I used to think exploring a new city meant renting a car or relying on expensive taxis. But after spending months wandering through Barcelona, Copenhagen, and Tokyo, I’ve discovered that some of the best urban adventures happen when you ditch the car entirely. There’s something magical about moving through a city at human speed; you notice the small details, stumble upon hidden gems, and actually connect with the place you’re visiting.
My go-to method for getting around has become the electric bike. Last month in Amsterdam, I covered more ground in three days than most tourists do in a week. These bikes let you glide past traffic jams while still being able to stop whenever something catches your eye; like that perfect coffee shop tucked away on a side street or a vintage bookstore I never would have spotted from a car window.
Posted on Nov 05, 2024
Interesting Places That Are Not Crowded
I’ve been chasing crowds for years without realizing it. You know the feeling – you finally make it to that famous viewpoint or must-see attraction, only to find yourself shoulder-to-shoulder with hundreds of other people, all trying to capture the same Instagram shot. Last summer, I decided to flip the script and started seeking out the places that don’t make it onto the typical tourist trail.
My first discovery was a small coastal town in Portugal called Aveiro. While everyone flocks to Porto and Lisbon, Aveiro sits quietly with its colorful boats and art nouveau architecture, practically untouched by mass tourism. I spent three days there and barely saw another camera that wasn’t attached to a local’s phone. The morning light hitting those striped moliceiro boats was pure magic, and I had the entire canal to myself.
Posted on Nov 01, 2024
Winter Is Ending and Places Are There
There’s something almost electric in the air when winter starts loosening its grip. I felt it walking through Central Park last week. That subtle shift when you realize you don’t need gloves anymore, when the light stays just a little longer each evening. It’s my favorite time to be in a city, honestly. Spring hasn’t fully arrived yet, so you’re not competing with everyone else’s sudden urge to be outdoors, but winter’s harsh edges are softening.
I’ve been making it a point to revisit places that felt completely different just a month ago. That rooftop bar in Brooklyn that was practically abandoned in February? Now it’s starting to buzz again, but not quite packed yet. The morning walks along the Hudson River feel less like survival missions and more like actual enjoyment. Even the pigeons seem more optimistic.
Living in San Francisco has taught me that cities are basically giant experiments in human behavior. Every morning I walk past the Golden Gate Bridge and watch the fog roll in, and I’m reminded that even in the most tech-saturated place on earth, we’re still at the mercy of natural rhythms. The bridge itself is this perfect metaphor for modern urban life. Built nearly a century ago, but still carrying us forward every day.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately as I watch my neighborhood change. The corner café where I used to grab coffee and work on my laptop quietly for hours? Now it’s packed with remote workers taking video calls, digital nomads planning their next destination, and startup founders pitching ideas over oat milk lattes. The energy is completely different, but somehow it still works.
I used to hate running. Like, really hate it. The idea of voluntarily making myself breathe hard and sweat seemed absurd when I could just walk everywhere or ride my bike. But last year, after spending way too many hours hunched over my laptop editing photos, my back started screaming at me. My doctor casually mentioned that running might help, and I figured I’d give it a shot for a month.
That month turned into a year, and now I can’t imagine my routine without it. Not because I’ve become some fitness fanatic, but because running in the city has completely changed how I experience the places I thought I knew. When you’re moving at that pace, somewhere between walking and cycling, you notice different things. The way shadows fall across certain streets at 7 AM. The smell of fresh bread from that bakery on Irving that I’d walked past a hundred times without really noticing.
There’s something magical about watching a country unfold slowly through a train window. I learned this firsthand during three weeks in Japan last spring, when I decided to get a JR Pass and see how much ground I could cover using only trains. What started as a practical transportation decision turned into one of the most immersive travel experiences I’ve ever had.
The photo above captures exactly what I mean. This is Tokyo Station at rush hour, but instead of feeling chaotic, there’s this incredible sense of order and purpose. Everyone knows where they’re going, the trains run exactly on time, and there’s a rhythm to it all that you can only appreciate when you’re part of the system rather than just passing through it.
I never thought I’d become someone who sets alarms for 3 AM, but here we are. This shot of Delicate Arch with the Milky Way behind it required getting up before dawn, hiking through Arches National Park in complete darkness, and then waiting for hours for the perfect alignment. But when you see the galaxy stretched across the sky like this, framing one of nature’s most iconic formations, every bit of lost sleep becomes worth it.
Night photography has completely changed how I see the world around me. During the day, we’re surrounded by artificial light that washes out the sky and makes us forget what’s actually above us. But get far enough from city lights, wait for the right conditions, and suddenly you’re standing under the same sky that has inspired humans for thousands of years.
I stumbled across this incredible Arctic icebreaker footage and had to share it. There’s something mesmerizing about watching this massive ship carve through ice that looks solid enough to walk on. The perspective from above really shows the scale of what these vessels are designed to do, pushing through frozen landscapes that seem completely impassable.
What struck me most was the contrast between the industrial power of the ship and the pristine, almost alien beauty of the Arctic environment. The ice formations create these intricate patterns that look like abstract art from this aerial view. You can see the wake the ship leaves behind, a dark line cutting through this white expanse that stretches to the horizon.
Sometimes you come across a road that makes you understand why people fall in love with driving. This stretch of coastline in Western Australia captured from above shows exactly what I mean. That ribbon of asphalt cutting between pristine white sand and impossibly turquoise water, with absolutely nothing else in sight for miles. It’s the kind of drive that makes you want to rent a car just to experience the solitude and the views.
I took this shot during a road trip along the Coral Coast, flying my drone at sunrise when the light was soft and the colors were at their most intense. From ground level, you’re aware that you’re driving next to beautiful water, but from above you can see the full scope of how isolated and pristine this stretch really is. Not another car in sight, just endless coastline stretching in both directions.
Tokyo feels like it should be the last place on earth you’d find peace. Thirty-seven million people, neon everywhere, trains every two minutes, vending machines on every corner selling things you didn’t know existed. But after spending two weeks there, I discovered that this massive city has mastered something that smaller places often struggle with: the art of finding calm within chaos.
It started at Senso-ji Temple in Asakusa. I expected a tourist trap, but arrived early one morning before the crowds and found myself in this pocket of stillness that felt completely removed from the city around it. The incense, the quiet prayers, the careful movements of people preparing for their day. It was meditation disguised as everyday routine.