July was a curious season of upheaval, given that I spent much of it laying on beaches. I was coming off of two months guiding programs in London, which I deeply love doing, but is also exhausting. I was only halfway through my Euro summer and knew I had two more months of hostels, delayed buses, and searching for vegetables in convenience store sandwiches ahead of me. I was inching towards my move from Oaxaca to Mexico City. I was opening a new business, which delighted and intimidated me, and was about to be laid off from my non-profit job, though I didn’t know that yet. On this day, on this Greek island, I was just an employed girl with her best friend, scheming our next adventure.

I was introduced to Amazing Cats through sheer kismet. An otherworldly force guided my hand as I zoomed around Google Maps this fateful afternoon. I likely thought this would be a wild animal sanctuary as I have never met a house cat that I have found amazing, but knowing my bestie to be a verified cat lover, I took a look.

It’s still not clear to me what motivated the registration of Amazing Cats, which is quite literally just a dumpster where some feral cats hang out. Is it philanthropic? Did they want to drive tourists to this area to bring food and water? Is it a commentary on the overwhelming number of stray cats across Greece? Are they trolling us? Is it sincere??? While I am generally neutral to the existence of cats as a whole, I am very pro the existence of this establishment.

Naturally, upon my discovery, I did what any sane and adequately employed person would do and claimed the business on Google (a digital Christopher Columbus, now that I see it in print). As no one else wanted to take responsibility for this refuse shelter, I am now their papa, and am immediately notified as the reviews flood in. I cannot describe the rush I feel when someone takes the time to score a roadside dumpster. It’s a polarizing thing, Amazing Cats. My reviews are generally split between 5 star cat enthusiasts who are overwhelmed by the notion of strays and 1 star simpletons bamboozled by the existence of this alleged business.

I have to wonder what goes through their mind. Did they confuse it for a cat cafe and ventured in an overpriced cab to a trash can? Are the rave reviews part of the bit or are they earnest support for any feline interaction? More importantly, who first plotted Amazing Cats? What was their motivation? How can I meet them?

Amanda and Kurt get exactly what this is about

The ecstasy of finding this site and claiming it as my own crashed like a toddler’s sugar high during a surprise work call, where I learned my employer was closing. Ali watched on as I talked about account wrap up and pawed at my laptop, searching for how to unclaim a business from your account. I didn’t think I could shoulder the responsibility of these Amazing Cats during a season of upheaval, though the benefits of my tech illiteracy proved to be twofold:

1. Losing my job as I listlessly scrolled through scenes of homeless cats was an objectively pathetic and funny keepsake that I got to gift to my friend.

2. I could not figure out how to unshackle myself from this business, and thus, continue to receive their emails to this day and hopefully, forever.

As I lean more into literary writing, my inbox has transformed into a sea of submission rejections with such a skinny slice of acceptances, it requires genuine grounding exercises before I dive in. It’s a welcomed change to have regular emails that have no impact on me whatsoever, but are guaranteed to delight. Rave reviews? Hell yeah! Glad you loved that dumpster. One star? Sounds about right! You spent your vacation at a trash can.

Perhaps more than the cats, I need you.

I don’t think SIA “KONEL” is sorry, but I will work with the cats on their attractiveness.

I think a lot about how we use Google, Tiktok, and reviews to plan our travel, and worry it takes away from the joy of discovery and keeps people within the same tourist circuits. I remember the days of Lonely Planet and physical guidebooks and am not naive enough to think that I didn’t likewise follow their recommendations when overwhelmed by choice in a new city, but I do still think we lose a bit of the magic the more the curtain is pulled back. When part of the enchantment of art and travel is novelty and feeling, I don’t want to see a walk through of teamLab Tokyo before I experience it myself next month. I don’t need to see a plate of my food before it comes to my table. I try to cast a wide net in how I plan my trips to keep myself off the conveyor belt of social media-friendly establishments.

That said, I heavily rely on Google Maps when I travel, both to save locations I want to check out and for directions. It is an incredible tool for finding places I never would have stumbled upon organically and for all my fears about our new AI overlords, I can’t imagine living without it. And increasingly, my dopamine is tied to this website. We are at 3.3 stars, but I think we can get our numbers up. It’s an amazing time for us.

Throughout our travels, a frequent refrain between us was declaring everything charming and ourselves, charmed. Gjirokaster, a stone city and UNESCO World Heritage site, is objectively charming, as was the vineyard dinner we enjoyed there, complete with chickens wandering around and flying up onto tables, which I thought only happened in the Ocarina of Time. Like a manifesting witch, the more we declared everything charming, the more charmed I became. I started to see real magic in the bizarre, in-between moments that aren’t particularly memorable in travel, or could easily be the source of legitimate frustration. While some things are culturally accepted as charming (a quaint town, dining al fresco in a stone-walled courtyard, handmade items), other things live on the precipice of charm and irritation; oddities that you need to squint to see merit in or in which enjoyment is highly conditional.

I departed Albania yesterday from an unmarked sidewalk in the north of the country, across the street from where my ticket instructed me to wait. When I found the stop, helpfully marked by a 30 person mass huddled for shade under an olive tree, it was clear that there would not be enough room for everyone on this bus, should it eventually arrive. Unfortunately for my bussing brethren, I compulsively watched Titanic growing up, and felt confident I could Billy Zane my way onto that lifeboat if push came to shove. At long last, the bus arrived an hour after its scheduled departure and after spending another 30 perplexing minutes stowing bags, the driver cheerily set off to buy fruit from roadside stalls—massive, bulging sacks of peaches and grapes he held up to his beaming face like Olympic gold. Finally on the road, he sang along to Balkan folk music and proceeded to chain smoke for the next four hours.

Well, color me charmed.

Safely deposited in Montenegro, I began to reflect on why I found this journey so charming and why I’m sure other riders in my bus might not. Charm undoubtedly has a “you know it when you see it” quality, but are there criteria that can help determine where on the spectrum between ghastly and delightful an item falls? I look back on my ride with fondness, but wouldn’t if the bus being so late resulted in me missing a flight, or if all the passengers had been smoking as well, or if I was one of the crew who got left behind in Shkodër due to lack of seats. It’s the Balkans, so the driver smoking was part of the local flavor. If the same thing happened in Portland I would think the bus was hijacked or else that it was the driver’s first day on earth and either way would probably wait for the next one. What elements need to be present to ensure maximum enchantment? I humbly present for your consideration, the Olvera formula for charm:

Charm = Novelty + Capacity to Evoke Sentiment - Threat/Disruption

Novelty makes charm easier to find when traveling and perhaps harder in your everyday life. Growing up in rural New Hampshire, I frequently saw roadside apple stands where you harvest what you want and pay by the honor system. Their ubiquity blinds me to their charm, which perhaps would be more evident to someone from a major city or from a godless, apple-less land. By contrast, there is a house in southeast Portland with a two-person Pop-A-Shot in the front yard and a sign encouraging passersby to play. Never before seen it, instantly loved it. Total charm.

Capacity to Evoke Sentiment is an important component of the formula and your mileage may vary. For some this could be whimsy. For the whimsically adverse, this could be a feeling of shared humanity, of unity, of beauty, of adventure. Charm does not allow for the absence of feeling, which is what wealthy developed countries generally aim for. When public transportation functions as it should in the Global North, we aren’t supposed to feel anything aside from assuredness that we will safely make it to yet another shift at work. Adequate housing means you don’t hear your neighbors and can generally forget you live in a society at all. My home in Oaxaca is a treasured space for me and also means I am frequently awoken by blasting renditions of Las Mañanitas, inconceivably loud banda, and recordings of Juan Gabriel at Bellas Artes - much of which I really enjoy and all of it reminding me that I share this world with other humans and we’re all just trying to brighten our days with art that moves us. A large component of what I love about living abroad is its ability to make me feel, which encompasses a range of pleasant and unpleasant emotions. If I am gentle with experiences as they come, I can transform the grit of frustration to pearls of patience and flexibility.

At first I thought this formulaic component would need to be mapped out on a grid to show good vs bad sentiments, but my therapist would hate that because there are No Bad Parts, so this subjective category must instead be balanced with the more objective…

Threat/Disruption, which should be clear and exists on a spectrum. A performer hopping onto your bus to sing Pavarotti is charming, but less so if they are a bad singer and less still if they are booming out Nessun dorma at the exact moment your boyfriend is breaking up with you and so you keep saying “WHAT?” And he needs to repeat himself louder and louder until the music ends and he’s screaming “YOU JUST DON’T MAKE ME HAPPY ANYMORE” to a silent bus. A band of thieves robbing your bus at knifepoint will never be charming, no matter how good the singer is.

When I was a 20-year-old student in Peru, some classmates heard of a festival happening in a neighboring town an hour and a half north of Cusco. Committed to doing as much as possible as cheaply as possible, we got a cab driver to agree to take all 7 of us in his sedan, with the caveat that a friend and I would need to ride in the trunk. I felt this was a great deal and an even greater adventure and happily climbed in to be whisked off towards Urubamba. The journey itself was without incident, but I did get some pretty gnarly food poisoning from eating grilled cow heart on the side of the road, so I was evidently playing it fast and loose from all angles. Convincing me to do anything in my 20s was easy provided it was a new and economical experience, and 90 minutes winding through the Sacred Valley in a trunk certainly checked those boxes. I felt it made me a real traveler, as though Bourdain, Marco Polo, and Magellan were frequently traversing the world in the same way as you would discard a body. What can I say? I was charmed! It certainly had novelty. It evoked the feeling of being laid back and adventurous, and while I expect I will learn in my 40s that standards do not negate adventure, I was 20 and immortal, and thus felt there was no risk to my life.

Novelty (I’ve never before paid someone to haul me in their trunk!) + Capacity to Evoke Sentiment (No one has ever been as free as me, nor as authentic!) - Threat (Null - this is very normal and safe and a driver who suggests it is definitely one who has a safety-first mentality!) = Charm ✅

Unfortunately for my wallet, my frontal lobe is now fully developed and it would take more convincing to get me into a car trunk. I like to imagine that it would require me being unconscious or hog-tied, but this newsletter is a place for introspection and not for pomposity, and so I must leave room for possibility. If transported back to this moment in 2008 with my 38-year-old brain, today’s calculation is closer to:

Novelty (I believe there is a reason I have never before been offered a taxi ride in a trunk) + Capacity to Evoke Sentiment (Is it an act of self love for me to accept a ride, but only in a trunk? Why am I splitting this cab fare equally with my seated companions? How long can one breathe in a trunk?) - Threat (Is this a Ford Pinto? Who lets me out if the car catches on fire? How did this bumper perform in crash tests?) = Not sufficiently charmed ❌

At the end of the day, it brings me comfort to know that I can decide to be charmed. As long as I am safe and not profoundly financially impacted, most things can be chalked up to the beauty of being human on this earth. Last year I got tickets to Swan Lake in Oaxaca; a ballet I’ve wanted to see for years and was looking forward to attending. The venue oversold tickets, which resulted in patrons standing and hanging over the balcony to be able to see the dancers, which certainly was a novel experience for me. Could I see most of the show? No. Was this the way I wanted to see Swan Lake? No, and I found the lack of basic planning to be genuinely frustrating. But did it cause me harm? Did it make the experience less memorable? Was it not moving to see people so eager to watch the ballet that they would spend 2+ hours precariously hunched over a banister? If it didn’t really hurt me, can I just instead look at this moment as a reminder of how tremendously lucky we are to be human and alive?

