The bus that left at noon
Nobody on the 12:00 bus knew where it ended. Neither did I. Four hours later we all found out together.
A slow travel journal
Meandering Megan
Wandering slowly and staying curious — small towns, long bus rides, missed ferries, and all the lovely places in between.
Hello, wanderer
The long way around
I'm Megan. I travel the way rivers do — not in a straight line, but always getting somewhere. I keep this journal for the details that don't make it into postcards: the taste of the second-best pastry in town, the bus driver who waved me onto the wrong route, the ferry I missed on purpose.
No itineraries here, or very loose ones. Just slow mornings, long afternoons, and the belief that getting lost is a form of getting somewhere.
— Megan, currently somewhere between here and there
Recent wanderings
Places that left a mark
A few of the stops that made it into the notebook this year.
Portugal
Lisbon
Portugal
Seven hills, pastel tiles, and the lightest light I've ever seen.
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Morocco
Marrakech
Morocco
Mint tea in the medina, and getting gloriously lost on purpose.
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Japan
Kyoto
Japan
Temples at dawn, bamboo in the rain, tea that tastes like quiet.
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Argentina & Chile
Patagonia
Argentina & Chile
Wind that rearranges your plans, and glaciers the color of tomorrow.
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Italy
Cinque Terre
Italy
Learning to miss the ferry on purpose, one cliffside village at a time.
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Texas, USA
Marfa
Texas, USA
The desert hums at night. The art glows. The sky goes on forever.
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The meandering path
Never a straight line
Roughly where the notebook has taken me — not to scale, obviously.
From the notebook
Field notes
Small dispatches from the road, in no particular order.
Rooftop espresso theory
A city is best understood from above, with a tiny cup of something bitter and a very long afternoon.
Learning to miss the ferry
The second ferry got me to the same village, two hours later, and exactly where I needed to be.
The desert hums
Out past the last streetlight, Marfa's silence turns out to be a very loud, very patient sound.
“I don't need to know where I'm going. I just need to know I'm going somewhere lovely, slowly.”— from the back of a notebook, somewhere in the atlas foothills