My grandmother is easily one of my favorite people to share a drink with: whether it’s a glass of pink champagne or a can of Budweiser, Mimi is always a wealth of stories and laughs. She’s easily the nicest person I know, is a talented (and persistent) gardener, and makes the best chocolate chip cookies and cheese pie to boot.

Mimi turns 85 today, and it’s the first time in years that I won’t be home to celebrate with lunch on the river and sangria in the hot tub. So, as a bit of a birthday tribute to her, I wanted to share the most important life lessons I learned from her (and how they relate to my travels, of course!).

Talk to strangers: Mimi can strike up a conversation with just about anyone: the waiter, the person sitting on a bench, the bank teller. But the amazing thing is that she doesn’t just stop with exchanging a bit of small talk—she’s often able to create a friendship, or at least a relationship, with the person. The server/bartender at our favorite sushi restaurant always goes out of his way to stop by our table, say hello, and personally make and deliver her favorite drink—mostly because every time we go, she makes sure to ask for him by name and jokingly ask if he can make a second one in a to-go cup. I think of her every time I manage to get a friendly smile of recognition  and a bit of chit-chat the third time I visit a cafe in a touristy town: bang! Making friends!

Take advantage of your opportunities: I think Mimi is a bit amazed at what I’ve been able to do: quit my job, travel the world, live in other countries. Growing up in a small town in Pennsylvania and working for the telephone company, she was offered a job in the big city of Philadelphia in her 20s after superiors took note of her excellent math skills. But her mother told her she was too young to move to the city. Eventually, she married and raised three kids in the same small town: a life with no regrets, but I think she wonders about what might have happened if she had today’s opportunities. I’m very grateful that she encouraged my mom to go out and see the world (my mom spent a year in France at 16, a rare thing in the 1970s), and, in turn, that my mom has been so supportive of my travels.

Tell your story: Mimi always seems to have a story: hilarious anecdotes about raising three children, living with my grandfather, driving across the country in a campervan. She remembers a shocking amount of detail for stories that took place decades ago—it was so-and-so’s cousin on a Tuesday–I can barely remember last year with such clarity. She started writing her autobiography a few years ago, and it’s an incredible glimpse into her life. I blog for a lot of reasons, but one is certainly so that I’ll be able to tell my grandkids about that the time I got bedbugs in Bali or camped across the Nullarbor.

Embrace change: Whenever I ask her if she’s nostalgic for the good old days, Mimi laughs. “The good old days when we had to do the wash by hand? I don’t think so!” She’s been on the computer for years, using AIM to chat with me when I was younger (and AIM was still cool) and emails me funny anecdotes a few times a week. She reads my blog, knows how to Google and Wikipedia things, sorts out her bank accounts online. She’s incredibly hip about embracing change: a flexibility that is key in any successful traveler.

Try new things: Even though she’s perfected her pizzelles and almond quiches—everyone knows to stop in to Mimi’s for a cookie—she’s still keen to try new recipes. An excerpt from a recent email from her:

“Recipe for a Shaker pie was in paper….used my mandolin to slice lemons paper thin – followed directions – pie was unbelievably horrible.”

Saw a recipe for almond toffee – cut recipe in half – tasting finished product, I should have doubled or tripled the recipe – it was so good.”

After being super bummed out about not being home to play taste-tester, I realized how awesome it is that despite having mastered dozens of delicious cookie (and cake, and pie, and jello mold) recipes, she’s still willing to try out new combinations. Also an excellent reminder that sometimes things work out, and sometimes they don’t–but you never know until you try.

Have fun: Whenever I take off on an adventure, Mimi always ends her goodbye by telling me to have fun. There’s a photo of her from about 15 years ago on her fridge: it’s by the pool at her house in Florida and she’s tanned, wearing a beautiful floral bathing suit and has a drink in one hand. I was studying the photo when she commented–”Ahh, Florida. Those were the days–sun, sex and sangria!” And that, ladies and gentlemen, pretty much sums up how awesome my grandmother is.