In the 100% correctly remembered words of Hugh Grant as an early-00s Prime Minister making romantic advances on his subordinate:

If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaky feeling you’ll find that charm actually is all around.

At brunch a few days before leaving London, one of my English friends asked what my plans for Scotland were and gasped when I ran through the itinerary.

“Everyone’s going to Glasgow now,” she informed me. “All the artists are there. You’re going to have such an amazing time.”

This information had not yet reached me in Oaxaca, where all the artists had previously gone. I was intrigued.

I don’t know at what age Glasgow’s reputation of being a rough city seeped into my mind - I don’t recall any association with the area aside from knowing what a Glasgow Smile was, a fact I likewise have no memory of receiving. But regardless of source, I have always associated the city with a scrappy, industrial feel as though still enduring Thatcher’s austerity policies. And maybe it is! I wouldn’t know. When my college friend went to do her Master’s and then PhD in Glasgow (shout out to Heather, a trendsetter ahead of her time), I learned that Glasgow’s subway map was a perfect circle. This concluded my knowledge of the region until exactly now.

My first night in the city was spent breaking bread with my hosts before they left on their trip and I temporarily assumed their lives. Originally from New York, they detailed their time in Scotland, their love of their new home, and the intricacies of the area. We covered the life expectancy of men in the Govan district, whether Scotland could financially survive independence, and that only two people have the recipe to Irn-Bru and he plays golf with one of them. It was a fantastic introduction.

Unable to regulate my temperature in a country that props doors open when temps hit the high 40s, I found a community sauna tucked away in a South Asian neighborhood I certainly wouldn’t have stumbled upon organically, and booked a slot to defrost. Scooting into the compact, wood-fired sauna, a Scottish woman struck up conversation. She asked about my impressions of Glasgow and mentioned how much it had changed in the 10 years since she moved here from Edinburgh. In an exchange undoubtedly taking place within 65 worldwide saunas at this exact moment, she bemoaned the cost of living increasing with the city’s popularity, and how few artists have been able to stay. Home purchases here are made as blind bids based on a government body’s appraisal of the home. A typical bid will normally come in around 8% over the estimated value, but she said prices for homes in Glasgow are now selling at 25-30% over. They just feel so cheap in comparison to whatever place the buyer is leaving.

“They say Glasgow is the new Berlin,” she tells me as the sauna door opens and five people enter.

None of them have Scottish accents.

Walking home later, I thought about the parallels between Glasgow and my own city of Portland, Oregon. Both are artistic, young, have an interesting food scene and an abundance of green spaces thanks to constant rain. Strangers are warm and friendly and both have populations around 650,000. To be honest, if I had UK citizenship, I would probably move to Glasgow, but I’m busy trying to eke out a living in another gentrified city, thank you very much.

There undoubtedly similarities between these two places and that might be part of what draws me to Glasgow, but I wouldn’t call it Portland. I wonder at one point a region does cease to become itself and is instead an approximation of something else. Philadelphia was the new New York for a while, but I think people later decided it wasn’t. Coastal Albania is the new Croatia, which used to be the new Italian Riviera. Kyrgyzstan is the new Mongolia, which hasn’t even had much time as a tourist destination itself.

Vincenzo Latronico’s novella Perfection, recently nominated for the Booker Prize, follows a young 20s creative couple who moved to Berlin at the start of its renaissance and bemoan the way it changes while fueling this exact change. It was a thought provoking read that could have very easily taken place in a number of different cities, though Mexico City came to mind for me.

There’s no doubt social media has corroded the way we travel, in the same way it has sped up trend cycles and ignited the fuse of fast fashion. Booktok continues to uplift the same three authors. Makeup is no longer a means to express one’s social subculture. Everyone looks exactly the same. And we are all going to the same places with the same carry on and the same Fujifilm x100vi.

Does everything need to be something else? Why does London just get to be London, but Glasgow’s identity only holds value when it can be pinned to something vetted? What are we saying when we say Glasgow is the new Berlin? What does it mean for Glasgow? What does it mean for Berlin?

I think a lot about how this age of hyper global mobility turns us into locusts. We descend upon places with abundance and enthusiastically deplete their resources before flying off to new lands. The people who moved to Berlin for its affordability, edginess, and art scene will leave when it ceases to be that. Many already have. Rent prices in central Mexico City are higher than in many parts of Portland, but the average monthly salary for a CDMX resident is $375 USD. Albania is the new Croatia because it offers the same Adriatic coastline and is considerably more affordable, but it won’t be for long. The world is pockmarked by sudden floods of tourists and migrants motivated not by political or environmental displacement, but the pursuit of cheaper living. Who am I to judge? We’re slogging through late stage capitalism and the rent is too damn high. But I do hope that Glasgow remains a place where Glaswegians can stay. I hope we can collectively find ways to travel that don’t resemble a plague delivered unto a pharaoh. Until then, I paint blood on the doorway of this charming city and hope to leave it unchanged.

As with many industries, AI continues its steady creep into my workflow as an international guide. Clients increasingly come with unrealistic expectations that are harder to combat given that ChatGPT assures them it is possible. 7 day itineraries now request 20 site visits and extensive travel that I know will leave them dissatisfied, but AI has already planted the seed of possibility and the dog won’t drop the bone.

A not insignificant part of my job involves telling people no. I don’t let my students swim when there’s undertow and I make them run their transportation logistics by me when planning day trips outside of our host city. I tell tourists in Oaxaca to take taxis late at night because even their absurd mafioso prices are cheaper than replacing a stolen phone. Like a parent, part of my care comes from placing limits to keep them safe and retooling plans I think are inadvisable.

Me and my employers can be held liable if something goes wrong on a group trip and my recommendations need to be customized to the audience. What is safe for a 40 year old is different than for my high schoolers. What is feasible for me isn’t the same as for someone in a wheelchair. What is prudent for a group of men is different than for a woman traveling alone.

But AI is a yes man. It tells us what we want to hear and is unimpacted by the consequences.

ChatGPT doesn’t know what it’s like to be a woman and as a non-living entity, it has no concept of safety. It has never felt the hairs raise on its non-existent neck; has never crossed the street to see if someone will follow. AI hasn’t struggled to explain to a taxi driver where they are going in a language they don’t speak. For a chatbot, the fact that I am a woman is an informational anecdote. For me, it shapes every relationship I have, the majority of in-person interactions, and my sense of safety when I travel.

In a continuation of the experiment I did with Intrepid Times, I just told ChatGPT that I was a solo female traveler with one night in Oaxaca and asked it to suggest activities from sundown to sunrise to make the most of my visit. Obviously, if this request came to me at work, I would ask why they have only one night. I would say it would be impossible to get a feel of the city between those hours and that I wouldn’t recommend that they stay out late alone for their own safety. I would suggest that they extend their trip or not come at all. Again, doing my job well means saying no.

By contrast, ChatGPT recommended a night of fine dining, sampling mezcal, dancing at local clubs and then, probably because everything else will be closed, just hanging around in the streets.

Ignoring Chat unnecessarily flexing its polylinguism, this is horrific advice that will very likely result in this tourist being the victim of a crime. I can’t imagine a professional who would give it, but my genuine human desire to keep you alive and well doesn’t necessarily mark me safe from AI redundancy so what do I know!

Curious if this recommendation was based on some internet-mined understanding of Oaxaca’s safety, I asked “Don’t you think it would be dangerous for a woman to walk alone through the streets at that hour?” To which our future boss replied, “Oaxaca isn’t a “never leave your hotel” kind of place, but wandering alone at 3–5 AM with no plan isn’t the safest version of your night either.”

Chat continued weighing the pros and cons of this witching hour walkabout before hitting me with:

You wouldn’t recommend it? This was your literal recommendation! This was the suggested itinerary! As with my Intrepid Times experience, ChatGPT continues to recommend activities that, when pressed, it confesses it didn’t think was a feasible plan. Why are people so quick to trust it?

A few days ago, I saw a Tiktok where a Venezuelan tourist was sobbing after being denied boarding for her flight to Morocco when they checked her passport for a tourist visa. She assured airline staff that they were mistaken and she didn’t need a visa to enter, because ChatGPT said she didn’t. She was redirected home, sobbing. The money spent on her trip was non-refundable.

AI doesn’t care. It hasn’t ever looked forward to something. It hasn’t had to spend a full year working in order to accrue 10 measly vacation days. It has no stakes, no liability, and no humanity. It would be unmoved if I was robbed at knifepoint in the Zócalo and is indifferent to Northern African holidays. If travel is us at our most human—wanting to be awed, and to be changed, and to partake in the cultural traditions of others—there is a surreal irony in entrusting software with dictating how we experience it.

There’s something almost endearing in our assuredness that AI wants what’s best for us; this Pollyanna attitude that surely this robot will love me as I love and care for me as I care for others. It’s curious that it seems easier for travelers to give this benefit of the doubt to a website than to fellow man. If we only want to explore what technology has predetermined for us, do we want to explore at all?

It lives just a few scrolls away from knitting tutorials and tarot card readings. It survives my reports of disinterest. It multiples when examined more closely.

It is the Mexico City food round up.

CDMX has become a massively popular tourism destination since the pandemic. Its municipal government reported a 103% increase in tourism in 2023 alone, and that number does not seem to be slowing. Spiking right alongside its growth are Tiktok recommendations, “Spend a day with me” vlogs, and shopping hauls from recently returned visitors. One short flight from a major US city throws you into the overwhelming beauty and chaos of Mexico’s capital and it’s no surprise to see that tourists are increasingly using social media to guide them through the madness.

I spent years traveling back and forth from CDMX feeling like I understood it less on each trip. My relationship to it has changed for the better since spending more time there with my boyfriend, who was born and raised in one of the trendy gentrified neighborhoods where I hear as much English as Spanish while walking through the streets. It’s a formidable city to orient yourself to, even more so considering how it was built atop wetland soil too soft to build upwards and instead spread outwards. At the end of 2020, Mexico City had 33,431 food and drink establishments, and that number has surely skyrocketed in the city’s recent boom. How do you navigate that sheer amount of choice and leave the city feeling you have gotten an accurate sense of what it’s all about?

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At 8am on January 2nd, we awoke to the apartment shaking as our phones blared with a presidential earthquake alert. As it happens, a 6.5 magnitude quake hitting 175 miles away does not feel like a tranquil aquatic send off.

On January 3rd, Apple News informed me that the US launched strikes on Venezuela, kidnapped their president, and hauled him back to New York City.

On January 7th, Renee Good was shot by an ICE agent in Minneapolis. The recording of her murder has an officer calling her a “fucking bitch” as the car carrying her lifeless body crashes down the road.

On January 8th, a friend texted in our group chat to say Border Patrol just shot two people – a man and woman from Venezuela – during a traffic stop in Portland, Oregon. A week later, they appeared in immigration court and were found guilty of entering the country illegally. The woman attended her hearing online, still recovering from surgery after being shot in the chest. I wonder if they will allow her to heal from her operation before she is deported. In the wake of Maduro’s abduction, what country awaits her?

