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Becky Wanders

It varies...

Morning Beat Travel: Joshua Tree National Park

Morning Beat Travel: Joshua Tree National Park

The thing about Joshua Tree is that it sneaks up on you. You're driving through the kind of California landscape that makes you think, 'Well, this is barren,' when suddenly these strange, twisted trees start appearing, looking like something Dr. Seuss might have drawn after a

The Quiet Becoming of Prince Edward County

The Quiet Becoming of Prince Edward County

I find myself thinking about the quiet morning I spent in Picton, in that hotel room with the window that wouldn't quite shut. The breeze off Lake Ontario carried that particular damp cold you only get in early spring, the kind that seeps through glass and makes you

The Wind That Waited on Vágar

The Wind That Waited on Vágar

I still remember the way the wind hit me when I stepped off the small plane onto Vágar. It wasn't dramatic, just insistent, like it had been waiting for someone to notice it. The research hadn't prepared me for how quiet it felt. Not silent—there

Steaming into Tbilisi

Steaming into Tbilisi

The first thing that hit me was the smell in the sulfur baths—sharp, almost medicinal, like stepping into someone else's remedy. I was in Abanotubani, the old district where the city supposedly got its start thanks to those hot springs King Vakhtang stumbled on centuries ago. The

Mid-Breath on an Island Changing

Mid-Breath on an Island Changing

The rain had stopped just before the motorbike guy handed over the keys. That half-smile of his made it clear he wondered if the bike would come back intact. I had shown up in Phu Quoc without much planning, the way it happens when an island comes up in conversation

Finding the quiet corners of Polignano a Mare

Finding the quiet corners of Polignano a Mare

I still remember the first time the bus from Bari dropped me off near the edge of town. The driver just pointed vaguely toward the sea like that was all the directions anyone could need. My shoes were already dusty from the walk up, and the late afternoon light was

What Keeps Drawing Me Back to the Albanian Coast

What Keeps Drawing Me Back to the Albanian Coast

I still remember the first time the road dropped down toward Himarë. The bus had been grinding up and over the Llogara Pass, where the air smelled of pine and the driver kept one hand on the horn around every blind corner. Then suddenly everything opened up—turquoise water, steep