1,236 Words. Five Minute Read.

It didn’t take too long to figure out the ferry was my only option. Shortly thereafter, an email arrived confirming what I was hoping to avoid: my flight was canceled. I sat on the train bewildered. I didn’t want to spend the night on the ferry, but I would if I had to. My gut started to rot with anger and shame.

586 words. 2 Minute Read.

Located two and a half hours from Atlanta, Cashiers and its neighboring towns are where wealthy Southerners have been summering for the past century. When it’s ninety-six degrees and the air is stale in Atlanta, it’s in the mid-seventies and breezy in these hilltop villages where golf reigns supreme.

622 Words. 2 Minute Read.

I used to travel to San Francisco a few times each year for pleasure. I had a cousin who lived there and would let me crash on her couch. She was an artist who lived among antique typewriters, old furniture, and knick-knacks that were as organized as they were eclectic.

444 Words. 2 Minute Read.

The St. Moritz is sparse but comfy; the bedrooms have no televisions—just a chest of drawers, communal showers, and coffee in a 1980s lobby.

665 Words. Two Minute Read.

I received a dinner invitation to a highfalutin downtown restaurant named SAGA. Being a non-foodie, I didn’t bother looking it up, but a few courses caught my attention, namely the Kristal caviar and beef tenderloin with truffles.