Lantau Island

Lantau_01     Mui Wo is a small village on the less developed Eastern side of Lantau Island. You take a 40 minute ferry from Central Hong Kong, and debark in a small windy fishing town. We stopped at a seaside market where we chose our own fish to be fried and 10 minutes later we were eating fish, prawns, and fried eggplant, and washing it down with cold Tsingtao. We hiked up in to the mountains, passing a rather unusual graveyard, multiple racks of fire beating sticks, and many tropical plants that reminded me of Hawaii.

The walk back to the ferry led us though the main part of town which seemed desolate in a way after Hong Kong, in the way that a seasonal town is in the off season. There were fancy-ish three story houses mixed in with dilapidated shacks and overgrown banana trees. Perhaps for no other reason than my growing up in a small beach town on a tropical island, something about Lantau felt not barren, but warmly familiar to me.


Shek-O Coast

      Shek_O_08      If you take a bus towards Shek-O, the semi-fancy beach town on the South East side of Hong Kong Island, you will pass numerous signs for small villages dotting the windy coastal road. These signs ignited my curiosity, so I jumped off the bus a few stops before Shek-O and made my way down a steep incline to the tiny village of Lan Nai Wan Tsuen.

     An irrigation trail lining the coast led me past abandoned homes covered in Banyan roots and meagre spray paint. The only other people I saw was a group of men working for the irrigation dept. fixing a pipe and an elderly couple watching over the town temple – the only well-preserved building to speak of.

     There were signs of a life left behind, surf boards and kayaks decaying beside the cracked cement docks, small buildings being taken over by Mangrove, the mattresses still inside the rooms. The place seemed to have been abandoned in an instant, yet a few simple houses across the bay were clearly still occupied – dogs on the roof, smoke coming from the backyard, and a flourishing garden irrigated by the nearby stream.Shek_O_02Shek_O_03Shek_O_04Shek_O_05Shek_O_06Shek_O_07Shek_O_01

Glacier – CAMP


Over the weekend I had the privilege of attending the Women and Journalism Symposium annual CAMP in Whitefish Montana. I was surrounded by incredibly inspiring women from 6am, when I taught the early risers yoga class, till midnight when ladies gathered in the lodge bar, some in bathrobes others in suit jackets, talking about various importances in both realms: reporting and personal. On the last day of CAMP we had a few hours to spare, so a number of us drove into Glacier National Park. From the fall colored valley floor to the ragged pass dusted with hail, Glacier was breathtaking. It was the perfect ending to a weekend that reminded me of the vast possibility that exists before me in all things.

Glacier_02Glacier_08 Glacier_04 (Running into a classic car full of other JAWS ladies)Glacier_03 Glacier_05 Glacier_07Glacier_06

Halibut Cove

Halibut_Cove_Post_01Halibut Cove is a place unlike anywhere else. The tiny Alaskan town is made up of approximately 100 residents in the Summer and no more than 15 the remainder of the year. It has a mystical quality that seems to come down from the glacial mountains and settle at the sea. Within a day of being in the cove my friends and I were invited to play in a town softball game that marked the end of the season for those who leave the cove come labor day. That day the single restaurant, coffee shop and art gallery close till Memorial Day the next year. The people here really know each other. There are no vehicles, only the occasional four wheeler or golf cart moves between the spaciously placed homes, each one equipped with a dock and outhouse. My mind settled there. We hiked to a rather humbling glacier and stared at the deep blue ice that has been there for more than a century. We picked apples, made raspberry jam, and ate salmon that my friends Ian and Annie caught up the coast. I was reminded of a much more simple way of life that is by no means easy to sustain, but holds a richness that comes from interaction with the earth and sea around you. An ease I will remember. Halibut_Cove_Post_02Halibut_Cove_Post_03Halibut_Cove_Post_04Halibut_Cove_Post_05Halibut_Cove_Post_06Halibut_Cove_Post_07Halibut_Cove_Post_08Halibut_Cove_Post_09Halibut_Cove_Post_10Halibut_Cove_Post_11Halibut_Cove_Post_12Halibut_Cove_Post_13Halibut_Cove_Post_14Halibut_Cove_Post_15Halibut_Cove_Post_16Halibut_Cove_Post_17Halibut_Cove_Post_18Halibut_Cove_Post_19Halibut_Cove_Post_20Halibut_Cove_Post_21Halibut_Cove_Post_22Halibut_Cove_Post_23Halibut_Cove_Post_24

