The ebbs and flows of travelling alone

Travel diary entries from three trips I took in late 2025: Oct 26-28 in Yellowknife, November 5-9 in Vancouver, and November 11-24 across Europe.

YELLOWKNIFE

As anyone who’s ever been to the Territories can tell you, there is something different about the North; it’s slower, more charming, less ruined by the technology of the south. Yellowknife had no skyscrapers; but it didn’t need them, because it’s full to the brim with cozy cafes, art galleries, and log cabins overlooking the lake.

I’ve been here twice; in 2021, and again, in 2025. Four years ago, I set up a temporary COVID-19 shelter for unhoused people inside a hockey arena. It was my eleventh work deployment in less than a year, coupled with my first week of recovery from an eating disorder that stole a decade of my life. The natural landscape was gorgeous; I made the most of my lunch break walks, rented a car one day to visit a waterfall. But because I was caught up in work tasks and writing food logs to my therapist (brutal iykyk) then, I wasn’t healthy or present enough to truly enjoy it.

This time, I was. In town for a mere 48 hours, I packed in as much exploration as I could - a calm Birchwood Ko coffee, a quiet stop at Sundog, a classic fish and chips dinner at Bullocks. I walked thirteen kilometres—from one end of Yellowknife to the other—to ensure I could pick up on all the tiny details one would miss with a car. In between, I listened intently to Dene and Inuit knowledge carriers, typing notes from their teachings; which were thousands of kilometres apart, yet synonymous with those of my own Nation. 

There are so many exceptional quotes I could share from the knowledge carriers, but if I had to distill it to one, it would be this: “Exceptional people come from the North because of our access to the land and the energy we gain from the Aurora Borealis. The land fuels our creativity, our imagination, and our care for each other.” After witnessing it all firsthand, I’d have to agree. I hope these photos from my first and second visit can give you a glimpse of this Territory’s beauty - because I’m already dreaming of a third.

VANCOUVER

I’ve spent plenty of time in Vancouver; both while living there and during my biannual trips to visit friends after I moved. But this trip was special, because it was the first time I was being flown out - by Audible, for my book. Sometimes I still pinch myself at that last sentence. 

I came a couple of days early to see all the friends I have here. First stop: sushi. Second stop: Whistler. Back west, I remembered the land that moved me here, years ago. The fresh, salty air. The perpetual push-pull of the ocean. The awe-inducing enormity of the mountains. My own Anishinaabe aki will always be where I feel closest to mother earth; but BC, years later, is still a comforting close second.

My trip’s raison d'être was a full day of writing workshops. Sitting in a chic Gastown office–all exposed brick and modern couches--I beamed at my fellow mentors and mentees. Adorning beadwork and regalia from across our territories, we settled in for sessions with Richard Van Camp, Reneltta Arluk and our own voices - headphones and microphone on in the recording studio, I felt a preview of my future audiobook finally, finally happening.

I spent the rest of the week romanticizing life with my friends, the way I always do - a cozy night in North Van, an array of gym classes, and one late night dancing in a Latin bar. My last morning, I wheeled my suitcase to a Hawaiian bakery; the sappy sentimentalist in me thinking of my friends’ forthcoming marathon. I savoured my Lilikoi pastry alone on a patio, too cold for any Vancouverites but far warmer than back home. Grateful, grateful, grateful, I felt - for connections fostered old and new, a body that freely moves, and creativity as my life force, the sacred fire I tend to.

TENERIFE

I can’t tell you about Tenerife without telling you I nearly died on the way there. 

My connecting flight from Dublin popped in the air and began shaking on the way down. In that existential anxiety-inducing moment, my life focused into razor sharp clarity, and three things came to me. I wished I’d hugged my mom longer at the airport. I wished I’d told an old friend I missed them. And the third… Well, I’ll save that one for the book.

I would never publish my book, or leave a grandiose legacy, or travel all the places I wanted to. But despite that, I’d had a twenty-seven year good run, full of friendship and delicious food and breathtaking sunsets and and and–

“We are going to make an emergency landing,” announced the pilot, and I released the breath I’d been holding in. I texted my mom and friend the second I got reception. I was delayed four hours, but I made it to my terracotta palace, lapped by waves of gorgeous Atlantic blue.

Facing my own mortality made me romanticize life even more. I drove through every sleepy small town on the island and way up to the volcanic mountain ranges of Teide National Park. I filled my days with sun, fresh fruit and gelato, and at night, I treated my meals like the main spectacles of the trip - because they were.

So much struck me about this beautiful island, even in its sleepy season - but if I could only remember one thing, it would be the rainbows adorning the mountainous landscape. Rainbows, a symbol of beauty after difficulty; one that found me when I needed it most.

PARIS

Paris was supposed to be for one thing: visiting my old London flatmate who’d since moved there. When she got pulled into some last minute obligations out of the country, I debated whether to still go - I’d already seen Paris in the spring, and wasn’t sure I could fall in love with the city any more than I already had. I was wrong - as anyone who loves Paris can attest, its joie de vivre never dulls, no matter the season. 

From my chic little studio view overlooking Montmarte, I promised myself that I would try to speak my second language, no matter how awkward or embarrassing I felt. I’m not a fully fluent Francophone (yet), but I know more than I give myself credit for, something I proved to myself on this trip. Talking to the locals was real immersion, baby - the kind of accelerated language recall I’d yearned for since my Quebec days.

I checked off a couple of French landmarks I’d missed the previous round - Chateau de Versailles, the inside of the Louvre. But in Paris, you could head down any street and find art; in terasse ash trays and curly coiled balconies, flaky galettes and full-bodied wine. My favourite spot was Bisou, a bespoke cocktail bar where the cute bartender and I tossed witty banter back and forth. He was the first of a few to compliment me on my French skills, comments that went straight to my head then and still melt my heart now. 

The other highlight of my trip? Conversations with women about the world. A friend of a friend met me for wine and fries. Going through similar family dynamics, she reminded me to travel and move if I want to - “living for you is how you love them too”. My other cherished connection was an American who pulled up next to me in a fur coat, not knowing a lick of French; I knew instantly we’d become friends. I handled our orders while she entertained me with life stories adventurous enough to match mine. That’s the beautiful thing about traveling - no matter how far you go, you always run into people who feel like home.

BRUSSELS

I was woefully unprepared for Brussel’s winter weather - silly me for thinking everywhere in Europe would be wet and dreary like London. Thankfully, my heart warmed the minute I reconnected with an old friend. Six years had passed since we’d seen each other last, but we picked up as comfortably as if it had been the week prior.

With a list of her local recommendations, I set out, undeterred by snow. A tiny coffee was the first stop, a Belgian waffle the second. I was thoroughly charmed by Brussels’ underrated art, evident in the Magritte museum and nouveau architecture-lined streets. Every night, we went out to eat and drink - catching up on our major life events was our appetizer, social justice topics our main. 

MUNICH

From there, I took an early morning flight to reunite with another friend in Munich. It’s been years since I was kicked out of a sorority (true story), but we still call each other “twin” after all this time. After enveloping her in a long-awaited hug, we had one very important place to go: the German Christmas market. We wandered through stalls, stopping for glüwein wherever we saw a sign.

That weekend was full of my favourite things - sit down dinners, chic cocktail lounges, artisanal coffee, awe-worthy architecture, art museums and late night dancing. Were there hiccups? Of course. We got swindled at a restaurant, cringed at gen-z club dance floors, and ate the worst post-bar food you could imagine. But these are the ebbs and flows of traveling — and I wouldn’t experience life any other way.