Happy birthday, Mimi! Lots of love from Thailand xoxo

Aboriginals in Australia tend to be a touchy subject. (I’m not saying it’s right, I’m not saying it’s wrong, I’m just saying it is). The relationship between white Australians and indigenous Australians is not always easy going. And despite the incredible longevity of Aboriginal culture—it’s as if a French man could walk into the caves at Lascaux and know exactly what all of the drawings mean because that’s still how he communicates—the Aboriginal people and their culture aren’t always well-respected.

I managed to live in Australia for 10 months without learning much about Aboriginal culture. I coordinated a traditional indigenous smoking ceremony with a local elder for a company event in Sydney, and I watched a didgeridoo and dance performance at Te Papa in honor of Australia’s participation in the Rugby World Cup.

So I was interested—albeit a bit hesistant—when the last day of my Nullarbor Traveller tour began with an “Aboriginal experience.” After learning the day before that “up” at the end of a word means “place” in local Aboroginal, we began the day in Yallingup—place of love. Meeting Josh outside of the Ngili Caves, I was immediately at ease. Josh was young, good-looking, friendly—and super open about talking about Aboriginal culture.

After a bit of an introduction to Aboriginal culture in this part of Australia, Josh led us on an easy hike. He pointed out all the trees and bushes used in traditional medicine: chew this plant for indigestion, rub this leaf on your skin to keep away mosquitoes, and so on. No one in his family has had cancer or any other terminal illness, and most have lived well into their 90s.

Then we descended into the cool surrounds of the Ngili Caves, where Josh sat us in a circle on the ground and told us their creation story. It felt like we were little kids again, sitting on the floor and listening to a story!

Heading back into the sun, Josh walked us through the different types of tools and weapons traditionally used. Boomerangs for tripping up a kangaroo, a very pointy bit for spearfishing. Josh doesn’t eat “Western” food: instead, he prefers to stick to seafood, fish, native plants and kangaroo.

He also showed us the traditional way to make fire with some crazy stick tool and some dry leaves: he had a flame up and going with his breath within minutes!

Then we listened to an excellent performance on the didgeridoo. I’d heard them before, mostly amidst the throngs of tourists at Sydney Harbour. I’d never really warmed to the noise, but after Josh told us about how music was used to tell stories in Aboriginal culture and demonstrated the notes for a kangaroo, for a dingo, for a mama kangaroo and a baby kangaroo—all of a sudden, it was much more interesting to listen to. Then he handed us all a traditional instrument—maracas, drums—and we set the beat for his song. Sitting around a campfire in the blazing Australian sun, playing with traditional instruments: simply awesome.

It was honestly incredible to learn more about this brilliant culture, one that often gets sifted behind the news stories of alcoholism and crime running rampant. I’m keen to try out the original Australian diet and traditional medicines—and I don’t think I’ll be able to listen to a didgeridoo the same again!

Note: We had a tour with Josh as part of the Nullarbor Traveller tour. Head to Koomal Dreaming if you’re interested in a tour of your own.  

Before we rocked up to the dramatic vertical cliffs dropping straight into the ocean, I had never heard of the Great Australian Bight. I didn’t even know what a bight was. To be honest, I still don’t.  (Although I did decide it would be responsible to look it up for all of my potentially curious readers: a bight is a wide curving bend in a shoreline, forming a bay. Bang.)

Basically, you’re driving along the Nullarbor and you look out to the South and think: hmm…that’s even more open space than usual! And you turn down a narrow unsealed road, and within a kilometer, you’re staring straight out into the ocean, direct to Antarctica.

 It’s gorgeous. The Bunda Cliffs are a natural wonder, stretching for 200 kilometers and reaching a height of 70 to 90 meters. An added bonus if you visit during June to October, you are sure to spot Southern Right Whales playing with their calves within meters of shore.

Have you visited the Great Australian Bight? Have you spotted any whales at the Bunda Cliffs? 

Note: I gazed out at the ocean and these gorgeous cliffs via the Nullarbor Traveller tour. 

Sure, the wine is the main reason most people go to Margaret River. But it is fully possible to have a brilliant time in this adorable seaside town south of Perth without stepping foot in a vineyard.