While working in a small non-profit in my mid-20s, I had a coffee date with our executive director to ask about a career in the foreign service, where he had worked for decades. I had been on the fence about applying, but felt strongly that this could be an opportunity for me to “do good in the world” by positioning my progressive values within one of the strongest forces on the earth - the US government.

He listened with consideration to my rationale and explained the various tracks a foreign service officer could be placed in, what the application process entails, and why he eventually left the service. He also said, “Ideally in diplomacy you will find a way that both parties can walk away feeling they have gained something. But if there can only be one victor, it would be your job to guarantee that it is the United States. It would be your job to enthusiastically advocate for policy that you know would do harm to the people of your host country, and you could not share your own personal feelings about that.”

Our coffee date ended with him politely suggesting that he found me to be somewhat anti-authoritarian in my ideology and suggested that I might struggle just being a cog in the wheel of a neoliberal super power.

I don’t know what gave him that impression, as I had not yet gotten my septum pierced.

He said this with the great tact of a former diplomat, but it was basically the scene in Cool Runnings where John Candy (Irv) talks Sanka out of wanting to be the driver by emphasizing the miserable responsibility of the role:

Irv: You see Sanka, the driver has to work harder than anyone. He’s the first to show up and the last to leave. When his buddies are all out drinking beer, he’s up in his room studying pictures of turns. You see, a driver must remain focused one hundred percent at all times. Not only is he responsible for knowing every inch of every course he races, he’s also responsible for the lives of the other men in the sled. Now do you want that responsibility?

Sanka: I say we make Derice the driver.

Irv: So do I, Sanka. So do I.

I decided that advancing the US’s interests abroad might be better left to someone else and slinked off the back of the bobsled.

One of the obstacles I face in my work is that for the uninitiated, conversations about the US’s role in installing oppressive regimes, funding terrorism groups, or sparking civil wars sound like conspiracy theories. Particularly when leading American groups in the Global South, it’s generally safe to assume my students will have no familiarity with the country they are visiting, much less its recent political history. It becomes my responsibility to ensure that they leave with a holistic understanding of the country they are in, which includes discussing foreign intervention in their self-governance.

There’s a dangerous tendency to look at a country and understand its current circumstances to exist within a vacuum free from outside interference, and not a reflection on the (often colonial) foreign meddling that forced it there in the first place. In his 1997 autobiography “I Saw Ramallah”, the Palestinian author, Mourid Barghouti, writes:

“It is easy to blur the truth with a simple linguistic trick: start your story from “Secondly.” Yes, this is what Rabin did. He simply neglected to speak of what happened first. Start your story with “Secondly,” and the world will be turned upside-down. Start your story with “Secondly,” and the arrows of the red Indians are the original criminals and the guns of the white men are entirely the victims. It is enough to start with “Secondly,” for the anger of the Black man against the white to be barbarous. Start with “Secondly,” and Gandhi becomes responsible for the tragedies of the British.”

It’s a bit surreal as an American to truly absorb how much of the world’s suffering can be traced back to my own country. While I am not puppeteering behind the scenes, I have enjoyed a higher standard of living in direct juxtaposition to the suffering of others. I never met Mourid Barghouti, but my tax dollars fund his country’s suffering in a way that links my existence to the fate of Palestinians, to Iranians, to Venezuelans.

I’m not naïve enough to believe my government does these things as a romantic grand gesture for me or those of my social class. It is for their wealthy overlords –increasingly specifically of late, for Larry Ellison and Peter Thiel. But someone is hiding from an ICE raid right now so tomorrow they can pick the strawberries we buy at Whole Foods. Wars have been fought for cheaper bananas. People vote single issue over the price of gas. And it’s all for me. Save for the earthquake, my money funded each event in those first 8 days of January. The US government a nefarious Mr. Darcy engineering horrors on my behalf.

The album is presented as four discs, with each playing a different stereo track of the same eight songs. When played together, there is an immersive wall of sound that will never be experienced the same way twice. Even a change to your timing for pressing play on one the discs will change how it syncs with others and will give the song a new texture. Where you are standing in the room will alter which track comes through more clearly and which characteristics you are hit with. You can easily view the format and subsequent need to have four CD players just to listen to the album as exhausting and pretentious, and I have spent the past 15 years experiencing the Flaming Lips exactly thusly, but there was real magic in needing a team to be able to nudge the music from the speakers that night. One person was assigned to each of the CDs and spent the night tending to it - learning when in the countdown they needed to press play to time their entrance with others, pausing after each track to resync. It performed as a symphony in its own right, with my friend Ben as the supportive conductor.

The album concluded in an uplifting track feat. jarring transition to a recording of dogs fighting, and the attendees gathered together for chants and a group hug. There was a distinct feeling of just having Been a Part of Something. I flew out of PDX the following morning with a full heart and the album on a loop, only able to recapture a quarter of its potency.

On my flights home, I ran the night over in my mind, trying to tease apart why I felt so moved. At the end of the day, it was literally just listening to a Flaming Lips album at my friends’ house, which thousands of liberal arts students do each year without much ceremony, but this just had more meat to it. We all arrived to do something ritualistic. There was no need to do it aside from desire. That we did it together made it eventful. It dawned on me - it was a pilgrimage.

If you have been within earshot of me these past 14 months, you have heard me wax poetic about the Camino de Santiago, which I walked last year. Dating back a thousand years and with routes starting from various points across the Iberian peninsula, the Camino is a long-distance pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, Spain, where St. James is said to be buried. While anyone who walks the final 100km segment receives a certificate of completion, I opted for the traditional Camino Frances - a 490 mile walk from the south of France across northern Spain. What was once a demonstration of Catholic piety has become an adventure or way to heal oneself, depending on what your needs are, and people come from all backgrounds to walk the path alone, together. You average 20-25km a day beneath the bold Spanish sun and head west following yellow arrows painted on whatever surfaces people can find. You sleep beside strangers in albergues, cheap hostels just for pilgrims, and set whatever pacing works best for your body and your spiritual journey. Many walk without knowing why they feel called to do so. They typically figure it out before Santiago.

The reasons why I found the Camino so meaningful are worthy of a post of their own, but like the Zaireeka party, most are grounded in a sense of community and the magic of being in a group of people having separate experiences collectively. You become just one in a current of people all moving towards the same goal. You greet fellow pilgrims with “Buen camino” and wish them well on their journey. You break bread with strangers you will never see again - and others who you will come to love. You tie a scallop shell to your pack to identify yourself as one of the many undertaking this journey. You cheer for others as they take their final steps down to the cathedral at Santiago. Then the music stops, all embrace, and you find ways to carry the euphoria into other phases of your life.

I strongly believe that all who can walk the Camino should walk the Camino. Doing something hard slowly is the best factory reset I know of and a hell of a way to get unstuck. I also believe the spirit of a pilgrimage can be infused into any travel you undertake. No sleeping in bunk beds required.

No-Bake Recipe for a Meaningful Pilgrimage

1. Do it with intention

The best trips have been ones where I define ahead of time what a rewarding experience would look like. Do I want it to be slow and reflective? Do I want to see as much art as possible? Do I want to practice a foreign language? Do I need to heal something? Do I just want to throw down with friends? I’m also a huge fan of creating a bingo card for my trips so I can playfully think through what it would look like for me to live this experience fully and keep myself on track to do so.

2. Stay in the dark

See how little research you can get away with. Now that every answer is just a Google search away it’s hard to be surprised anymore. There is real freedom in being able to experience something truly novel and form your own impression. Pack the essentials, check if you need a visa, plan your accommodation, but otherwise let yourself stumble onto things organically. The magic is usually never in big tourist sites, but in the sidewalk bistro down the street.

3. Find good people and invest them

It’s not enough to happen upon quality people and wait for your journey to be changed as a result. Start the group chat. Actively invite people in. Make space for one more at dinner. See if you can align your travel plans. Ask “Can I…?” and “Do you want to…?” Split the bottle of wine.

4. Create rituals

I’m a sucker for the sentimental and love all things ceremonial. Is there a food you only eat on planes? A cocktail that you toast your arrivals with? A scent you only apply when you’re away from home? How many times do you need to do something before it becomes a ritual? Why not try something new twice and see how it feels?

5. Integrate

Veteran pilgrims will tell you that the Camino doesn’t end in Santiago; you are meant to take the lessons and attitudes from your walk and apply that to your life moving forward. It’s a consoling thought as you prepare for your journey to end, but a very hard practice to implement in real life. How are you planning to integrate the highs from your travels into your life at home? Can you find ways to remain the person you were while away?

Zaireeka is the combination of the words Zaire and Eureka. The liner notes for the album describes the sentiment as “a kind of anarchy meets inspiration, or maybe a mess with a purpose.” And what is life if not a mess with a purpose?

Of all the things I miss about my city, I most long for its whimsy. I love taking meandering walks with my best friend and stopping at the two person Pop-A-Shot someone set up in the neighborhood. This small act of putting basketballs out on their front lawn and inviting anyone to play seems trivial, but it’s an invitation to belong. I’ve done Pedalpalooza rides where everyone is on a tandem, another where strangers show up in outfits made from pasta and we all bike south to eat spaghetti in a park. These aren’t necessarily the first things I need in place when we rebuild our post-capitalist, post-AI, post-Musk society, but they are right smack in the middle of Maslow’s hierarchy. Going it together is important and I treasure moments where I get to feel like a thread in a tapestry. Looking back on my life, all of my favorite memories have taken place in groups, and most within them had a feeling of collective purpose. They were all mini-pilgrimages. All journeying somewhere else, together.

It’s a beautiful time of year in Oaxaca.

Día de Muertos is celebrated on November 1st and 2nd, with at least a week of decorations, seasonal food, and specific nights of visitors in its lead up. Despite an overlap in season and color scheme, Muertos is not the Mexican equivalent of Halloween and its existence, as with many things, is a tale of colonialism. Aztecs traditionally honored Mictēcacihuātl, queen of Mictlān, the Aztec underworld, and the keeper of bones - an unbelievably badass occupation. Once a year, Mictēcacihuātl would come back to earth to ensure the living were taking care of the bones of the deceased and a celebration would be thrown to welcome her. After the conquest of the Americas, the Spanish forced Catholicism and tradition from the old country into these ceremonies and Muertos was born.

Its cousin to the north, Halloween, shares conceptual DNA with Día de Muertos, but is mainly just about getting down with spooky szn and giving us a will to live as the nights grow longer. Devoid of any previous symbolism in its origins, Halloween is an unapologetically cool expression of community, creativity, and delight in the macabre. It’s one of the few things of which the US can be confidently proud. I love the artistry that people put into the holiday and the great lengths they go to spread joy to their neighbors. It is America at its most collectivist and falls this year in surreal overlap to the cultural tides. While politicians argue that SNAP benefits should not be reinstated and kids deserve to go hungry if their parents aren’t deemed sufficiently valuable to shareholders, for one night, we all just agree to pamper children. We feed them, admire their costumes with enthusiasm, crouch down to hold out baskets of offerings to strangers. 10/10, no notes.

