"Travel" Chapters (2/3)
Chapter 10 of Nomad Life
I drank our remaining oat milk from the carton while looking out over the Main River in Frankfurt one last time. The sunrise was orange and already bikers were funneling onto the river path below. The main train station was a fifteen-minute drive from our apartment. We still had forty-five minutes until...
Chapter 9 of Nomad Life
We called a studio apartment in Frankfurt home for our first eight days abroad. It was a corner unit on the fifth floor of a ten-story building and looked out over the winding Main River in one direction and toward downtown Frankfurt’s skyscrapers in the other. Half-a-dozen stone bridges crossed the waterway, which I'm sure is small by global standards, but is larger than any river back in Colorado.
Chapter 8 of Nomad Life
We arrived in Washington, DC on a Monday afternoon and were excited to see our home for the final month we’d spend in the US before departing for Europe. Shelby parked the car outside of our building as sunlight poured in through the windshield, heating the black leather and plastic interior. When I opened the door, the air was sticky with humidity and the skin of my upper lip and armpits started perspiring. The forecast called for a high in the upper nineties, but it felt hotter.
The Concrete Jungle
Chapter 7 of Nomad Life
I’m not from a big city, or even a city at all for that matter. I’m from the whitest of white suburbia. I grew up about 10 miles outside of Boulder, Colorado, and to me, “the city” has always been Boulder, a college town with a population of ~105,000 full-time residents.
Roots and Green Shoots
Chapter 6 of Nomad Life
Lightning struck near our house, the storm’s roar shaking the warped hardwood floorboards beneath my feet. Birds and bees that were busy moments earlier disappeared. For a few heartbeats, the air was still. Then raindrops fell from the sky—slowly at first, but with increasing density as the clouds darkened...
The Young Man and the Sea
Chapter 5 of Nomad Life
I slipped my feet into my running shoes and tied them with a double knot. Skutull knew what that meant—either he was going to be left home to guard the house or he was about to do something fun. He looked up at me with pitiful eyes and a wagging tail, hoping he could will the latter into fruition. To his relief, I opened the front door and signaled him out into the Oregon forest where we were greeted by a cloud of fir spores blowing from the trees. The scents of pine and melon danced up my nose...