If you do want to go wine tasting, give yourself at least two full days—or make sure you have a sober driver and a few people keen on tasting. With only two of us and the three-hour drive from Perth looming over us on both days, I decided not to indulge in reds and whites and leave my lovely driver hanging dry. Even wine-less, Margarent River left us with nothing to whine about:

Sniff some lavender to relax: The Cape Lavender Farm isn’t as in-your-face as the sprawling and often-ostentatious vineyards that line the main highway. Tucked away on winding side streets, it’s an oasis of unpretentious calm.

Browse the all-natural products containing local lavender: they range from lotions and muscle creams to tea and ice cream. Stroll around the lavender-lined lake, and then indulge in tea and scones—both lavender-infused, of course.

Sip something a bit stronger: Pop into the The Grove Vineyard & Distillery for spirited conversation and delectable spirits. For just $5, you can sample three types of liqueurs and a pre-made cocktail. The Butterscotch—simply described as OMG on the menu—actually elicited an unprompted “Oh My God” from me after tasting.

Watch the sunset at the beach: The low-key option is to grab a couple of beers (or, if you’re really craving it, a bottle of wine) and head straight to the beach. A laid-back crowd gathers on the hill to watch the sun go down, study the surfers and have a few laughs. Or reserve the comfy chairs at Sea Gardens Café for a 7 p.m. sitting (in summer, the sun sets around 7:30pm) to watch the sun set in style.

Explore the Ngili Caves: An incredible natural wonder, the Ngili Caves have been wowing visitors since its discovery by Edward Dawson in 1899. The underground caves maintain a steady, cool temperature year-round, which make them a refreshing place to cool off in summer.

Go swimming at Cane Break: If you’re keen to escape the quiet metropolis of Margaret River, tackle the bumpy dirt roads and head back to Cane Break Pools. A quiet—and free of mobile signal—spot to camp, Cane Break Pool is an relaxing place to cool off with a dip in the water. And the water is surprisingly warm!

What’s your favorite thing to do in Margaret River? 

The best way to get your heart pumping and blood flowing again after hours in the car crossing the Nullarbor? Head out for one of Australia’s awesome hiking opportunities: a brilliant way to squeeze in a workout, spot some wildlife up close and enjoy some striking panoramic vistas.

Alligator Gorge: A steep downhill staircase takes you into a rocky and tree-filled gorge. The easy three-kilometer loop is an excellent chance to see some beautiful butterflies and tree-hugging lizards, and the perfect chance to stretch your legs after a narrow and winding road to the trail summit. (South Australia)

Warren Gorge: One of the few places in the world that you can spot yellow-footed rock wallabies, along with plenty of “normal” kangaroos. The wallabies are often in the rock wall of the gorge: stare long enough, and eventually you’ll see one move. This is also an excellent place to set up camp for the night: on a clear night, the stars are unbelievable.

Dutchmen’s Stern: This four-kilometer round trip is a slow-but-steady uphill slog to a brilliant vantage point overlooking open spaces as far as the eye can see.

Talia Sand Dunes: Bring a sandboard for ultimate fun! Just a few meters from an incredible stretch of sand and surf on Talia Beach, the sand dunes are a picturesque stretch of sparkling and undulating hills of white sand.

Rossiter Bay to Lucky Bay: One of those hikes that is worth it if just for the views. You’ll get panoramas of three different Cape Le Grande beaches, and sparkling turquoise water as far as the eye can see.

Hellfire Cove to Lucky Bay: Curving along the water, up and over hills, this path is sometimes laid-back, sometimes challenging. Keeping an eye out for the trail-markers can be almost as testing as the pure uphill stone faces you sometimes climb. But then you come to a stretch of the trail along the whitest of white sand beaches, and you forget about all the uphill you’ve conquered.

Frenchmen’s Peak: This is a “marked path” but not necessarily a trail: more like a nearly vertical stone face to clamber up. Once you reach the top, though, the view is staggering: the turquoise waters of Hellfire Cove and Lucky Bay straight ahead, and mile upon mile of open space behind you. The Germans I hiked with were shocked: you’d never find even a fraction of open spaces like these in Europe.

Bluff Knoll: The Stirling Ranges seem to appear out of nowhere in the otherwise flat expanse of land, and Bluff Knoll is the highest of them all. The trail is well-marked, and there’s a stream of fresh water about a quarter of the way up: don’t hesitate to fill your water bottles up here, as it gets plenty hot in the open sun up top. The view from the summit is breathtaking: another incredible example of just how much open space there is in Australia. Allow two to four hours for return.

