Photo Oct 22, 18 17 01
Living

Four Seasons and Counting

Leaving London earlier this year, I was excited by the prospect of going back to a semi-regular schedule of four season. You know, cold in the winter, warm in the summer, some in-between situation in the fall and spring, preferably featuring colored leaves and pink flowers, respectively.

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Doing

Denver, two months in and finally breathing

This is me admitting defeat: in one hour, there is one month and three days until my birthday, and according to my countdown, there are thirteen posts left to do to make my goal from last year. That simply isn’t going to happen. Better luck next time, Leah.

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Going

XVII: Life without the ozone in Koh Lanta

One of the greatest joys of each of my 26 summers has been finding out what interesting patterns would sear themselves onto my skin by the end of August through a combination of creative swimsuit design, hours of the bike in cycling shorts, and unskilled sunscreen application. This has also come to include a Rembrandt-styled splattering of freckles, which I imagine to be my skin shouting  at me to get out of the sun.
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Going

XVIII: Chiang Mai Summer Camp

After Bangkok, going to Chiang Mai was a bit like being at summer camp. Hot and dry, the  ‘Rose of the North’ was full of backpackers, some grimier than others, drinking the cheapest beers they could get their hands on (very cheap) and walking around in elephant pants. Catering to these tourists were a spectacular collection of tour-booking agencies, seemingly in any corner of the city with even an inch of space to spare, with activities ranging from cooking classes to bungee jumping.
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Going

XIX: Becoming religious in Bangkok

When I was warned that Bangkok is very hot and very sticky, I didn’t realize that the implication was that the city is full of cars built in the 1980s and running on diesel, coupled with 95 degree temperatures and a spectacular collection of very polluted waterways. So the humidity is not, shall we say, all natural.
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Going

XX: I’m coming home, I’m coming home … soon

From my favorite spot on the couch in the living room, where my butt is comfortably imprinted and I usually have my coffee and work, when you look out the window, all you can see are the drab brown rooftops of the exact same housing blocks in the rest of the neighborhood. It’s only when you make the effort to get up and stand next to the window that you are rewarded with the beautiful views of Canary Wharf in one direction, typically with lights on at all hours of the night, and The Shard and The Eye in the other direction, backlit against the sunset.


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