A collection of letters written to the destinations we love most and cannot wait to see again soon.
Aloha! How you been? You’re probably just vibin’ out there in the middle of the Pacific, listening to the waves crash on the beach. If I close my eyes and picture it, I can almost feel the warmth of your sun.
I’ve been thinking about you a lot. There’s truly never a dull moment when we’re together. Quiet time? Absolutely. Your beaches were made for relaxing after all. But when I’m not feeling the sand between my toes, I’m off in search of adventure. Which doesn’t take long to find—whether it’s hiking among active volcanoes in Hawaii Volcanoes National Park or ziplining above trees and waterfalls in Hilo.
Ugh, I miss it all. Nowhere else do I feel more at ease. And like any good host, of course you always offer me a drink. Maybe it’s an extraordinary cup of Kona coffee to kick off the morning, or a refreshing Mai Tai to kick off an epic luau feast. You never steer me wrong.
Well, I should be going. My tan lines may be a thing of the past, but know that my feelings for you only grow stronger. As does my love for poke bowls, thanks to you. Can’t wait to see you again soon.
Me, and all of us hula dancing between the couch and fridge
I’ve been thinking about you. Quite a lot, actually. Every time I drink a beer I’m reminded of all the nights we’ve spent together at Hofbräuhaus. And once I start thinking about Hofbräuhaus, I start thinking about Oktoberfest. And once I start thinking about Oktoberfest, I start thinking about those giant pretzels. And then I get hungry. Sigh…such is life.
I love a lot of things about you, but you wanna know my favorite thing? It’s that you’re always down to have a good time—whether we’re admiring your historic architecture in Marienplatz, exploring one of your many museums (Alte Pinakothek is my fave), or watching me rip my lederhosen while dancing to oompah music at a beer hall.
I know it’s not polite to talk about one’s age, but holy moly, you’re almost 900! Suddenly I understand how you always have so many stories to tell. Good stories, too. And hey, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you look a day over 650 ;).
Well, I could sit here and get nostalgic all day, but I should get going. I miss you. And don’t worry, I’m already making plans to come and see you again soon.
Me, and all of us saying “prost!” instead of “cheers!”
You seem so far away. I mean, I know you are far away. I guess I just miss you. I feel so alive when we’re together—exploring your sprawling neighborhoods, trying new food, insisting we get sushi even though we just ate. I admire your ability to always move forward, but never let go of the past. To really know you means to understand your traditions, live in the now, and embrace what’s to come.
You constantly surprise me with places I could never dream of. One minute I’m crossing the busiest crosswalk in the world at Shibuya Crossing, the next, I’m watching robots and dinosaurs dance to techno music and strobe lights.
You’re spontaneous. Heck, you make me spontaneous when I’m with you. I’ll never forget singing karaoke for the first time, in a room full of strangers. You gave me confidence. And now I can’t hear Dancing Queen without thinking of you.
Well, I should go. Know that you’re always on my mind. I can’t wait to bask in the neon glow of your city lights again soon. It won’t be long.
Me, and all of us learning to use chopsticks to impress you
I miss us. I mean, I know a lot of people miss you, but after all we’ve been through together, being apart from you feels personal. If only I had thrown my last Euro coin into the Trevi Fountain to transport myself magically back there, instead of wishing for more Limoncello.
I see now why they say all roads lead to you. All my thoughts come back to you, after all. It’s the early morning cobblestone walks through Piazza Navona, and the 2pm espresso at a marble countertop. It’s leg day running up the Spanish Steps, and carbo-loading on the best carbonara and pizza I’ve ever had.
But when I scroll back through the pics I took in awe of the Pantheon ceiling or the Colosseum floor, I’m reminded of your resilience. We may call the Roman Forum “ruins” but what it really is is a celebration of a people who for thousands of years have refused to crumble.
Looking forward to hearing that beautiful singsong language again, maybe over a glass of your impeccable wine. I know it will be soon.
Me, and everyone else who dreams gelato dreams
I think about you a lot these days. Some days, over a cup of tea, I’ll go to reach for a crumpet and realize without you I’m crumpet-less (and also a bit unsure of what a crumpet is TBH). I wish I could just run through that wall at Platform 9 ¾ in King’s Cross Station and be there with you already.
The first time we met in person—I don’t count repeat viewings of Mary Poppins and Love Actually, obviously—I was so struck by your energy. Everyone going about their business so sure of themselves. Even with that classic British swagger and confidence, there was a friendliness radiating off of everyone everywhere, from the chippy to the joggers in Hyde Park to the next barstool over at the pub. Each a future friend with a story to tell, not to mention a sweet accent to tell it in.
I think what I miss the most though is no matter how many angles I’ve seen you from: the top of the London Eye, on a boat cruising the River Thames, staring up at The Shard; not a single one can capture all of your beauty at once. And to me, that’s so emblematic of your diversity: walk down any quaint street of yours and you’ll hear Punjabi, Creole, Polish, and 1,000 different variations on English—from Cockney to posh—all with that signature stiff upper lip. Shoot, your country’s national dish is even Chicken Tikka Masala!
Well, I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’re busy. And I’m comforted to know it won’t be long before I’m hearing the bell chimes at St. Paul’s Cathedral again.