Note: I discovered all of these hikes while crossing Australia with Nullarbor Traveller. 

If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you may have recently been inundated with complaints about my bedbug-infested life. I apologize. I am an only child, and thus need someone to validate my discomfort. Don’t worry, I waited until 6:01 a.m. California time before calling my mom in tears.

If you weren’t subject to my endless whining, let’s take a look at this whole bedbug saga. I offer absolutely no help on getting rid of bedbugs, as you shall see by the end of this.

Sunday, 3:02 a.m.: The first night in my homestay in Ubud after a week in place on Gili Trawangan with dusty shelves that I am now judging, I woke up with bug bites all over my right arm. I was scratching like crazy, so I crawled out of bed, popped two ibprofen and smeared on some hydrocortisone cream and then snuggled back into sleep. Had been sleeping with a full mosquito net around my bed–it was the tropical canopy bed of my childhood dreams!–so a bit confused as to how this happened. Blamed myself for not covering myself in mosquito repellent before bed, as per usual. I was distracted by the canopy.

Sunday, 11 a.m.: Skype with my parentals. I’m irritable because of the 23 “mosquito bites” on my right arm, and I’m homesick. Sulk on the walk home, pop more ibprofen, smear more hydrocortisone.

Sunday, 9 p.m.: Remember the bedbug epidemic that broke out in NYC last summer. Frantically Google search images of bedbug bites and a slew of bedbug-related search terms. Proceed to freak out.

Monday, 8 a.m.: Show my arm to my extremely kind homestay hosts. They ask if I ate Balinese food, if it’s a reaction to the heat, if I spent a lot of time outside. No, friends, I get both prickly heat and allergic reactions. Thanks for the extremely sensitive skin, Mom. This is neither. I try to explain what bedbugs are. Apparently, they don’t bother Balinese people in their contented sleep. Either way, I convince them to change my sheets and I take everything I own to the laundry (convenient, as I just did 3/4 of my laundry the week before and thought I was sorted for a bit). Wash out my pack and packing cubes with very hot water. Spend the day watching cheap DVDs in my newly-sheeted bed and trying not to itch. I’m actually quite proud of myself at the itching I manage to avoid! This deserves dinner out!

Monday, 6:30 p.m.: Go out to dinner. Waitress stares unkindly at my blotchy arms. I’m sure she thinks I’m a leper.

Tuesday, 7 a.m.: No new bites! Winner!

Wednesday, 8 a.m.: 13 new bites on one arm. Right. Time to move. Try to explain to my adorable homestay hosts that while this is surely not their fault, I cannot sleep in that bed one more night without freaking out and taking obscene amount of pain-relieving sleep aids. Move to a new homestay.

Wednesday, 10 p.m.: Call my parents in tears because I am covered in approximately 76 extremely itchy bug bites all over my arms, hands, legs, back AND THE BOTTOM OF MY FEET. What I hear from my dad: “Find something with pyrethroid.” Right. (To his credit, he sends me a very informative and helpful email later in the day.) What I hear from my mom: “How much hydrocortisone cream are you using? Don’t you remember that girl on your soccer team who used too much Neosporin and got a reaction to it? Bedbugs are an EPIDEMIC. What if you bring them home in April? You are not infecting your grandma’s house. Leave behind your pack and everything you own, and start anew. And go to a doctor, for goodness’ sake.” Start bawling because despite not having many of them, I really LIKE all my clothes and they all fit so nicely in my pretty practically-new pack. Does that mean I have to get rid of my lovely Kindle case? And my Cath Kitson laptop case? Where does the madness end? And I don’t like going to the doctor’s (side effect of not having health insurance in America and always being irrationally worried about how much it will cost). And I look like a leper, and how am I supposed to party in Thailand when I am covered in hideous red marks? I am now still bawling by myself in my room, and I look like a strangled raccoon. I go to wash my face and calm myself down. There are no towels in this room. THERE IS NO TOILET PAPER IN THIS ROOM. Do the bedbug gods have NO mercy? Stop crying, pop more ibprofen pm, and go to sleep content in my new bed.