By contrast, Día de Muertos is a much more philosophical practice. It invites us to remember loved ones lost and to contemplate the assuredness of our own passing. A few years ago, a hand-painted sign hung over Oaxaca’s pedestrian street which read, “There is no life without death.” It’s a fact so obvious it doesn’t seem to warrant reminding, yet I find myself thinking of this sign often. What makes life precious is how fleeting it is; that we never know when our thread will be cut. Everything worth having is meaningful because of its ephemerality. The children won’t stay young and trick-or-treating forever. The gifted bouquet will brown. A fine dinner will be devoured. All must have an end. I can’t imagine anything I would want to do indefinitely. Every vampire in literature seems to express displeasure over their immortality and they weren’t even working full-time with only 10 days annual PTO. Imagine endlessly fulfilling Amazon orders in this day and age. May death remember our address!

Muertos is also beautiful in how it invites the dead back into the home and opens conversation about the deceased. “What will you put out for your dad?” “Can I see a picture of your dog?” “What do you remember of your grandma?” We allow them their vices and put out cigarettes and alcohol on the ofrenda, an altar bearing photos of those we wish to remember. We light candles and incense, string cempasúchil (Mexican marigolds), and leave them food and water. Entire towns descend upon the local cemeteries to adorn graves with flowers, candles, and company. Friends and family sit with their loved ones and play music, share drinks, and talk about those lost or about nothing in particular. It’s continuing to live and allowing the dead to still exist beside us. It’s remarkable to find so much cheer and beauty in a season that holds loss so present.

My culture really struggles to acknowledge death and perhaps because we are such a diverse nation, there is no broad cultural practice in how we honor our dead. It’s not uncommon for graves to go unvisited or for families to prefer to not speak about the deceased, so as not to upset anyone. I suspect our general disdain for elders in white American culture comes from subconscious resentment that they remind us of death and our internalized capitalism generally disregarding those who are not “contributing” to society. What would it instead look like for us to consider elders as those closest to the finish line? The closest to completing that which we are all here to do - to live and then to die.

I love imagining myself sitting on someone’s ofrenda one day, just as I would get a kick out of my friends hanging out on top of my tomb gossiping. I touch my face and imagine what my skull looks like underneath. Everyone I love will die. Everyone I dislike will die just the same. It’s the one thing we will all accomplish together. I hope to not cross it off my list any time soon, but I take the same comfort in the collectiveness of it all that I find in Halloween. Equally accessible for the rich as for the poor - death as our most communist act.

This week, I got a push notification on my phone that there was a school shooting in Minneapolis during a Catholic mass. Two children were killed, more were injured. The school year had only just begun.

This week, I saw a news report about a woman in rural New Hampshire who killed her children, husband, and then herself, before realizing she was my classmate. We had grown up together. Had been on the same high school sports teams. Had made each other care packages before competitions.

This week in a Slack channel, colleagues discussed how to best prepare international students for school shootings in America, and when they should be encouraged to hide vs. encouraged to fight. Colleagues acknowledged that it was difficult for our partners in Europe to understand these practices, so we need to sometimes adjust our guidelines for best practices in a shooting. We opined on how to equip students to be attacked at school and returned to work.

One of the first questions I get when telling people I live in Mexico is if it is safe. It’s a strange question to answer. Yes, I find it quite safe, though someone living elsewhere in the country will have a very different experience. No, I don’t walk around at night as I do in Portland, though I’m also not walking over used needles in the street, as I do in Portland. Yes, I am far more alert to my surroundings, and many of my local friends have been robbed here for their cellphones and wallets, but none of them have had their cars jacked as you see in my city.

I once worked for a school in Portland where a teacher came into my office and asked for help with her car, which was making a strange sound. I immediately knew someone had stolen her catalytic converter — it had happened to my neighbor a few weeks before. Sure enough, in broad daylight, someone went onto an elementary school campus, crawled under the car, and sawed off the piece without anyone being the wiser. It’s common enough that people buy cages to put over the part to discourage its theft.

It would be naive to say Mexico is equally safe as the US; it has a murder rate 4x higher than its neighbor to the north. Families post signs in the zócalo looking for missing people, where some are later amended to say they’ve been found dead. You cannot equate the theft of a catalytic converter with the theft of your first born child. I don’t hear about extortions in the US the way I do in Mexico and “femicide” isn’t part of the American vernacular the way it is in Latin America.

And.

It is also frustrating to hear Mexican safety questioned as though the US has no role to play in its conditions. Narcos exist to bring drugs north for their American clients. Their guns move in the reverse direction. The US treats Mexico as its own backyard. It is there to provide cheap labor on both sides of the border. It is a place for the manufacturing plants that would otherwise pollute our own water sources. It is a place for affordable luxury while on vacation while simultaneously believing the country is inferior to ours. It's where we get our margaritas and tacos and guacamole, but God help us if we hear Spanish in public.

In 2009, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms (ATF) launched project ​​”Fast and Furious” (a humiliating name) in Phoenix, Arizona, wherein they encouraged licensed gun dealers to sell to Mexican cartels. These purchases would otherwise be flagged for suspicion and blocked by ATF due to a high volume of AK-47s, cash payments, or other tells that hint at the firearms traveling south to enact violence in Mexico. In Fast and Furious, over 2,000 arms were sold to cartels, with the hope that they would then be able to trace these guns to leadership and make some key arrests. How they expected to trace these back is unclear to me, as there were no GPS devices or any sort of electronic trackers on the guns. They were to be traced retroactively with ✨paperwork. ✨

Firearms dealers in Arizona asked very reasonable questions like, WAIT A SECOND, WON’T THESE GUNS JUST BE USED TO KILL PEOPLE, INCLUDING AMERICANS? How astute. That’s exactly what happened. Hundreds of these guns kept showing up at crime scenes in Mexico and the US, including in the shooting of a US border agent. The public wasn’t informed until a whistleblower came forward and pointed out that our own government agencies have been knowingly providing weapons to Mexican cartels. The guns were never traced in the end. Whoops!

Last night, my boyfriend and I watched a 2010 Mexican film called El infierno, where the lead character returns to his town after 20 years in the US and, desperate to pay off a bribe on behalf of his nephew, joins a cartel. A satirical drama and political commentary, the film takes place during the presidency of Felipe Calderón, who immediately dispatched soldiers to combat narcos after taking office in December 2006, kicking off the Mexican drug war.

In the first 18 months of Calderón’s presidency, over 4,000 people were killed in relation to organized crime. Mexico’s Attorney General reassured the public by announcing amidst the violence, “Aunque no parezca, vamos ganando.”

“Even though it doesn’t look like it, we are winning.”

What an encouraging sentiment. Sounds like exactly what I would say to myself in the mirror after watching a TikTok on EFT tapping.

There is a category of memes I love called México surrealista, “surreal Mexico”, which shows just how beautifully bonkers this country can be. How it is so full of contradictions and doesn’t take itself too seriously. That we have a beloved mascot for a national pharmacy who dances furiously outside its locations and Mexicans will toss dolls of this old man onto stages at concerts to thank the performers. Sometimes the surrealism is more dark in nature and flippantly acknowledges the real pain and suffering that happens in the country.

What kind of safety are we asking about when we talk about safety? Are we asking about phone snatchers? Are we asking if women should be worried about being murdered by their romantic partners? Are we wondering about the likelihood of a terrorist attack? Are we wondering if we can see the midnight screening of a Batman movie and feel confident we’ll return home?

I’ve never had international students ask me if the US is safe, and I’ve worked for multiple organizations who have had their exchange students killed in a shooting in the US. I can’t assure parents that their kid won’t be subjected to a gunman during their stay in my country. These programs aren’t canceled as a result. It is a known risk that we shrug off as though there is no other way to be. I do, however, have to work hard to assure American parents that Mexico is safe to send their children. Just as I had to do in Guatemala, in Peru, in Thailand…

It feels like we as Americans believe we are owed safety when we are outside of our own country, but don’t demand it within. Almost as though we allow our government and capitalist structures to render other countries less safe while simultaneously blocking their citizens’ ability to migrate out of the region. It’s our own surrealism in the end, that allows us to finish our meals after getting an alert about gun violence. Our surreal America genre that gives an education magazine a 2025 School Shooting Tracker, last updated August 28, 2025. We just don’t have the good memes to go with it.

In the center of London sits the Parthenon. Or at least half of it.

Among the 8 million pieces within the British Museum collection, the Elgin Marbles adorn a wing with marble reliefs of gods, centaurs, and the history of a country that is not their own. The collection is colloquially named after Lord Elgin, British Ambassador to the Ottoman Empire, who supposedly received a permit from the Ottomans at the start of the 19th century to ransack the ruins of the Parthenon, an ancient Greek temple built to honor the Goddess Athena. He happily went ahead and spent the next decade sawing off half of the temple’s marble sculptures and 75m of the original frieze showing the procession of the Panathenaic festival. One empire selling stolen goods to another.

Parliament ruled in 1816 that Elgin’s claims were valid, but this was the same year that the same government established a new colony in the West African nation of Gambia, so you’ll excuse me if I don’t look to them as a moral authority. Even Türkiye says Elgin didn’t have the right to these artifacts and if they think the Ottomans wouldn’t have consented to it, you know it’s pretty bad. Lord Byron was so incensed by the theft that he raged about it in a poem — an 1811 equivalent of a Super Bowl halftime show diss track.

1,500 miles away in modern-day Athens, the Acropolis Museum showcases copies of the British collection beside the originals Elgin didn’t pillage. The gaps in their gallery are meant to feel disruptive and highlight the absence of the whole. The British Museum has offered to lend portions of its Acropolis collection to the Greek government, provided that the recipient accepts British ownership of the pieces. What a moving offer.

When I was in middle school, my little sister loaned me $40, likely so I could buy unmemorable garbage from Rite Aid, which comprised a solid component of my weekends as an adolescent in my small town. Months passed ignoring her pleas for the money to be returned, until her birthday, when I magnanimously gifted her two 20s. She (rightfully) complained that this wasn’t a gift if I was only returning what I had taken. I said it was a gift if I had no intention of repaying the loan in the first place. A move right out of the British empire. What a fantastically cultured older sister I was.

Greece has declined to accept this preteen display of generosity.

During his time in office, former Mexican president, Andrés Manuel López Obrador, repeatedly stated that the Spanish crown should apologize for the crimes committed during the conquest of the Americas (and Equatorial Guinea, and the Philippines, and Guam, and Palau, and Taiwan, and and and…). Current president Claudia Sheinbaum now carries this torch while the Spanish crown keeps mum.

In 2008, the U.S. Congress formally apologized for slavery and the heinous violence of Jim Crow via House Resolution 194:

Whereas it is important for this country, which legally recognized slavery through its Constitution and its laws, to make a formal apology for slavery and for its successor, Jim Crow, so that it can move forward and seek reconciliation, justice, and harmony for all of its citizens: Now, therefore, be it

Resolved, That the House of Representatives—

(1) acknowledges that slavery is incompatible with the basic founding principles recognized in the Declaration of Independence that all men are created equal;

(2) acknowledges the fundamental injustice, cruelty, brutality, and inhumanity of slavery and Jim Crow;

(3) apologizes to African Americans on behalf of the people of the United States, for the wrongs committed against them and their ancestors who suffered under slavery and Jim Crow; and

(4) expresses its commitment to rectify the lingering consequences of the misdeeds committed against African Americans under slavery and Jim Crow and to stop the occurrence of human rights violations in the future.

Cool. Now what? How does this advance us towards reconciliation, justice, and harmony for all citizens? At the same time, the bar for U.S. governmental ethics is in hell, so I guess this is a start.

