the last time I sent a "How I Travel" tinyletter, I felt like there was so much more to say than that first installment. but after subsequently clocking 2-3 countries a month, I surrendered to the ritual itself. pack, walk, absorb, wash, rinse, repeat. over the past few years, traveling has been less and less daunting; something I'm capable of doing with great ease and the most minor of preparations. I'm no longer attached to a particular outcome as far as traveling is concerned.

so it was that a last-minute trip to Dublin this past week reignited my analysis of what it means to be a traveler. while the last few months I've mostly stayed in one place, in booking the trip I realized how deeply quenching and fulfilling travel is for me, even when it is short, weird, or impromptu. the adrenaline rush of a booking confirmation, flight deals.

planning a trip is a special kind of ritual: it is full of both math and art. there is no way to know how your way of traveling will adapt over time. and there are no guarantees that the way you travel will gel with another human, but if you happen to get that part right, boy are you in for a treat.

I've altogether stopped making itineraries, which is a pretty big departure from my early twenties. but of course, the tools we had were different then. for me, traveling has evolved as technology has, and gone are the rituals of days on paper, printing out confirmations and hand-written walking directions. (I've kept those early planners because they tell me so much about myself and also, of a different time.)

there's things that felt significant to me about throwing myself back into international travel, but most opaquely was how much it felt second-nature. in my mid-twenties, travel felt like something I hardly deserved and cherished so intensely that I hardly wanted to sleep, for fear I would miss something. inevitably, I would run out of time. what I didn't know then is there'd very likely be a next time.

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one of the most useful things in my ritual of planning is creating a google map. what's wild about this almost reflexive habit is that it kind of lives forever (vampiric?). I've built maps atop cities that I've revisited handfuls of times, and each time I visit, it is modified. I add noteworthy landmarks when I read about them on travel blogs or must-sees on the recommendation of friends. I even share these maps with people who ask me what they should do in a city I've spent time in, and know it will serve them completely differently than how it served me. a custom map is literally a choose your own adventure, where all you have to do is start moving.

what I love about the accumulation of a decade of personalized google maps is how the narrative overlays over top of a map you're going to use for everything you do. you don't have to plan to explore the 18th arrondissement on day 3 of your trip: you just can see when you're in Montmartre that there's a viewpoint and a cafe and a darling wine & cheese shop nearby.

a soapbox challenge: stop following your smartphone's step-by-step directions. launch the map, orient yourself by something your brain is comfortable with (north south, or away from/towards a river or landmark, etc.) and start walking. check how you're doing, try to retain the next few reasonable steps (three more streets, then turn right after the park). pay attention to landmarks. try to retrace your steps. follow your intuition if you think you've gone too far. recheck, but don't rely.

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upon arrival (well, to be clear, after sleeping for a few hours) I pulled up my Dublin google map on my Pixel and found myself re-oriented to the city so quickly, in part because of how I had labelled things. icons in purple are #1musthaves, icons in black mean something spooky happened there (unique to the maps I built for Ireland, I'd say). little red knife-and-forks for places c. wanted to try for dinner.

walking around Dublin alone, the first thing I was reminded of is how almost every European city seems to be infested with idle men during the day. scores and scores of middle-aged men at coffee shops in Lisbon; the 11am drunks at the brightly-lit bars of Helsinki; the gaggle of them at markets and restaurants and street corners. in Rome, two separate men clacked their tongues at me on the same 10-minute solo errand out the door.

I will not walk into a place for lunch if I do not see at least one other woman, and let me tell you, I have passed on countless establishments where no women are present. when I do see women (especially who appear to be travelers) I pay attention to their level of comfort and whether that extends to my own. part of what this means is I am also, albeit subconsciously, watching out for them. I am safe-keeping whatever it is that is sacred between us, unspoken and parallel.

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things I know to be true:

• you can identify Americans (and the wealthy) by whether or not they're wearing sunglasses in overcast weather

• a black-out eye mask and 2 benadryl make for the best airplane zzzzzzs

• napkins/tissues in your bag just might save your life

• don't fuck around with water

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coming back to the USA, Dublin airport sent us through a through a total of FIVE stagegates to verify 'merican safety:

1. the kiosk to printout our boarding passes/declare bags

2. (counter service/bag drop, which I rarely do)

3. the security checkpoint, shoes off, passport scan, tiny liquids out, metal detectors

4. the second checkpoint, shoes off again, slightly more demoralization, occasional private screening

5. the 3rd degree passport control, where every answer sounds like a lie, where they now they show you a photo of your luggage from #2

the area for steps 4 and 5 in the Dublin area has American flags everywhere, lots of warning signs about behavior and possessions and declarations, and cheaply-framed prints of the president & crew above the doors. have you been hiking? do you have any snacks with you? what did you buy? has anyone you don't know been in contact with your bag? i overheard two members of a European flight crew talking. one said to the other, "this is...a lot? I haven't been here since may--so much has changed!" the digital displays obscure gate information until you've made it through this carnival.

in the peasants' line, those of us waiting in line for the final step (#5) started noticing our boarding passes had wrong information--our "gates closing" time was 2 hours earlier than our scheduled take-off times. lots of older folks were verbalizing their stress, believing they had miscalculated time and would now be missing their flight. there was a lot of tension and confusion, even by seasoned travelers. since I was flying alone and had given myself 3 hours to get through these stage gates (thanks to two urgent text messages sent by my airline the night before), I wasn't too stressed, but I was annoyed at the level of theatre in place, and the panic these misdirections created. if this was my first international flight, I'd have been freaking out; I'm grateful for the privilege of it being more like my 30th.

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back home, it's that spooky time of year, and I'm exited to be in america for my favorite holiday.

on the travel horizon: we're spending a week in Puerto vallarta--my first time in mexico--in November. I'm gleefully looking forward to not planning, as we're being accompanied by a friend who has been to PV multiple times and has Opinions. at my core, I am overjoyed to be shown--an altogether different ritual of trust. it's that benefit of not being attached to an outcome, too: I'll see what I can see, and if I don't get to it all, I'll be back the next time there's a flight deal.

xo
rhienna


p.s: if you like this tiny letter installment, feel free to forward it on to someone you think might enjoy it as well. <3