Thursday, 8 a.m.: Read a very helpful email from my dad that references the bedbugger blog. Talk to my mom, and she says she talked to my travel-savvy aunt and they might be scabies. Right. Something new to Google. Laugh on the way out the door, because, seriously, this is getting so bad it’s almost funny. Shouldn’t I be lying on the beach right now?

Thursday, 9 a.m.: Ditch yoga and go to the Ubud Medical Clinic. Nice lady doctor looks at my arms, gives a sympathetic tut, and promptly puts an injection in my bum. My first-ever shot in the bum! Lovely memories, Indonesia. Prescribes an antihistamine to take once every 24 hours, anti-inflammatories to take twice two times a day and a topical cream. All for the bargain price of $65. You can bet travel insurance will be getting THOSE receipts. (Did I mention I also called my travel insurance last night? And cried to the too-sympathetic lady on the phone? She said I could fly home fo’ free! Let’s be serious, it’s not that drastic. I’ve got two months of buckets and beaches coming up.) Anyway, home free! I’m cured!

Thursday, 11:55 p.m.: Can’t fall asleep without ibprofen pm, but am worried about getting addicted to pain-relieving sleep-aids. Finally do some yoga breathing after two hours of tossing around and cursing having Wifi where I stay and the madness that is an iPhone because I always end up thinking of things to Google. Then, I’m right on the brink of sleep. I feel something crawl on my arm. I reach for my iPhone and light up the FIRST BEDBUG I’VE EVER SEEN. Right. No sleep tonight. Stay up until my shuttle to the airport leaves at 7 a.m., writing and listening to music and eating a chocolate bar with a light on and ponder how this is my first non-partying-related all-nighter.

Friday, 5:31 a.m.: A GIANT COCKROACH JUST CRAWLED ACROSS MY BED. I am going to cry and then die of a bloody exhaustion-induced panic attack in this bug-infested room.

Friday, 11 a.m.: Fly to Thailand. Airplane pressurization will kill all bedbugs in my pack…right? right?

If not…guess who is buying ALL NEW CLOTHES IN THAILAND?

Note: I’m honestly not sure where I first got infected. For the sake of other travelers everywhere: I stayed at Pondok Lita in Gili Trawangan, and I’m seriously suspicious. I absolutely loved Nyoman Murjana Homestay in Ubud, but that there’s where they first popped up. And they followed me to Indra Homestay in Ubud. Sorry, folks. 

Another note: I would like to thank my parents for being absolute STARS in dealing with their prone-to-tears daughter in Asia who called at all sorts of inopportune times this week and ignored their advice while simultaneously whining. Even with 23 years to get used to my hypochondriac-yet-anti-medicine ways, it’s still not easy. Merci beaucoup! 

It’s easy to think the drive across the Nullarbor would be boring. It means “treeless plain” and the landscape can be a bit repetitive: it’s hundreds of kilometers between towns, service stations, even toilets.

But on a clear day, the view from the road is incredible. Impossibly blue skies, the fluffiest of clouds, open land as far as the eye can see: it truly is Australia’s last frontier. I spent my days in the passenger seat, staring out the windows and absolutely loving every minute of it.

Note: I crossed the Nullarbor with Nullarbor Traveller and highly recommend it! 

When discussing suburbs in Melbourne, many people instantly discount St Kilda as being “full of backpackers.” With Luna Park and the beach being an undeniable tourist draw (and the rave reviews of Base Backpackers), it’s true that St Kilda does get its fair share of foreigners.

But as a Working Holiday-er who lived in St Kilda for eight months and befriended several locals (and even lived with one!), I fell in love with the laid-back, casual vibe of the beachy suburb that’s only a 20-minute tram ride from the heart of the CBD. I mean, it’s not hard to fall in love when you see a roller coaster from your balcony…

The beach: St Kilda Beach is not going to be nominated for the best beach in Australia anytime soon: it’s not even on the same level as the surf and sand havens in Sydney and Western Australia. But when the sun comes out, it’s still a sandy stretch close to the water. It’s a popular spot for kiteboarders, and there’s a weekly sand volleyball club in summer.