Whose job is it to apologize for the crimes of ancestors? What does personal responsibility look like when we continue to profit from the sins of those who came centuries before us? I did not personally own slaves anymore than I settled the Wild West, but I continue to reap the benefits from a society that did. What good is it for empires to apologize while simultaneously engaging in neocolonialism?

A floor below the Elgin Marbles hang the Benin Bronzes, bronze cast sculptures which once decorated the Benin Royal Palace, in modern day Nigeria. In curious contrast, the museum openly acknowledges the pillaging of Benin City during a devastating military attack by the British and does not pretend to have rightful claim to the collection. Nigeria has requested repatriation of these artifacts. Alas! The British Museum regrets to announce that the British Museum Act of 1963 prohibits the permanent return of objects from its collection, but they are happy to share pieces or offer opportunities for digital displays in Lagos. What good is an admission of fault when the rewards for the crime are enshrined in law? What will Britain gift Nigeria for its next birthday?

I still don’t have that level of specificity in Spanish, though I know it will come with time. I can’t communicate in a way that makes it immediately apparent that I am chronically online, as my English most certainly shows. I don’t know how to weave in cultural or literary references to deepen conversation. I don’t know how to calibrate my tone to politely pry into someone’s personal life without being off-putting, and if you have ever talked to me in English, you know this is a particular passion of mine. Can you know me without knowing these things?

My grandparents are in their late 80s and probably have the best relationship out of everyone I know. They dearly love one another and have a busy life of volunteer work, going on road trips with friends, and camping in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. My grandfather was born and raised in New England while my grandmother moved to the US from Quebec in her late teens, following her siblings. The distance was less than 350 km, shorter than some daily commutes, but, being from French Canada, she didn’t speak English and struggled to adjust to her new country. She was lonely, isolated, and longed for home. I know this feeling from my own time living abroad. She returned to Quebec to find a world that did not wait for her. Her friends had gotten married and had babies in her absence. She begrudgingly moved back to the US.

My grandparents were set up by a friend of my grandmother’s who more than anything just wanted to be able to double date. My grandmother asked if my grandfather spoke French and was confidently assured that he did. My monolingual grandfather never thought to ask if his date spoke English. It was a very quiet dinner.

They must have found a way to communicate by other means, as they eventually married and have been together since the 50s. My grandfather never learned French, despite living with my francophone great grandmother and despite my father’s first language also being French. My grandpa was an English speaking island in the home until my grandma joined him there one day. I would hear my family speaking French growing up, but just related to it as the way adults converse with one another. It didn’t occur to me that it was a different language altogether. I would read beaucoup on love notes my parents wrote on anniversaries and thought it was pronounced beo-coop - as if Beowulf had an avian relation.

Years ago I received a scholarship to study Urdu in Northern India, which required me to take the ACTFL—a foreign language exam that determines one's level of verbal proficiency—before I could be placed in a class. Proctors are always native speakers who are instructed to let the student guide the conversation, while they push them to advance the discourse to test their linguistic limits. Once the student starts to make major grammatical errors, they take them back down to the level below and assess their performance. It’s a beautiful dance when done well. My dance was more akin to a corpse laying at the morgue. I had told my proctor at the jump that I didn’t speak a lick of the language, to which she replied. “That’s okay! Let’s just start with introductions.” I didn’t even know the word ‘hello.’ She begged me to say anything at all in Urdu, resorting to counting to ten and asking me to let her know when I heard a number I recognized. It was a short call. I was placed in Beginner Novice, a class created for the four of us who didn’t even manage to reach the first ACTFL level of Novice Low.

The next few months were spent stumbling over new sounds, grammatical cases, and flexible word order. My host mother exclusively spoke to me in English, despite my scholarship rules forbidding this, and once asked “What on Earth do you want to know Urdu for?” I didn’t really have an answer besides an interest in South Asian Muslim culture. She nodded and proceeded with the conversation in English, which, like many Indians, she spoke beautifully.

I still have my notebooks from my Urdu class, which are as close as I can get to imagining having Alzheimer’s. Loopy Persian script is written in my hand, right to left, and I can read none of it. Entire pages of essays, notes to self, and recipes that are lost to me. Urdu is a deeply poetic language and we studied ghazals, poems composed of couplets with a rhyming scheme. I still have my favorites saved in my phone, though I can’t tell you what they say anymore. A period of my life lived in a language I no longer speak.

I repeated the ACTFL at the end of my program and tested out as Intermediate Low, which pleased me given my humble beginnings. The rank was accompanied by a description of how this speaker can use the language, which included the following:

Misunderstandings frequently arise, but with repetition, the Intermediate-Low speaker can generally be understood by sympathetic interlocutors.

An immaculately executed read. I at once felt so much gratitude and tenderness towards the Indians I had spent time with talking to in Urdu only out of their great sympathy and desire to connect. The iftar dinners spent sharing dates and pakora while they tried to figure out what the actual fuck I was trying to say. To be fair, I have also spent time with English speaking children who I would not be able to understand if not for their mothers’ patient interpretation.

I recently got my hair cut, which led to the staff fawning over me, complementing my Spanish. “If it weren’t for your face,” said the stylist, “I’d think you’re one of us.” My vanity was pleased, but his point disproven once my bangs were cut too short, weirdly layered, and framed my face in an odd way. I didn’t know how to specify my displeasure and air my grievances beyond saying “I look like a coconut” and “This a lot higher than at the eyebrows!” I love speaking Spanish in the same way I love wearing a pair of jeans that complement my features, but English is my skin. It’s what I have when I am stripped down to my most essential components. It’s what I wear when I am alone with myself.

I wonder if I’ll ever feel at home in Spanish. I dream in both languages. I share secrets in both languages. I’ve confessed my fears in both languages. But I’ll only stub my toe in English. I’ll only count to myself in English, only exclaim in surprise in English. I babble like a toddler when singing along to my favorite Mexican songs and don’t always use the right register for different social situations. I’m so much smarter and wittier than I can showcase. Much of what I say is an approximation of what I actually mean. A poltergeist of my intentions.

I asked my grandmother if she uses French much these days, now that most of her siblings have passed. She said there are a few people at church she helps translate for, but mostly it’s new French speakers who are eager to talk to her. She said sheepishly that it’s so hard to understand them, she doesn’t always realize it’s French. But she tries anyway. The sympathetic interlocutor.

Luckily for my students, I spent my 20s exactly as one should - in constant fear that I wouldn’t have enough in the bank to cover rent and getting my back molars pulled because I couldn’t afford root canals. I participated in medical studies for some extra cash and used to clean the gutters on my ex’s father’s rental properties because it paid better than my nonprofit jobs. Much of my international travel has been possible because my work has paid for me to do it and it has resulted in an enduring commitment to spend as little as possible so I can see even more.

These are some of my best entry level tips for cutting down costs and the ones I am quickest to share with newbies who know they want to travel, but don’t know what resources are out there. This is not a dirtbag travel tutorial. I tried to keep this list as legit and morally sound as possible for those getting their international feet wet. Gaze upon my tried and true strategies for affordable travel while you manifest your first class lifestyle. I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

Accommodation

• Trusted Housesitters

  • Whether you’re a pet owner looking for someone to care for your animal or a traveler looking for a homebase, Trusted Housesitters connects you to a network of people looking to make a trade. There is an annual fee to be a part of the site, which relies on background checks and references in order to make sure everyone seems cool and responsible, but the fee has been a drop in the bucket in comparison to the savings for me. I stay in nice houses with bathtubs and stocked kitchens as opposed to the 12 person dorm bed I would have purchased for myself. I also got to binge watch The Bear next to a pack of pups which was a peak life experience I plan to repeat.

Look here for: Entire houses or apartments to yourself, getting some dog/cat time while you explore a new city, long term stays, remote work-friendly properties

• Worldpackers

  • Old school backpackers know about WOOFing, a network of organic farms that offer food and lodging in exchange for volunteering on their land. Worldpackers is what is popular now. Use their site and app to find hotels, non-profits, farms, and orgs that trade room and board for part time volunteer work. Many people stay in the country as long as their visa allows and will bartend or work at hostel receptions, which gives them a network of other volunteers to spend time with during their stay. It’s an extrovert’s dream and a great place to explore long term traveling.

Look here for: Building community while you travel, long term stays, cultural exchange

• Hostels within hotels

  • Get the benefits and comfort of a hotel with a hostel price tag by staying in a shared dorm. This is especially helpful in the US where there isn’t a strong hostel network and hotels can be really cost-prohibitive. I would not recommend this for people who want the social opportunities a hostel affords, but instead for someone looking to spend a few nights in affordable comfort. Here a a few examples:

    • Portland: KEX

    • DC: Generator

    • Chicago: Freehand

Look here for: Short term stays in pricey cities, access to amenities, anonymity

• Booking.com

  • There are a few reasons why I would recommend you against using a third party to book hotels (booking issues need to be resolved with site not property, what is sold doesn't always reflect inventory, etc.), but if you are making a lot of online reservations, you should have an Booking.com account and the app. Just booking through the app gave me 10% of each night’s stay while doing the Camino through northern Spain and the more you use your account, the greater your discount grows. It costs you nothing, but shaves off money every time.

Look here for: Surveying an area, customer reviews, quick discounts, fast booking

Flights

• Going.com

  • Formerly Scott’s Cheap Flights, Going finds unusually cheap flights and error fares (where an airline accidentally publishes a flight price for way under value) and spits them out to their mailing list. The free version will only show you continental US fares and you need to upgrade for a few bucks a month to be able to look at international options. These are act-fast deals, especially error fares, so it’s hard to use this as a tool to proactively plan vs. one to justify a spontaneous trip. That said, the rates can’t be beat and you get bragging rights.

Note: This is only useful if you are based out of the United States. You can’t set an alert for a non-US airport 🥲

• Google Flights

  • This isn’t a hack, but many people ask me how I approach looking for flights, so it feels worth mentioning. I will always start with Google Flights to get a baseline for what flight prices should cost before looking anywhere else. You can tell them what airlines to exclude in their search and can toggle currency on the bottom of the page. I also love that I can search by a broad destination like Europe, and then use what routes are cheapest to build my itinerary from there.

• Frequent flyer miles from travel credit cards

  • I have already barked at you about the importance of FF miles and how to earn them without traveling, but I am a yapper so I shall BARK AGAIN. The best way to fly for free is by putting every purchase you can on an airline or travel credit card and paying it off in full each month. I want you to forget that a debit card exists. I want cash to be a distant memory. I want you to wake up in the morning with your hand clenched around your phone, ready to tap to pay. Turn those miles into flights, baby. Rinse and repeat.

  • I think the best card an American can get for this is the Capital One Venture X Rewards card. It has a low annual fee compared to its competitors and the fee is functionally refunded to you each year in travel credits, PreCheck/Global Entry, and Priority Pass membership. I will be writing a longer post about this in the future because I was raised Catholic but don’t believe in God, so I must find something else to proselytize.

Attractions

• Klook

  • I use Klook primarily in Asia both as a money saving tool and also to simplify purchases where there can be more of a language barrier. It’s been a real help to me in Hong Kong and Korea, and it’s growing its reach. Buy tickets online at a discount and get the QR code emailed to you. You then are scanned into theme parks, train stations, and museums with everyone else. How it works is none of my business. Thanks, Klook!

