
Some Things I Like (About Travel)
Saturday afternoon, somewhere far from the city center. I like this cafe, edged in fading sunlight, that flanks a nondescript park. I like sitting by myself and soaking in unknown smells that will soon be memories.
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.

Saturday afternoon, somewhere far from the city center. I like this cafe, edged in fading sunlight, that flanks a nondescript park. I like sitting by myself and soaking in unknown smells that will soon be memories.

It is the traveler only who is foreign.” — Robert Louis Stevenson Sorry, Robert Stevenson, on two counts. First, I still haven’t actually read any of your books, but I swear they’re on my list.

In addition to the travel, culture, and adventure writing I focus on here, I also dabble in poetry, fiction, and other creative writing. Through these pursuits, I have come to collaborate with a wonderful artist named Paula Barkmeier.

In my first workshop meeting, I share a TED Talk by Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and she discusses how throughout history those in power—especially colonialists—have dispossessed others by choosing how to tell their stories.

Sabi Sand Game Reserve, Mpumalanga, South Africa A male leopard wakes from his nap and stretches lazily. Three safari cars—Land Rovers, I think—have parked just meters away. The leopard yawns, stretches again, and begins to move.

Everything I have ever written, everything I will ever write, represents an infinitesimal slice (mine) of an infinitely complex whole. I may speak of the universality of experiences such as fear, joy, loss and love. And I do believe in the value of sharing knowledge.

When the World is in Chaos: Dance — an essay from Toby’s on-site writing archive, written before new work moved to Substack.

Some people will reminisce—with nostalgia, regret, or a little bit of each—about their first cigarette, their first drink, or their first time trying X (fill in the blank with your substance of choice).

I write about venturing into the unknown often. You might say it’s my favorite theme—in life and in art. You could say it’s my greatest fear—in love and in travel.

Late December, Sea Point, Cape Town The walls and tables are painted a matte black, with the name of the cafe written in white. The decor is rustic-chic—a style I’m beginning to identify as a hallmark of upper-middle class Capetonian hipster culture.

I wrote this for a masters application, but I think it’s worth sharing with more than a few admissions officers! A crowd of other drivers and tourists collects around the ugly scene.

Sea Point, Cape Town, South Africa I’ve been in Cape Town for less than a week now (after nearly a year away), but it seems much longer. In a way, it feels like I never left.

The kitchen is clean, lights off, curtains drawn. I look around one last time, step into the hallway, and shut the door. I’ve left the keys—let’s hope I didn’t forget anything.
Do you ever experience moments of sudden and unanticipated gratitude? Thanksgiving, for me, is a lovely excuse to eat good food with friends and/or family; it is not, however, a better occasion than any other to feel thankful.
It’s been two years that I’ve lived out of one bag. In two weeks I will take a second (small) suitcase with me to Cape Town, so I might as well write this while it’s still true.
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