it. The day after I graduated college, May 2015, I boarded a Virgin Atlantic flight to London Heathrow with my University’s Chamber Orchestra. My closest friends all happened to be in the orchestra as well, so we expected to have a few amazing adventures, but I had no idea how much these experiences would affect me. After three weeks traveling through England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland my fate had gripped me. I’d met some fascinating individuals along the way and I returned with a new excitement of the world.

6 months later I was a flight attendant. Now a year and a half into the job, I’m hardly in one place for long. I love the people I work with and I now have the flexibility of flight benefits to go anywhere I want on a whim. Often times I feel like I’m starring in my own fairytale. People tell me I’m lucky, living a charmed life, but it has nothing to do with luck. I knew that I needed to keep traveling in order to answer the calling of my deepest desires. I simply persevered until I found a solution.

I truly believe traveling is the most important gift you can give yourself. I don’t just mean taking a road trip up the coast of whatever country you happen to reside in. I mean losing yourself in another country, another continent, another language and culture entirely different from your own. It is not until you see how others live that you can step back and evaluate your own way of life. After a trip in which you’re exposed to another way of living you may sit back and think “oh, maybe having the latest Michael Kors bag isn’t as important as I thought it was.”

I know you’re thinking that I can hardly speak in such a generalized way, seeing how I’m a flight attendant with a far from normal life, but let me explain. My airline doesn’t do layovers. I don’t have the novelty of stepping off a plane in Paris or Rome at the end of my work day like the larger airlines. I’m home pretty much every night after many 14-16 hour doubles, usually back to back. I work insane hours in order to take off as much time as possible. When I get to the end of an intense few weeks of work, I take a month off and leave the country. My point is that if travel is your passion, then no matter what industry you work in, there’s no excuse not to find a way to take at least one trip a year. If you want it badly enough you’ll make it happen.

Travel is my vice. I’m hungry to learn how other people live, I crave the foods that are grown without pesticides and I’m thirsty to figure out how to blend into each culture I find myself in the middle of. The people I’ve become friends with throughout the world have completely shaped my ideologies and philosophies on the way I try to live my life. Some of the most wonderfully open minded and thought provoking conversations I’ve had thus far have come from musicians at a gypsy jazz camp in Samoreau, France. Almost a year later, I still keep in touch with these people via social media and various forms of messenger. I’ve even visited a few of these people months later in their native countries.

Everywhere I go, I strive to open myself up to meeting new people, learning new things and trying different foods. Most importantly I hold on to the lessons I’ve learned from those I come into contact with, forming friendships across borders that have no boundaries. I remember to remind myself that I can’t expect to develop my mind without the provocation of alternative angles of insight.

This lifestyle makes me passionate about living. Every day that I wake up, I’m excited for the next adventure on the horizon. Life is never stale or redundant. Maybe I don’t make much money, but I make enough to support myself and the whimsical lifestyle I’ve fallen in love with.  In my eyes, I’m the richest woman in the world. My energy harbors a flame for exploration that is too strong to be extinguished.

Now I challenge you to ask yourself, what makes you happy? How often do you ask yourself this question? Most importantly, are you shaping your life in a way that places you on a path to enjoy life in this way as often as possible? If you struggle to answer these questions, it may be time to reevaluate. Sometimes the fear of letting go of the safe way of living inhibits you from diving into a new start and a new you. Encourage yourself to take the leap, jump off the bridge and swim upstream to the waterfall of your desires. It may be upstream at first, but the view from the top of the rocks may be the most beautiful one yet.