• Free times at museums

  • Many cultural sites offer free (if packed!) times to visit, which is a real help when on a budget. The Louvre is free after 6pm on the first Friday of the month and the Guggenheim is pay what you wish on Mondays and Saturdays from 4-5:30pm. Gaudí’s Sagrada Familia is free to enter if you join for mass on Sunday morning and Italy offers free entry to all state museums and archaeological sites on first Sundays Oct-Mar. The Colosseum may be packed, but I imagine you’re just seeing it in its authentic state, so I’ll round this up to immersive theater.

Travel will always be expensive and there’s no getting off this ride, but I’m always amazed at how resourceful people are in their hunger to see the world. Drop a line if there’s something I missed! I’m running out of molars.

I endured my journey south in a complete haze. I had used airline miles to get a first class ticket, which gave me ample leg room in which to play Scott Street on a loop and sob into my meal service. I paced around the Houston airport during my layover, continuing to hit that Phoebe Bridgers pen before hiding away in the United lounge for a few hours. I took a miserable selfie of myself holding a mimosa between bursts of tears; my face red and puffy. I don’t know why I wanted to document that moment, but my best guess is to remember the profundity of my suffering. I couldn’t imagine what my new life would look like. But my flight departed without much consideration for my fears and whisked me away to my new home. I gathered my bags in Oaxaca, took a shuttle to the center of town, and cried myself to sleep.

Yesterday I flew back to Oaxaca after an amazing beach trip with friends. It was only at the airport that I realized the coincidence of booking my flight a day before the 2 year anniversary of my move and how profoundly different these two OAX-bound flights were for me. 2025 Allie was returning to her city feeling restored and full of optimism after a week sharing meals, walks, and a gorgeous house with friends. She was returning to a cute apartment that feels like home. She had someone waiting for her in the airport with flowers. She had someone to hug and kiss hello.

I wish I could tell 2023 Allie that this was coming for her. That February 26, 2023 would be hellish and painful and that it would only happen once. That she would heal and grow and build something for herself. That two years from now she will wake up in Oaxaca and it will feel like her city. That she will invest so much into her friends, and they into her, that she will feel more tremendously loved now than she did when she was married. That she will daydream about her future and not feel burdened by present circumstances.

There’s a tarot card called The Tower, which doesn’t exactly inspire hope upon first glance. The tower is being struck by lightning and its residents are falling to their demise. It’s typically read to mean there is a sudden change coming, often unwanted, which will bring that which was built on a shaky foundation to its knees. It’s a premonition and a call to action. The Tower can often come with deep sorrow, but it also promises something new in its wake. 2023 Allie did not want to draw the Tower, but 2025 Allie is flourishing from the space it created to build a life that fit her better.

There was much discussion of moving during this beach week with friends. We asked if leaving the US is a prudent decision given the political landscape. We discussed the ethics of living abroad. We talked about the sense of community we have worked so hard to build and the community we are still seeking. We shared logistics: How do you pay taxes? How do you open bank accounts? How do you manage health insurance coverage?

As with anything else in life, you figure it out. You learn how to get gas for your apartment and the lyrics to mariachi songs. You learn the whistle of the sweet potato vendor and who has the best tamales. You learn which salsas you prefer and you develop opinions about mezcal varieties. You start to speak in slang you pick up from local friends and you join WhatsApp groups to know what’s happening in town. It’s amazing how malleable we are. You just board a flight and invest some time and your life will be different. It’s pretty magical, really.

2023 Allie was losing a lot, but I wouldn’t trade it for the growth 2025 Allie has gotten as a result. It’s also made me kinder. More resilient. More certain that damn near everything I do will be easier than moving alone to a new country when I could barely get out of bed. I once told a friend that I have cried while doing everything that has looked cool on paper, and it’s still true. I moved to Portland on an impulsive one way ticket in 2011. I had never been to the West Coast before and didn’t know anyone in town. My first day in the city I sat down on the steps of the St. Andrew Catholic Church on Alberta and sobbed, sure that I had made a mistake. The next day I met the people who would become my closest friends in Portland. 2011 Allie couldn’t have dreamed of the amount of love and belonging I would find as a result of that leap of faith. I still call Portland home.

If you’re on the fence about shaking things up and making a move, I have nothing but good things to say. I can’t tell you it’s easy. I can’t tell you it isn’t lonely at first. But I can say with certainty that if you can give yourself two years, you’d be amazed at how fundamentally different things can be. I wish you a Tower Card.

I’m lucky to be constantly surrounded by people smarter than me. From locals with far more familiarity with the culture I am visiting to friends considerably more learned than myself, more is more. When they are better cooks than me, I eat better. When they are better at a foreign language, I improve. I bask in their brilliance and feel my shriveled brain expanding like one of those 90s toys that grew in water.

As you may then expect, my friend Andrew is both smarter than me and does not understand a lowkey community skate night to be a place where we are required to showcase recreational excellence.

He asked me, “Can you give yourself permission to be bad at this for five minutes?”

In some impressive gentle parenting, he reassured me that getting started is the hardest part, but we normally get a hang of things after a brief period of looking stupid. He held my hand and we set off to join our friends on the rink. I fell several times. I took him down with me once. I did not look effortlessly cool. But I skated and next time will be easier.

In a recent dark night of the soul, I was forced to recognize that my fear of looking

a. Incompetent!

b. Stupid!

c. Undignified!

Meant that there were things I simply did not try. If I did not think I could complete a task to perfection, I would not attempt it. Ignoring the sheer ego of assuming I should be capable of excellence in everything, my preoccupation with avoiding embarrassment is robbing my future self from the opportunity of mastery. No one reflects on Anthony Bourdain’s legacy and thinks, “Now there’s a man who maintained his dignity.” We instead see how enthusiastically he explored the unknown, asked for help in understanding, and fumbled his way along. He was loved exactly for his embrace of the novel. I wish he was able to do it for many more years.

I’ve had a few chats recently where friends talk about wanting to get back into traveling post-pandemic but are stymied by their own fear of embarrassment. They mention being worried about making a mistake in a foreign language, not knowing how to use public transportation, or committing a cultural faux pas. These are inevitable. Your travel will be richer and more freeing if you don’t hold yourself to impossible standards of excellence. There were no Olympic judges scoring my skating performance at Oaks Park (thank God). There is no committee evaluating your travel acumen. You are in a sea of strangers and are not expected to know how to do things, which is perhaps the ideal environment to try and to fail.

Progress over perfection, as they say.

I’ve been a big fan of replacing New Year's resolutions with a bingo card of new things I’d like to try. It’s a fun and low-stakes way to push myself without the need for listing my perceived shortcomings. In that spirit, I’ve made you a 2025 Adventure Bingo to push you outside of your comfort zone, whether or not you are traveling outside of your home country this year. 24 opportunities for 5 minutes of stupidity. 24 opportunities for familiarity with something previously unknown. Next time you run into them, you’ll already know how to do these things and you can grow someone else’s brain.

I’ll see you out there on the rink.

2025 Adventure Bingo

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This is the first in this venture. I’m in San José wrapping up a program on global health where we toured hospitals, met with health experts, and studied traditional plant medicine on a regenerative farm. I found it pretty thought-provoking. I hope you do too.

Long heralded as the land of biodiversity, coffee, and volcanoes, the siren song of Costa Rica now includes dental crowns and knee replacements. Medical tourism in Costa Rica was a $465 million industry pre-pandemic and is recovering back towards those rates. Over 80% of medical tourists—international visitors whose primary motive for travel is obtaining affordable healthcare—are coming from the United States. Private clinics advertise themselves in English and compare procedures to their relative costs in the US. It’s likely cheaper to fly to Costa Rica for a root canal than to receive one without insurance. And we don’t have gallo pinto.

There have been many conversations about corporate greed in American healthcare since Luigi Mangione allegedly shot his shot, but a large aspect of what keeps Americans imprisoned by our own system is a failure of imagination. We have been told our whole lives that the US is the pinnacle of progress and societal advancement and so most truly believe there is nothing better than what we have. UnitedHealth Group boasted $371.6 billion in revenue in 2023 alone. $371,600,000,000 is an unfathomable number in and of itself, but consider also that this was a 14.6% increase from the previous year. Prometheus gave humans fire and we in turn created a system of deductibles, copays, and premiums which shackle us to rocks of our own, awaiting the inevitable eagle. It’s vitally important to see how other countries manage their medical systems so we can keep our feet on the necks of law makers and healthcare companies and envision another way forward.

Costa Rica is entertaining the same policy issues and moral panics the West tends to see as uniquely our own. Their birth rate is down and the population is aging beyond what the social security system was built to endure. Large numbers of immigrants are coming into the country, primarily from Venezuela, which puts a strain on publicly funded resources. Their current president, Rodrigo Chaves, is an anti-establishment conservative who was accused of sexual harassment by multiple female colleagues during his time at the World Bank. This was not a sufficient deterrent to voters and he took office in May 2022.

A bastion of hope still remains in Costa Rica’s approach to healthcare, which has been universally offered by the Caja Costarricense de Seguro Social (CCSS) since 1941. A report found that 89% of Costa Ricans were insured as early as 2003, while only 82% of Americans held insurance in the same year. US coverage grew to 92% in 2024, an increase credited to the Affordable Care Act, but the statistic is misleading when we stop to consider access. Only 56% of adults aged 19-64 had full insurance coverage throughout the year and even within those insured, there are significant economic barriers to receiving care. 26% of insured adults with diabetes reported not filling a prescription because of its cost. When our global health group toured a local hospital, a professor asked staff if they are able to use insulin more than once to treat multiple patients. Confused, the doctor confirmed that they would use the vial until it is empty, with new sterile needles for each patient, the same way they did not throw away a box of gloves after extracting one pair. The group sighed. Their training in the US has them throw away vials after dispensing units for one patient, even when multiple doses remain. Meanwhile, nearly a ⅓ of diabetics surveyed by the Commonwealth Fund reported skipping Insulin doses to manage the exorbitant costs. Other nations remind us it doesn’t have to be this way. A 2017 OECD report found that “less than 1% of [Costa Rica’s] population report failing to seek care because of financial reasons.”

Quality healthcare is accessible in Costa Rica because it comes with no expense beyond taxes and is available even in remote areas. The four tenets of their social system: Solidarity, universality, unity, and equality mandate that all be treated without cost at public hospitals — including immigrants and tourists. The nation’s social security administration, called Caja for short, receives its funding from labor taxes and the government directly. Caja saw major reforms in 1994, which refocused the implementation of health services to be more community-oriented and proactive in its outreach.

An internationally lauded result of this restructuring are primary healthcare teams called EBAIS (Equipos Básicos de Atención Integral de Salud). Each EBAIS team has at least one doctor, one nurse, one pharmacist, and one technical assistant, who then have 4,000 patients assigned to them by geographic area. All citizens belong to an EBAIS team, which is then able to work nimbly around the country, including in rural areas, in clinics or in homes. EBAIS teams go door to door administering vaccines and they provide at-home treatment for those with limited mobility. They hold community health classes in churches and teach seniors how to monitor glucose levels. They map out their region house by house and mark high-risk patients so they receive more annual home visits than homes without non-communicable diseases.

