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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

A City That Eats Without Pretending

A City That Eats Without Pretending

The first time I stepped off a plane in Melbourne the air smelled like wet concrete and coffee. Not the burnt, corporate kind. Real coffee, the kind that makes you pause on a street corner just to finish the last bitter sip. That was years ago. This time it was

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