Being asked to self-isolate in New York, a city not built with personal space in mind, pulls at the very soul of our social Gotham.
As a female, and female travel writer, Elizabeth Gilbert’s ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ has tarred us with a very particular brush.
I traipsed the Western Sahara with a man named Ahmed, a portly character big on tunes, hospitality but not the working class.
Once upon a time, I travelled to Nashville to find Keith Urban. Instead, I found Holly, George W. Bush and the devil.
After an unprecedented year of violence, demonstration and pestilence, I find myself longing for space, a means of escape.
The last time I travelled to Mexico, I weaved my way through neighbouring Guatemala. The only problem was explaining who my guide was to customs.