My travels launch from my home base of the amazing Canadian West Coast. Raised in a playground of pine forests and majestic mountain ranges caressed by lakes and sea, adventure has manifested into the devil on my shoulder, tempting my curiosity.
I went to Costa Rica for two months in 2013, my first time abroad. I slept overnight on a piece of cardboard on the beach, had habaneros rubbed into my swimsuit bottoms and sliced my leg open on an aggressive stick. I also laughed until I peed my pants in public, dozed in tree forts and learned how to surf. That trip hinted at the array of experiences this planet holds for whoever is willing to get in on them.
In November 2015, I stuffed a 46 litre bag with clothes, a book, some band aids and flew East by myself. My intent was to meet cool people, see incredible sights, and do things I didn’t know existed.
I hate planning, and don’t plan on learning to love it. I booked my flight and told myself I would “figure it out” when I got there. This style of roaming lead to a plethora of experiences that dance on the scale between dangerous and wondrous.
I’m here to tell you about them.