Me, and every single one of us across the pond
You’ve been on my mind a lot lately. I keep thinking about the summer days we’ve spent together. The mornings are always my favorite. Your streets are quiet, the air is crisp, and most importantly, we have coffee in Chueca. To this day, I can’t make a café con leche quite like you do.
I often think about the first day we met. I was jetlagged, eager to meet you, and yes, a little bit nervous. First date jitters, I guess. But after a stroll through The Prado Museum and our tapas night in Malasaña, I knew I had nothing to worry about. You could say it was…love at first bite. (Sorry, not sorry.)
But you know what I think about most? Your energy. Day and night, you are full of life. And anyone that steps into Plaza Mayor feels it, too. I’d ask you what your secret is, but I’m 90% sure it’s those obligatory afternoon naps. And I don’t blame you. Nothing beats a snooze under a tree in El Retiro.
Anyways, I miss you. And I can’t wait to see you again soon. If you need me, I’ll be scrolling through the photos I took of us until my thumb goes numb.
Me, but also everybody who’s ever met you probably
How’s things out there? I know it must get lonely, out there in the middle of the Aegean Sea, not a mainland coastline in sight. But I know you’re vibin’, moving at island time, staying safe. I want you to know I’m thinking about you. About Santorini, and Ios, and Paros, and Mykonos, and Crete, and—well, everyone else.
I’m hanging in there. My current level of missing you: filling my wine glass to the brim, eating an entire block of feta, and calling it dinner. My roommate has asked me to stop painting our apartment white and blue, and I’ve reached out to my landlord to see what the policy is on erecting a homemade windmill. So, yeah.
Do you remember the sunburn I got on the beach in Naxos? Or how my voice was hoarse the whole next day after a night out singing at the top of my lungs at that club in Mykonos? It was all. So. Worth. It. Thousands of years of empires, traditions, philosophy and ruins—and here I am making my own personal history with you.
My love for you bubbles like your dormant volcanoes once did. Don’t forget that for every Santorini sunset, there’s a Santorini sunrise. Okay, I’m gonna go re-re-re-watch Mamma Mia! now. Let’s hang out again soon, okay?
Me, and everyone else smashing plates in our apartments to keep the evil spirits at bay
It’s been a while. I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Sometimes when I’m in the shower, I can almost convince myself I’m back in your rainforests. It’s not the same, of course. No sloths hanging from trees, birds chirping above my head, or volcanoes in the distance.
Pura vida. You taught me that. You showed me that when life is simple, life is beautiful. Sipping a cup of freshly brewed Costa Rican coffee, overlooking Lake Arenal, is just about as good as it gets. That is, until I found myself kicking back with an ice cold cerveza on a sandy beach in Puntarenas.
Yes, there’s beauty in simplicity, but there’s also beauty in adventure. And there’s no doubt you know a thing or two about adventure. You took me ziplining through a jungle and white water rafting down rapids. My adrenaline was pumping, and my admiration for you was growing.
Well, I’m sure you’re busy. Just wanted you to know you’ve been on my mind. I can’t wait to walk above the clouds with you again soon.
Me, and all of us with sloth pics for phone backgrounds
How you holding up? Yeah, same here. I wrote you a little poem to tell you how I feel: Roses are red, some tulips are blue, I miss you so much, I’m eating stroopwafels for two. Boy what I would give to be spending today watching the endless boats float down your old canals instead of watching endless new Netflix dating shows.
What I would give to picnic in Vondelpark, or feel the breeze on my face as I bike around Jordaan from café to café. Shoot, if it meant seeing you again I would even eat another raw herring sandwich (okay, they’re actually pretty good).
No matter what happens though, you have two things that no one can ever take away. For one thing: tolerance. Everyone always says that Amsterdam is built on tolerance—and I think we can all use a little more of that. The second trait is resilience. No trip to you is complete without a visit to that all-important symbol of resilience and strength: The Anne Frank House.
Well if I keep you any longer your Red Light District might turn green. Get it? Like a traffic light? Wow, sorry that was bad. When you’re ready, I’ll meet you at the pancake house. Don’t worry about paying, we can… go Dutch.
Me, and all of us who’ve taken to wearing clogs around the house
I miss it all. I miss seeing the places where we were together, and even though I didn’t know this was possible, I miss places I’ve never seen before. I miss our adventures.
Here’s a short list of my favorite things about you: people watching at a sidewalk café, real crepes, the patience of locals when I take a stab at speaking their language, fresh pasta, Paris at night, Paris in the daytime, the thin air way up high in Machu Picchu, that cool fish in the coral reefs of Belize, the sound of waves in Santorini, the sound of waves in Koh Phi Phi, sloths, that sushi boat in Tokyo, did I already say crepes?
I can go on and on, but I’ll stop there—I know I’ll be adding to that list soon enough. For now, I’ll just close my eyes and daydream about the new memories we’ll make before we know it.
So, Gaia. Terra. Mother Earth. Pale Blue Dot. Whatever you wanna go by, you’re my home—and I cannot wait to spend more quality time together soon.
Me, and everyone else who can’t wait to travel again