Hi, I’m Aleyna,
a Baltimore-based writer and photographer with no concept of fiscal responsibility and an itch to see the world.
Why are you holding those pigeons?
A panhandler forced them on me! I’m sorry! I didn’t know any better! I am an idiot!
Does the world really need another travel blog?
Well, no, but hear me out: I started this one because all other travel bloggers seem suspiciously competent and put together. They’re capable of accessing remote, picturesque locations in floppy hats and espadrilles. The crowds at the Trevi Fountain magically dissipate just for their arrival. Turbulence respectfully calms down when they get up to pee.
I’ve nominated myself as the spokesperson for the less agile: travelers who can’t figure out how to use the Paris metro ticket machine, who can never fall asleep on overnight flights, who inevitably end up bunking with the weirdest person in the hostel, who somehow get roped into holding a swindler’s pigeons. This website is for those with no sense of direction and an eagerness to press on. Best of luck to us.
What will I find here?
- a satisfying sense of schadenfreude
- unpleasant aspects of traveling that other bloggers would rather not discuss
- places you’ll want to visit if you were the kind of high schooler who hung out with your English teacher
- photos I hope you’ll praise me for taking
- shitposts masquerading as journalism
Why do you have so few posts?
It’s a new website; bear with me.
How do you fund your travels?
Before you make any assumptions, no, I do not have a trust fund, rich parents, or a hefty inheritance left by a mysterious great aunt. I plan to make a post on this topic eventually, but the short answer is that I don’t have children.
What exactly is a flâneur?
It’s a pretentious word I use to a.) assert dominance, b.) intimidate my enemies, and c.) feel like I am actively using my degree in English.
It comes from 19th century French poet Charles Baudelaire, who specialized in writing about rotting carcasses but sometimes got sentimental. I think he put it best:
The crowd is [the flâneur’s] element, as the air is that of birds and water of fishes. His passion and his profession are to become one flesh with the crowd. For the perfect flâneur, for the passionate spectator, it is an immense joy to set up house in the heart of the multitude, amid the ebb and flow of movement, in the midst of the fugitive and the infinite. To be away from home and yet to feel oneself everywhere at home; to see the world, to be at the centre of the world, and yet to remain hidden from the world—impartial natures which the tongue can but clumsily define.
Welcome to my attempt at clumsy definition.