EBAIS travels through their assigned region, bouncing from town to town, ensuring that no part of the country is left without accessible medical care. In another shocking departure from global practices, Costa Rica started these primary healthcare teams in remote areas first before later expanding to include urban zones. The whole point was to protect the vulnerable. You’d have a hard time convincing me a US health insurer with $371.6 billion in profits is aiming to do the same.

Caja is in a time of crisis as the population ages and the current government becomes increasingly unfriendly to public health and educational initiatives. The current president has criticized the country’s mandate to direct 8% of the GDP to education, which he called a “populist measure.” He rolled back Covid directives for public employees shortly after taking office and there are rumblings that this administration is moving to privatize healthcare altogether.

2024 has seen waves of resignations by specialist doctors in protest of a new wage law which eliminates raises and bonuses and will indefinitely cap their rates of pay beneath what is offered for new hires. Feeling that their hand has been forced, some specialists have left in pursuit of private practices, which can offer higher salaries. Meanwhile, the Executive President of Caja, along with 7 other senior officials, were arrested in September for awarding wildly overpriced EBAIS contracts to private providers at the rate of $23 million a year.

The nation’s healthcare hangs in the lurch. Some doctors I spoke with expressed that citizens are so accustomed to having free, quality healthcare that they don’t realize it’s something to appreciate. They have no experience in a world without it. It’s possible they cannot envision what’s at stake if the government takes it away. On the other side of the coin, Americans struggle to imagine what we could gain. Debt and indignity and suffering are so entrenched in our relationship to healthcare that we expect it to feature in our treatment (or lack thereof). The US could be what Costa Rica’s future looks like if things go off the rails. Costa Rica could be what the US’s future looks like should we ever demand better.

There’s a bizarre paradox in flocking out of the country to receive medical treatment while not demanding that our system be changed. Stranger still is the US’s enduring sentiment that Latin America is inferior to us—a dangerous and lawless mass of land with nothing to offer beyond margaritas, beaches, and an industrious workforce—while also traveling in droves to Mexico, Costa Rica, and Brazil for medical care. Which is it? Is it unsafe and uneducated? Or is it advanced and skilled enough to be entrusted with your health?

I always encourage my students to act on global issues in their local communities where they are more capable of effecting change. We discuss how the legacy of colonialism teaches us that by virtue of being American we have something to offer beyond what local knowledge exists. In this case, Costa Rica has a fantastic amount to teach us about building resilient systems of community care. Much like the biodiversity found here, the country reminds us that we are part of an interconnected web and we need one another. We can build innovative supports that honor our human dignity and deprioritize profits. We just need to look south for inspiration.

‘Tis a shame, for I have great taste and my loss is your gain! If you’re struggling to find a gift for a traveler in your life this holiday season, do what I cannot and buy something beautiful. I’ve included a range in prices for those who ball on a budget and those who need to suck up to in-laws.

Jewelry organizer

A tried and true packing routine of mine includes shoving my rings and chains into a cloth pouch and invariably scratching my pendants from having everything jangle around together. Do as I say and not as a do and get your babe/self a Merewif roll to keep jewelry safe and organized. It has a slim profile and would be something I would bring with me on every flight if I didn’t always dress ready to survive an apocalypse.

Creams

I am already a dry skin girlie and long flights don’t help the matter. The thought of not having hand cream on a flight straight up panics me and there are many cheap ones you can give that will be perfect and much loved. I would like to note that my friend once dated someone underwhelming, but he wisely gifted her some Aesop products and we were impressed enough that we encouraged her to continue seeing him a while longer. If you are trying to woo someone, maybe get them the Resurrection Aromatique Hand Balm.

When I worked at a spa, an esthetician told me to apply a thin layer of a cream face mask as a moisturizer when you are flying to keep your skin barrier happy. My favorite is Dr. Hauschka’s Revitalizing Mask, but choose your own adventure. It’s winter and we are in our soft era.

Passport cover

Most people don’t know that any damage to your passport can have you denied entry at a border, including into your home country. I had a student unable to check-in because of a torn info page and a friend turned around because of water damage. Passport covers are practical, but alas, most are ugly! I found mine at the National Portrait Gallery gift shop in London and Ark Colour Design sells in shops worldwide. I love keeping my passport in a pouch so I can throw my residency card in there with it and not worry about pages getting crumpled.

Packing cubes

I don’t pack everything into cubes when I travel, but I do use mesh bags to keep socks and undergarments organized, which helps immensely. If I were to upgrade from my ancient, stained produce bags, I’d run into the loving arms of Baggu.

Compression socks

If your loved one endures long haul flights, compression socks make a big difference. Extended periods of inactivity cause our feet to swell on planes, which is uncomfortable and makes it hard to wear shoes during or after travel. A low-grade compression sock keeps feet snatched and comfy. There are a ton of options, including Bombas and Wellow.

Hard shell carry-on

I spent years thinking a roller carry-on was an unnecessary upgrade from the 35L North Face I would lug around airports with me. It was always heavy and uncomfortable and invariably required me to carry two backpacks throughout my travels. I would cross my fingers for airlines to offer free gate checks so I could get rid of the thing and have unencumbered layovers. Once I just spent the $115 it costs to get a decent hard shell carry-on, I couldn’t believe how much discomfort could have been avoided. I don’t worry about items getting damaged, I can throw my backpack on top of the case so I’m not carrying anything, and it has not been noticeably different navigating cities and public transportation with a suitcase vs a large backpack. Buy whatever seems sturdy, but pay attention to size regulations. I’ve heard complaints that Beis carry-on luggage just exceeds carry-on dimensions and needs to be checked. A lot of people swear by Monos. Mine was significantly cheaper than both of those and just came from a local luggage store. Find whatever makes sense for your budget.

An internationally-minded kitchen

For people who seem to have everything, I love putting together a gift box with themed ingredients, especially if you throw in a cookbook from the region to tie things together. Providore ships out boxes of these, but you can also look at them for inspiration and then curate your own during a trip or at a specialty market.

Example: Put together a Spanish basket with a paella pan, paella rice, olive oil, saffron, smoked paprika, tinned mussels, jamón serrano, olives, and a bottle of rioja.

An internationally-scented home

Officina Profumo Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella is a fragrance shop in Florence, Italy that has been in business since 1221. My mind can’t even process that fully, but this gift is for smelling, not for thinking. They have a collection of diffusers attempting to capture the spirit of each continent, which I love as a way to bring meaningful places into your home. My favorite was America, which has a base of warm spice notes topped with lime and peppermint.

Honorable mentions:

• Go to your local second hand store and buy them a used film camera and a few rolls of film to take on an upcoming trip

• Paint one a picture they posted from a past trip

• Research their destination and make them a “perfect day itinerary” with recommendations for dinner, museums, or tours customized for their interests

• Take them to a local film festival to watch a foreign movie

• Buy a novel from a region that interests them

• Send them (read: me) to the other side of the world in a Singapore Air first class suite

Perhaps the best gift may also be a 5’x10’ storage unit so they can hit the road, but who am I to say?

It’s Revolution Day in Mexico, a federal holiday commemorating the start of the Mexican Revolution on November 20, 1910. Oaxaca’s Zócalo is draped in the tricolors of the nation’s flag and people dance in the streets beneath marmotas y monos de calenda, the spinning globes and towering paper mache puppets seen leading parades almost any day in the city center. 

Mexico’s revolutionary war began exactly 100 years after its war for independence from Spain and 29 years into Porfirio Díaz’s de facto dictatorship, referred to in Mexico as El Porfiriato. Looking beyond his evil, soulless loyalty to money and power above the rights of citizens, he had a pretty impressive strategy in establishing and maintaining his reign as president. Inequality was high and land ownership largely consolidated to the wealthy. Porfirio Díaz was a big fan of seizing parcels of land from indigenous communities and selling them to foreign investors to be used for agriculture. He sweetened up opponents by allowing them to work as intermediaries with said investors, which kept them quiet, compliant, and increasingly wealthy. He filled his cabinet with men loyal to him and chipped away at the autonomy of states. I’m confident he would have been in support of appointing ancient pro wrestlers to oversee critical government departments if only WWE had been invented in his lifetime. Gone too soon!

There’s a theme we see repeat itself over and over again where the wealthy and powerful convince their countrymen that economic development comes at the expense of human rights and that this should be a trade we are willing to make. Never mind that those getting wealthier off exported goods are not the individuals contributing labor and producing said goods, but those with the keys to the fiefdom. This is not an isolated regional issue and during a time of so much fear and anxiety at the authoritarian outlook of the United States, it feels important to gaze towards examples of how this has been handled globally. In Mexico, that was a call for all citizens to take up arms at 6pm on November 20, 1910 and fight for a more just world. Over a million people died building a future they would never be able to see. Thanks to their sacrifice, the Mexican Constitution of 1917 established universal education, agrarian reform, and labor rights, among other victories. Emiliano Zapata, a treasured revolutionary who fought for the rights of the poor and indigenous, still stands guard over us today in murals across Oaxaca.

This summer In Bangladesh, university students protested a longstanding quota system which reserved a percentage of government positions for the relatives of those who fought for Bangladesh’s independence from Pakistan in 1971. This unfair advantage was a bridge too far given a youth unemployment rate exceeding 15% and an increasingly autocratic government. Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina had been in power since her second term began in 2009 and while the country saw marked economic growth during these 15 years, her administration enjoyed their power at the expense of human rights. Freedom of speech was curbed and critics jailed or disappeared. Exports and remittances increased, which served to make the wealthy wealthier and class disparity expanded. It does not sound unlike the Mexico of 1910.

Student protesters were met with pro-government counter protestors and eventually state violence. The Bangladeshi government shut down the internet and mobile networks, instated a curfew, and deployed the military to maintain order. Hundreds of protesters were killed. The high court responded to the increasing student pressure and escalating civil violence by reforming the quota and reducing the percentage of government jobs reserved for freedom fighters from 30% to 7%. This is not an insignificant reduction achieved by a student-led movement, but the students kept the pressure on. After seeing how the government responded to reasonable calls for reform with violence and suppression, they demanded the resignation of PM Sheikh Hasina and a new political future for their country. She did, in fact, resign in August and fled to India in a helicopter, which seems like exactly something a villain would do.

When we talk about brain drain, we are often talking about governments which have created such rampant inequality that citizens don’t see a way forward. Those who are able to leave do leave. Who are we to ask them to stay? Schools closed last week in Lahore, Pakistan as the air quality index exceeded 40x the WHO’s parameters for acceptable levels of pollution. The smog was so thick and unyielding it could be seen from space. Last month, a friend from North Macedonia told me she didn’t see any future for herself in her country, and listed Skopje’s own increasingly alarming pollution levels as an example of her pessimism. How can we condemn people to live like that? How could we blame them for leaving? I hear many Americans discussing emigration these days, and as an American who does not live in the US, I understand their reasons for doing so. It often feels like things couldn’t possibly be different from how they are. We are a generation confronting problems so big they can be seen from space.

In the justified panic surrounding Trump’s second term, I take heart in knowing that there are so many examples of revolution to look towards globally, both peaceful and armed. There is no government so powerful that its citizens cannot get out from under it. It’s 6pm here. Viva la revolución.