Alaska – The Sea

    In Homer, Alaska there are T-shirts and hats with these words printed in block letters:          “A Small Drinking Village with a Big Fishing Problem”. Much of the town exists on a spit five miles from the mainland. Old fisherman saloons and new, generic box houses line the scape of snowcapped mountains rising out of the ocean. It is truly an unusual place. We spent a brief amount of time in Homer then jumped on the Gizmo and made the trip to Halibut Cove. In our nine days in Alaska my friends and I spent a much of our time on the water fishing, kayaking, and paddle-boarding. These photographs are my homage to our time on the Alaskan sea. Alaska_post_01 Alaska_post_02 Alaska_post_03 Alaska_post_04 Alaska_post_05 Alaska_post_06 Alaska_post_07 Alaska_post_08 Alaska_post_09 Alaska_post_10 Alaska_post_11 Alaska_post_12 Alaska_post_13 Alaska_post_14

Val Rosandra

Trieste_01On my last day in Italy I rode a bus into the mountains and debarked at a stop in the Val Rosandra Nature Reserve, moderately far from any signs of civilization. Unable to find directions in English, I asked a few climbers along the way and they were more than helpful. The canyon was breathtaking with it’s silvery trees and golden riverbed, home to a thin emerald line of water winding below the steep rocky trail. I reached the road in Rosandra just before sunset, starving, and lucky enough to find a delicious, modestly priced café. I accidentally bought something with meat in it. I didn’t care, I ate it anyway. The bus ride back to Trieste was an introspective one. I spent the last few hours before my train to Prague napping by the water. Trieste_02 Trieste_03  Trieste_06 Trieste_07Trieste_08 Trieste_09 Trieste_10 Trieste_11 Trieste_12 Trieste_13  Trieste_16 Trieste_17

Hungary: Our last day

Budapest_Last01  On my last day in Hungary Emilia took me to the “tourist market” where we abstained from purchasing anything, and simply observed. We had done our shopping already at a more traditional market where I tried all kinds of Hungarian treats like Lángos: essentially fried dough with fresh garlic and my favorite, Pogácsa: a scrumptious bite sized biscuit with cheese and often potato mixed into the dough. About two hours outside of Budapest we stopped in the smaller city of Szeged, which was comparatively quaint and busting with students from the University. Szeged is famous for it’s Halászlé, otherwise known as Fishermen’s Soup. At the best restaurant in town, we split a large bowl of the delicious scarlet colored soup. The waiter gave us large red bibs, which I donned unabashedly after Amelia explained the tradition. Still in sight of the Serbian border, Emilia and I switched seats, and I entered a Eastern Europe country in the drivers seat for the first time. Budapest_Last02Budapest_Last02 Budapest_Last03 Budapest_Last05Budapest_Last04    Budapest_Last07Budapest_Last09Budapest_Last08Budapest_Last11Budapest_Last14Budapest_Last12Budapest_Last13Budapest_Last17Budapest_Last15Budapest_Last18Budapest_Last16

Deception Pass


In April my dad caught the ferry over from the Peninsula  and we drove North to Whidbey Island’s breathtaking Deception Pass where we camped for a few days beneath the trees. We played guitar by the fire, walked on the beach that was just beginning to warm up, and hiked inland to where the wild flowers were waking up. It was a peaceful weekend. On the way back to Seattle we stopped for breakfast  in the quaint town of La Conner where the Tulip festival had just taken place. We missed the crowd, but stopped at a field on the way home, just the way I like it. The tulips were gorgeous, and I liked the daffodils just the same. I haven’t seen my dad too much the past 10 years or so. It was nice to dash out of the city with the old man. Deception_Pass_02










Darjeeling my Darling


Darjeeling My Darling is the name of a poem Katie, Darjeeling’s biggest fan, wrote about her favorite place.

     When we arrived in Darjeeling it felt like someone had taken a weight off our shoulders. It was relief in a place akin to a ski town in our jostled minds. People were nice, and unobtrusive, we bundled up in wool scarves and socks and drank hot tea with views of snow capped K3 out the window. While we were there we went trekking and unknowingly embarked for Nepal, we paraglided off  the side of a mountain, we saw the town from a new perspective on a cable ride with Caroline and the Aussies boys. We spent Thanksgiving there, and I didn’t expect to do anything in honor of the strange holiday, but I ended up enjoying it more than many years previous. An American, three Canadians, two Australians, and one Brit, we had a delicious Indian dinner and a hot toddy or two and went around the table saying what we were thankful for. Some said the beer, I said I was thankful to be traveling in India and to have met such amazing people to share my travels with.

























     These images were taken at the Kurseong Macaiberry Organic Tea factory. It was an off season, so the place was a bit desolate. The quiet machines made for a semi-poetic stillness as we walked through the dusty rooms. There were a few men and women still at work, but the place was settling into the winter months when the Pekoe blooms are left untouched. The later pictures are of the family I stayed with in Kurseong. The young girl’s name is Shinju, which her father told me means Lotus in Nepali. She was quite a little character, always running into out room looking for the “makeup,” that we never wore.