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In Stories

The Danger in Playing It Safe

Contrary to popular belief, I am very boring. This may come as a surprise to you who know me as “Amy the travel blogger” but don’t get to see me on a daily basis. (Case in point: I’m writing this on a Saturday night after a very fun-filled evening of grocery shopping and running to the corner store for toilet paper.) I’m okay with being boring. What I am not okay with is refusing to do things out of fear.…

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In Stories

11 More Stops Till Main Street Station

Eleven more stops till Main Street Station. There are plenty of open seats, but you choose to prop your hip against the railing and stand by the door. You feel safest when you’re near an exit. The subway emerges onto a bridge crossing over a highway and you can see the city lights passing by in a blur and now you are thinking of the line 6 in Paris that passes over the Pont de Bir-Hakeim. It has the best…

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In Digital Nomads/ Stories

“Oh, So You’re a Digital Nomad?”

It is 7 p.m. when I hear the knock on my door. I have just moved in and don’t know anyone here, so I can only guess it is my downstairs neighbor. There is no light on the porch, so I can’t see anything outside the large uncovered window on the door. I stall for a second as I peer through the darkness, but I know whoever is on the other side has already seen me, so I swing the door…

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In Stories/ Toronto

The First Snowfall of the Season in Toronto

November 20, 2016. The first snowfall of the season in Toronto. I am lying on my back in bed about to drift to sleep when I notice something on the skylight above me: a smattering of slush obscuring the glass. I throw the sheets off and run out my front door in nothing but a Florida T-shirt and shorts. The cold air stings my legs and my bare soles crunch ice on the deck.…

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In Stories/ Travel

Blue Sky Ceiling

I wake up to a blue sky ceiling, white sheets bundled at my feet. A black cat purrs against my chest.I do not lock my bedroom door. I couldn't even if I wanted to; there is no lock. I have learned to always keep the door ajar while I sleep, or else the cat will paw mercilessly at it, begging to be let in.On laundry days, we hang the sheets to dry on the deck. I like the sound, and…

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In Stories

The Things We Try Not to See

There is always someone crying. In Cusco, sometimes it was the neighborhood cat late at night. When the townspeople went to bed and the stray dogs roamed la calle taunting the outnumbered feline. Even with earplugs, and my head pressed firmly into my pillow, I could hear it screeching from somewhere behind the wall of my courtyard. But every time I pushed open the heavy metal doors and ran into the street, I could not trace the source of the…

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In Stories

For Every Time You Almost Didn’t

“Cálmate. Relájate,” Miguel cooed as he led me across a busy highway in the dark of night near Real Plaza, Cusco’s first and only shopping mall. I can’t remember why I was panicking, but it could have been a couple of things: the fact that he was ignoring the crosswalk signals as honking taxis flew past us, or the fact that I was out way past my bedtime in the middle of a foreign city. We were on a mission…

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