Writing archive
New writing lives on Substack — essays, notes, and the conversations I’m having now. This page is the Vagabondess Blog Archive: articles published August 2012 through March 2024.
I wrote this during one of Kenya’s (frequent, albeit brief) power outages. Though inconvenient, I find they can offer some much-needed respite from the constant activity that light, connectivity and music demand.
Diani Beach, South Coast, Kenya, 4.3222° S“Everybody—everybody who is escaping from something ends up in Diani. A “la-la land” for expats and Kenyans alike escaping from their pasts—or simply fleeing the big cities (“Nairobbery,” I have learned, is actually a common nickname for Nairobi).
Several days ago, I sat in a matatu (bus) plying the main road of Diani, Kenya. On my way to Diani Beach Hospital for a precautionary Malaria test (I don’t have malaria, Mom, you can exhale).
That Sand in your Toes Feeling — an essay from Toby’s on-site writing archive, written before new work moved to Substack.
Day two of my trip, I took an afternoon to explore on my own, wandering the tiny alleys of Tianze Feng, in and out of stores selling tins of tea and other adorably packaged goods.
Once upon a time, nomads—largely hunter gatherers or pastoralists—knew it was time to move when the game animals moved on, or the fields became depleted. They followed the tides of nature.Some traveled in caravans of camels or on horseback.
Sound Impressions from a Hammock — an essay from Toby’s on-site writing archive, written before new work moved to Substack.
Rusinga Island, Lake Victoria, Kenya — an essay from Toby’s on-site writing archive, written before new work moved to Substack.
This blog post is slumped against the bathroom wall like a drunk sorority girl on Saturday night. This blog post is camping out at the Madrid Barajas International Airport for the next 12 hours.
Where Do You Go When Nowhere Is Safe — an essay from Toby’s on-site writing archive, written before new work moved to Substack.
Picture it: A group of Portuguese boys play ping pong and try not to spill beer. Behind them, Spanish girls converse– loudly– with strangers via a smartphone translation app. Someone knocks over a stool with a bang.
What is cultural immersion, really? Not the museum loop — the awkward, ordinary contact that rearranges how you see a place and yourself.
In the last three weeks, I have spent approximately 35 hours in airports. I stayed the night in JFK, had a 10-hour layover in Newark, and passed in and out of the truly lovely Burlington International Airport at least 4 times.
Or it will be new just as soon as the old is knocked down and rebuilt. Retirees participate in state-sponsored activities in the park: old men manipulate Chinese yo-yo’s with surprising prowess, women join enthusiastically in chaotic dance fitness classes, and a single lane fills with.
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