Sunsets: St Kilda kicks off the stretch of Mornington Peninsula that borders Port Phillip Bay: in other words, it’s one of the few places on the East Coast where you can see the sun set over the water. Head to Republica or The Stokehouse for happy hour drinks and sip a glass of bubbly while watching the sky swirl with pinks and oranges. On the opposite end of the spectrum, the promenade fills up with runners at sunrise: a gorgeous way to start the day.

Acland Street: Most famous for its cake shops with windows stacked high with enough baked goods to make you drool, Acland Street is your stop for pretty much everything. It’s home to grocery stores Woolworth’s and Cole’s, several cake shops and cafes, clothing and gift stores, restaurants and bars to fill you up any time of day. There’s also a pretty sweet street art alley that goes to the parking lot behind Woolie’s. Head up to Fitzroy Street for more of the same on the “other side” of town.

Veg Out Gardens and market: The community garden project lets city-dwellers dig up their own fresh flowers and produce on a plot of land and organizes compost donations. The first Saturday of every month, a local farmers market takes place behind the Veg Out Gardens. I always traded in my old jam jars for a new stock of rhubarb-raspberry jam and bought a bag of ugly-but-delicious Pink Lady apples for $2. There’s local, seasonal fruit and veg, organic meat and fresh-baked bread—and gorgeous daffodils twice a year.

Small town vibe: After a few weeks, it’s impossible to walk down Acland Street or stroll down the beach without running into someone you know, whether you want to or not.

Clouds: On the days when clouds fill up the expanse of sky over the bay, there’s nothing better than lying down on a patch of grass by the bay and staring up at the swirl of blues, whites and grays.

Penguins: No reason to drive to Philip Island: head down the pier at dusk to spot St Kilda’s very own penguin colony.

Botanical Gardens: The perfect spot for a picnic or an afternoon nap in the sunshine.

The right spots: Galleon Café for a vegetarian brunch—complete with rocking Bloody Marys—after a boozy night out. The Branch for cheap pizzas and cold pints with awesome acoustic background and fun people for a Sunday sesh. I Carusi for date night, complete with glass tumblers of red wine. Racer Café for the perfect latte and plenty of men in Lycra. Readings to while away an afternoon reading employee reviews of the best books. The Vineyard for an after-work sip in the sunny courtyard. Dalton to watch the footy with a pint.

Now you know why it was so hard to say goodbye to Melbourne…

p.s. I wrote a post on Australia Travel Guide a while back on how to spend the perfect Sunday in St Kilda if you’re interested!

Coming from just south of the California Redwood Forest and a place affectionately known as the “City of Trees”—Sacramento has more trees per capita than any other city in the world—I’m no stranger to tall tangles of bark and leaves.

But even I felt dwarfed for a day in Western Australia, strolling along the canopy in the Valley of the Giants and scrambling up to the top of a 61-meter tree with no safety gear.

Wandering in the Valley of the Giants, it’s almost impossible to comprehend just how big these trees are. 400 years old and 40-meters high, the Treetop Walk is suspended far above the ground.

There’s the Grandmother Tree, with enough enormous gnarls and knots to resemble the Wicked Witch of the West. There are trees with splits in the trunk big enough to walk through, and trunks with diameters not even a giant could wrap his hands around. After a few days in the treeless plan, the Valley of the Giants feels impossibly lush and green, with a damp humidity sitting in the air.

And the walk through the treetops is a feat of engineering, an experience that slowly-but-suddenly takes you to the very tops of the trees.

After a relative relaxing and serene walk in the canopy, climbing up the Gloucester Tree seemed positively daring. I’m not scared of heights—and I’ve done plenty of extreme sports in the air—but climbing up a 61-meter tree with absolutely no safety gear or net was enough to get my hands shaking.

The tree consists of metal pegs stuck into its trunk, wrapping around the tree until a small wooden landing about two-thirds of the way up. There’s another risk warning once you get there: after that point, the metal rods become increasingly narrow and almost vertical.

At the top, you’re essentially climbing up a completely vertical ladder jutting out of the tree until you reach the landing with 360-degree views over the canopy.

The view is incredible, but the rest is anything but relaxing: going up was one thing, but going down backwards is quite a notion. In short, it’s terrifying.

