Tomorrow marks the three-year anniversary of me boarding a one-way flight to Guatemala with a carry-on suitcase, a yoga mat, and an overwhelming sense of optimism.
It was the start of a new life, one I thought I had meticulously planned. It took so much preparation to get to that point–beginning to take on freelance work in 2016, slowly building clientele, leaving my full-time job in 2019, and selling most of my personal belongings (and storing the rest in four neatly-stacked plastic bins in my parents’ basement)–that I created a plan for my travels.
I’d start in Guatemala so that I could take intensive Spanish lessons. I’d then meet my son, Oliver, in Costa Rica for a proper holiday before going to Mexico City, where I’d live until it was time for me to go to France in the spring for a writing residency. After my time in Europe, I’d come back to Mexico City to set up my life.
The fact that I am typing this from an Airbnb in Tepoztlán, Mexico tells you that that plan didn’t stick. It was actually blown up in Guatemala where I met someone I wasn’t ready to leave, so after Costa Rica and a few weeks back in Mexico City, I returned to Guatemala. I even began looking at houses to rent. It seemed right until it didn’t, and I resumed my original plan.
There’s been a lot of indecision in this lifestyle because you can’t predict how you will feel in a place until you get there, and oftentimes, that feeling has a lot to do with people you meet. I’m a person who loves to have a plan, so letting life take me where it wants to hasn’t come easy.
I traveled to Europe that spring as planned, beginning and ending my three-month stay in Paris, my first international love. I had been a Francophile long before my first visit to the City of Lights, but for some reason, it had never occurred to me that I could move to Paris if I wanted to. I met and befriended many people who had.
While I was in Paris, I had dinner with fellow writer and friend, Melissa Scholes Young (You can find her books here!) who ended up being the catalyst I needed to move forward with a book idea I had about women working in coffee. The night was memorable–under the champagne skies of Paris, two writers from the Midwest discussed books and projects over glasses of wine and beautifully prepared artichokes. This is how I want my life to be, I thought to myself.
I spent the rest of 2022 and all of 2023 traveling. If I wasn’t traveling to coffee farms for book research, I was mostly in Paris with a few shorter stays in Mexico City and Guatemala. There was so much movement that traveling started to feel like a chore instead of a luxury. It felt like I was always packing and unpacking, always arriving, never settling. Eventually, that took its toll, and I stopped putting forth the effort to create community in new destinations, which brought loneliness.
Fortunately, the lows of longterm travel are coupled with incredible highs. During my first month in Guatemala, I was invited to a dinner party hosted by a chef from Portland. From his home’s large terrace that overlooked Lago Atitlán, we watched the sun’s hues paint the sky as it set behind the volcanoes, while we drank and ate late into the night.
On my birthday last year, I woke up to the laughing cries of hyenas at the Aregash Lodge in Ethiopia. It was the final day on a trip to coffee origin that I had taken with 20 women coffee professionals from around the world. As cliché as it sounds, we formed a sisterhood on this trip. When we met that morning for breakfast before heading to the Hawassa airport, they surprised me with a birthday cake. I was so touched, and it was one of those moments that I could have never planned. I still tear up when I think it.
There were quieter moments that were equally memorable–sunrises along the Spanish Mediterranean, afternoons spent reading in Jardin du Luxembourg, hikes in Guatemala, and many mornings that began with a cup of coffee and my journal.
I’ve been in Mexico since January, and if all goes well, this year on my birthday, I’ll be settling into my new home. Perhaps, I needed the stillness that comes from not traveling to begin to make sense of all the experiences and to finally start this Substack.
I plan to use this space to share stories about my life and the things that I’m curious about–namely travel, coffee, and wine.
To get started, here are few things giving me inspiration:
Listening
Hermanos Gutiérrez’s new album, Sonido Cósmico. Ecuadorian-Swiss brothers Alejandro and Estevan Gutiérrez started their band in Zürich in 2015. Their approach to instrumental guitar combines Latin and Western influences and makes for great writing music. I can’t stop listening.
My Spanish has improved enough where the Duolingo podcasts aren’t challenging me in the way they once did, so I’ve been listening to Radio Ambulante, a podcast that shares stories from Latin America. If I’m being honest, this podcast is too advanced for my Spanish level, but I keep listening and hoping that one day it’ll all make sense. Until then, they have transcripts in English and in Spanish.
Reading
Before I went to Sicily last summer, I stopped in The Red Wheelbarrow bookstore (9, rue de Médicis, Paris) to buy a couple of books for the trip. I didn’t know anything about Alice Feiring at the time (though now, I’m such a fan), but her book, To Fall in Love, Drink This, nearly jumped off the shelf at me. As soon as I finished it, I downloaded her book, Natural Wine for the People. If you’ve ever been curious about natural wine, this is a good place to start.
Drinking
Right now, I’m drinking Café Alebrije from Buna, one of my favorite Mexican coffee shops. I’ve always admired Buna’s commitment to farmers and Mexican ecosystems. You can learn more about their work in this article I wrote for Daily Coffee News in 2021.
I recently discovered the only place in Tepoztlán with specialty coffee, and to my delight, it’s also a bar that has a wonderful Portuguese wine, Vinho Verde Fonte. It’s a light and refreshing wine that’s very inexpensive–perfect for hot summer nights.