I spent the summer leading up to my departure cleaning apartments to save for the move. My plans were slightly derailed when I suffered a pretty gnarly bike accident in June and spent my last months in the US with my jaw wired shut and broken shoulder supported by a sling. I cleaned with one arm and walked the three miles to and from work, wondering if this was a bad omen. I didn’t know anything about Korea and didn’t know anyone who had been there. My father told me about a fermented dish called kimchi and I worried I wouldn’t have the palate for it. It didn’t occur to me to be worried about the language barrier, or how I would make friends, or what it might be like to be the only foreign teacher in my school. I had studied abroad in Peru and in Russia and had done some traveling through Europe and Latin America. I thought this would be more of the same.

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I really struggled in Korea. As most 20- and 30-somethings can attest to, it’s much harder to make friends outside of school. Studying abroad was quite different from working abroad and romping around parts of the world where I spoke the language was not the same as beginning my career in a country with no familiarity. Korean culture was not yet the massive export that it is today and I didn’t have the maturity or perspective to anticipate my gaps in knowledge. I spent most of my time exploring Seoul alone and feeling like a tremendous failure. I was desperately homesick and longed for the ease of being in my home country. Instead of working harder to adjust to my new reality, I doubled down on preferring the American style of doing things. Any deviation was wrong and therefore inferior. I stopped trying new things and just counted the days until I could leave.

Last January was my first time back in Korea since 2011. I was taking a student group to Seoul for a language program and was anxious at the prospect of being back in the city that symbolized such defeat for me. In the 13 years since leaving Korea, I devoted my career to mentoring youth during their studies abroad. I studied intercultural communication and comparative international education in my master’s program. I returned to Asia to work and study. I developed the skills that would have really benefited the recent graduate landing in Incheon with a borrowed suitcase. Throughout this growth and the maturing that comes with time, I was merciless in my insistence that Young Allie was a disappointment and too closed-minded to appreciate the opportunity she had. I ridiculed her in my mind for years with no change to how that situation played out. “Alea iacta est,” she cackled.

I’ve seen Interstellar a handful of times and one day I may even understand it. I expected to pace through Seoul as Matthew McConaughey peered through the bookshelf: watching one’s past and trying to change it. Of course he could manipulate time as a fifth dimension, so we are coming at this with different skill sets, but the point remains. He was able to have his future self inform the actions of his past self to nudge him closer to his destiny. Those of us living outside of a black hole have to contend with making our own destiny the old fashioned way and confront our own perceptions of failure.

Despite my apprehension, I had an incredible return to Seoul. I ate dishes I discovered in the years since leaving and explored parts of the city I wished I had spent more time in. I went to my first jjimjilbang, a Korean sauna, which I had lamented never having the courage to try before. I found that I remembered how to read Hangul, the Korean alphabet, and could still say basic phrases to get around. In a shocking turn of events, I discovered that past Allie wasn’t fundamentally bad. She just didn’t know how to do these things yet. 

The kicker of being hard on my younger self is that I am supposed to find her wanting. It would be a greater indictment of my aptitudes if I was equally capable of intercultural communication, tolerating ambiguity, and making friends at 36 as I was at 22. Isn’t cringing at my younger self a sign of growth?

It feels normal, even expected, to be critical of our past selves, especially having lived through a time where our ever-changing views and values are publicly cataloged online. But I’m feeling bizarrely self protective right now as I imagine a 50-year-old Allie looking back on Present Allie with derision. Present Allie is imperfect and she is doing her best. Like Gaudí’s Sagrada Familia, I am a work in progress that will not see completion in our lifetimes. 

It took me returning to Seoul to be able to tap into that same empathy with Young Allie. I was two months out of undergrad. I had never worked in a professional environment before. I had never had an apartment. I had never lived in a major city. I had never navigated diverging intercultural expectations in a workplace. Why did 2023 Allie expect 2010 Allie to have been good at that? Who did I imagine was teaching me this?

The irony is, it’s she who taught me everything I know about travel today. The girl who took language classes in a church basement is the reason I can read and order food in Korean. She showed me what social cues to look for in places where I don’t speak the language. She got me comfortable using the subway. She helped me master chopsticks. These are the very same skills I explicitly teach to students, because no one is born knowing how to do this. Young Allie was my mentor.

There are periods in language learning where a student goes from speaking with great grammatical accuracy to learning new constructs and making a lot of errors. It’s a frustrating and inevitable part of the process if you want to advance beyond saying “Hello, my name is” and listing some favorite foods. Being bad at a skill generally means you’re encountering something novel and pushing yourself outside your comfort zone. I think that’s brave. It’s also the only way to advance. 

Construction is annoying and ugly. New buildings are beautiful and enduring. 

A lump of clay isn’t a helpful drinking vessel. A glazed cup is a work of art.  

We don’t chastise clay for not being a cup. It requires external forces to make that transformation. Why am I nicer to mud than I am to myself? (Don’t answer that.)

I’m currently back in Seoul for a third time after being invited to a seminar hosted by the U.S. State Department in Gwangju, South Korea. There’s an ease I feel in this city; a real comfort in being just one in 9 million people, all existing together here. I don’t feel any contention with my past selves, but instead an overwhelming peace at all of life’s turns bringing me to this place, where I get to savor my relationship with this magnificent country. 

I do hope that 50-year-old Allie will be proud of me. I wonder what she will take for granted because I provided it for her. I wonder in what way she’ll grow to be different from me. Seoul has changed since I lived here. I have too. Good for us.

As we discussed last time, we want to be pooling all of our miles into one account per alliance. For many people, this will mean American Airlines as their champion for Oneworld partners. AA, however, will expire miles after 24 months of inactivity, so it is in your interest to find low effort ways to keep your account in good standing. Here are my three strategies:

Dining - Link any credit or debit card to the AAdvantage Dining website and it will automatically give you miles when you use that card at a partner restaurant. It’s really that easy. Set it and forget it. They will email you if you dined somewhere on their list and will invite you to leave reviews on their website to increase your earned miles. We already established that I’m a cheapskate, so I will sometimes prioritize establishments that give me miles in return.

• For Portlanders, the spots AA partners with vary wildly and include Kann, Enso Winery, QuarterWorld, and the Spare Room, among many others. Take a babe out for Haitian food and let the miles roll in! We love em smart & savvy.

  

Online shopping - If you’re buying something online, check first to see if the business has a mileage deal and purchase via the AAdvantage shopping portal. Signing up for Disney+ currently awards you 1,000 miles. Switching to Verizon gives you 5,200. Buying from Nike.com is at 5 miles per $1. If we’re going to be lining the pockets of the billionaire class anyway, we might as well get an extra kickback for it.

Note - you can’t have an ad blocker turned on while you interact with this site or it won’t track your purchase. Read the terms to see if you can use gift cards or discount codes.

Surveys - It will surprise exactly no one to hear that I love giving my opinion. I typically do it for free. What a waste for I could be earning miles! The bang for your buck varies in terms of time commitment, but this is a no cost way to keep accounts active for another two years and who knows what could happen between now and then. You could be discovered as the heir to Genovia and will never need to scrounge for miles again. But for the time being, fill out surveys while binging reality TV and you’ve spent the afternoon providing for your children.

If you use rideshares, Lyft partners with Delta and Alaska Air and Uber with Qantas to give you airline miles every time you use the app. You are buying the service anyway, you might as well have it credit you back.

I am aware these strategies are very Americentric and wish I had similar offers for non-US carriers. The reality is these benefits are very localized per airline and your mileage may vary. Americans are also predisposed to be enthusiastic about trading our labor for fake currency and the promise of future status, so they are pandering to our spirit.

Here are some similar shopping sites for those who are not US based:

• Air Asia shopping

• Qatar Airlines shopping

• Lufthansa shopping (you can also provide your account number to some in-person shops for miles)

• Qantas shopping, Qantas health app, local vendors who award miles

Now go off and start earning, my loves! I want to meet up with you somewhere warm.

Key things to know about frequent flyer accounts:

• Accrual - Miles are awarded to the person who travels on the ticket, not the person who paid for the ticket. You should therefore always have your flights attached to an account. You are throwing away money otherwise. Many airlines now also credit your miles not only for how far you’ve flown, but for how costly your ticket was. If you buy a basic economy flight on Delta, you forfeit any mileage accrual for that itinerary. It’s a stupid and cheap loophole. If you are lucky enough to have an employer, scholarship, or sugar daddy pay for your flights, have them book at least standard economy.

• Expiration - Some US carriers award miles that never expire vs most global carriers which expire after a year or two of inactivity. If you travel infrequently, it may be worth it to you to prioritize flying with United, Delta, Alaska, or JetBlue, where your points are evergreen.

• Earning miles from home - You can keep accounts active and passively earn miles without needing to fly. The easiest way to do this is through using an airline credit card, which will typically give you 1-2 miles per $1 spent and a bonus sign on when you open your account. Keep an eye out for card recommendations in a later post. For those who don’t want to or are unable to open a card, I have ways to bypass expiration dates in the pipeline for this month.

Now that we have the baseline established, the heart and soul of maximizing your miles is by leveraging the alliances.

There are three major airline alliances: Star Alliance, Oneworld, and SkyTeam.

When you fly with an airline that is part of an alliance, you can choose to have your miles credited towards any of its partners. This allows you to play at the aforementioned rat arcade and then tell Chuck “thanks for the tickets, please convert them into Dave & Buster's points because they have better prizes.”

The key strategy to getting free flights is to have one account in each alliance where you are pooling all of your miles. This should be the airline that has regular departures from your home airport and travels widely. If you are based in the US, your airlines should probably be United (Star Alliance), American (Oneworld), and Delta (SkyTeam). You should continue to travel on convenient routes and book the cheapest flights available no matter what the airline, but you should have all of those miles being funneled into one of these three accounts.

I just flew from Oaxaca, Mexico to Guatemala City. I live in Mexico and so I travel with Aeromexico quite a bit. They are a great airline with good service. They are also very regional, and so if I were to keep my miles for flying with Aeromexico in their rewards program, my redemption would be limited to where they travel as an airline. There are some exceptions to this, but we need to stay focused. Aeromexico, however, is in SkyTeam with Delta. Because they are homies, no matter which one of them I am flying with, I am always having those miles added to my Delta account.

Why?

Having 3,800 miles in an Aeromexico account, 5,000 in a Delta account, and 2,400 in an AirFrance account is not enough for me to buy a flight within any of these airlines’ rewards programs. If I live in Mexico, what are the odds I’ll be flying AirFrance again anytime soon? Those miles will probably expire and I’ll get nothing in exchange for the money I spent accruing them. If I instead had all of these miles dumped into Delta from the beginning, I would now have 11,200 miles in that account, which is enough to buy a flight from Portland to Boston to visit my grandparents as they have been requesting.

Your homework: Pick one airline from each of the three alliances and set up a frequent flyer account. It’s free and takes just a few minutes. I will know if you haven’t done this and I will haunt you until your dying breath  🔪

Your enduring homework: GET MILEAGE CREDIT. You can add your frequent flier account when you are booking your flight, checking into your flight, or after taking your flight (as long as you had an account open at time of travel). In my example above, when checking into my Aeromexico flight, I am selecting Delta from the frequent flyer account dropdown and adding in my account number.

That’s it! You are ready! Fly off, sweet chickadees, and enjoy this magnificent world!