Note: I discovered all of these treetop adventures via the Nullarbor Traveller tour. 

Remember that quote about how you’ll forget your nights out in college, but you won’t forget who you spent them with? I think the same thing also applies to your classes: I might not remember the key terms in social psychology or the exact format of a press release, but I do remember the professors who made me think a little harder.

Kurt Nordstrom was–and I imagine still is– a polarizing figure in the Chico State Journalism Department. Students in his writing, gender studies and multicultural studies classes either loved him or hated him. But no matter how you felt about his class structure or views, you had to respect one thing: the man doesn’t mince words. He tells it like it is, often in pithy, quotable statements (also often outrageously frank and unrepeatable here). I’ve found myself repeating many of his trademark quotes since I’ve been traveling, and have found they’re wise advice for any citizen of the world.

I joyfully accept the choices other people make. The only person I’m responsible for is me. I can’t change how people think about me or my lifestyle or where I come from. I can’t make other people want to travel or get their passport or quit their job. I can’t answer for Americans who treat local people rudely, or who drink too much, or who spend their whole vacation whining about how things aren’t how they are at home. And there’s no point stressing out over trying to change people: it’s much easier–and healthier–to accept the things we can’t change and simply try to live our own lives the best we can.

Stop putting age limits on things. The odds of you meeting the love of your life the year you turn 27, simply because you want to date someone for two years before you get engaged and you want to be engaged for at least a year, and you want to be married before you turn 30: that’s just not how life works. Throw out the fairytales and the irrelevant requirements, and live life. Be open to opportunities, and see where life takes you: if you do things right, rarely will it be where you thought it would go. In travel: be flexible. Be open-minded. Be willing to change your plans. The road will reward you.

I’m not saying it’s right, I’m not saying it’s wrong, I’m just saying it is. When you’re in a different country, it’s easy to dismiss cultural differences as being wrong or worse than “our” way of doing things. But I often come back to this statement when I start to judge another country or another person. Recently, I was trying to sort out why there was so much trash everywhere in Ubud, the cultural heart of Bali that is super devoted to eco-friendly causes. Then I was chatting with someone, and they mentioned how the Balinese people used to eat everything on banana leaves and toss the banana leaves into the river (brilliant simplicity)–so it’s probably just a lack of education in knowing that tossing your plastic bottle into the river isn’t quite as biodegradable. And honestly, it’s probably more of the West’s fault for introducing our cheap, environmentally-unfriendly packaging. It was an excellent reminder to look at all sides of the issue, not just the most obvious.

Collect experiences, not possessions. Possessions possess you. One of the downsides of being an expat versus being a traveler is a tendency to accumulate. When I’m living out of three bags, I’m very conscious of how much I own. But once I move into an apartment, I suddenly have the luxury of space–for a new dress, for sparkly eyeshadow, for every cleaning product under the sun. And then I feel guilty when I leave because of all the stuff I own–do I sell it? Give it away? Leave it behind? And honestly, I’m much more satisfied with the money I spent on all sorts of extreme sports or crossing the Nullarbor: those memories won’t fade, but my trendy new bag will probably go out of style.

Embrace this moment because it’s probably the last time in your life you have no idea where you’ll be next year. As my senior year of college drew to a close, I stopped into Nordstrom’s office hours to chat. I was stressing that the five-week solo backpacking trip I’d been planning as a post-graduation treat would seriously hurt my chances in a recession-stricken job hunt. He told me to stop freaking out and embrace the unknown. At the time, it struck me as being scarily true: I would soon be a “grown-up” with a real job, serious boyfriend and an apartment of my own. If all went according to the American dream, I’d soon be promoted, married and have a house in the suburbs with 2.5 kids. The rest of my life felt completely mapped out for me. When I decided to move to France, his words popped back into my head. Now one of my favorite things about my life is that I have absolutely no idea where I’ll be in a year’s time–life is much more fun when it’s unpredictable.

Many thanks to Kurt Nordstrom for not only being a source of wisdom, but for also being super supportive whenever I needed it–and thanks to Katelyn Davis for quoting Nordstrom and Elizabeth Gilbert with me whenever necessary.