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Becky Wanders

It varies...

Riding a Wave in the Desert

Riding a Wave in the Desert

I arrived an hour early like they told me, mostly because the taxi driver dropped me off at the wrong gate. I wandered around carrying my rented rash guard until someone pointed toward the low, modern building that looked more like a boutique gym than a surf spot. The air

The Other Atlantic Island

The Other Atlantic Island

I was halfway through a plate of grilled limpets in a Funchal side street when the waiter noticed my hiking boots. "First time?" he asked. I nodded. He poured me a poncha without being asked—sugarcane spirit, honey, lemon—and raised his glass. "To the island that

Days in a Northern City

Days in a Northern City

I was standing on the frozen edge of the Bothnian Bay one February afternoon, steam rising from a floating sauna behind me, when the low winter sun turned the ice into a sheet of pale gold. The air tasted sharp and clean, like metal and pine. A few locals glided

A Slow Week in Port Douglas

A Slow Week in Port Douglas

I was standing barefoot on Four Mile Beach at dusk, the warm sand still holding the day’s heat, when a couple of pelicans glided low over the water like they owned the place. The Coral Sea had turned that impossible shade of lavender-pink, and for a moment the only

Windows on Europe

Windows on Europe

I was standing on the platform in Brussels-Midi at dusk, backpack at my feet, when the new European Sleeper pulled in. The lights inside looked warm against the gray evening, and for a moment I forgot how tired I was from the long day of connections. There’s something quietly

Big Sky in the Snow

Big Sky in the Snow

I was standing on the deck of a new lodge at One&Only Moonlight Basin, steam rising from a mug of coffee that had gone cold in my hand. The peaks around me were dusted with fresh snow, and the only sound was the occasional creak of the wooden

Okinawa, Japan: A Subtropical Escape with Ryukyu Soul

Okinawa, Japan: A Subtropical Escape with Ryukyu Soul

Picture turquoise water so clear you can spot fish from the ferry deck. Powder-soft sand that squeaks underfoot. The scent of salt air mixed with grilling pork and bitter melon. This is Okinawa, Japan’s southernmost prefecture, a chain of subtropical islands that feels worlds away from Tokyo’s neon