Who am I to think I have travel tales worth penning? I’ve been asking myself that for a couple years.

I’ve walked along the Thames River as it reflected the nighttime shimmer of Westminster Abby after drinking wine in a stone cave beneath London. I’ve spent the night with a homeless woman in Glasgow. I’ve had lavender ice cream and Hungarian lemonade in a cat cafe in Budapest, calamari in Barcelona and anchovies in Venice (full disclaimer, they were buried in cheese and I didn’t know they were there). I’ve been lost in the Bavarian woods, lost along the cobbled streets of Paris and lost in the middle of Berlin in the middle of the night (sometimes those who wander ARE lost).

But because I’m not an heiress, too clumsy to rob a bank and don’t like the screechy sound lotto tickets make when you scratch the number cover off, I can’t just romp about the earth endlessly. I have to come home occasionally to make some money and feed my cats.

In between excursions I like to read about other people’s adventures. I love others’ accounts of places I’ve been – a description of Amsterdam’s leaning homes or the packed Santa Monica pier will take me right back while simultaneously offering a new perception of the place. I equally adore stories about places I haven’t been – those dig at my imagination a little harder and help me narrow down my options regarding what kind of trip to take next.

Recently I found myself standing in the travel section at my local library, heart stricken and horrified to find that I had actually read every travel memoir stocked. As I went through the shelves – book by book -several times to make sure,  I began realizing we enjoy escaping into each others’ tales nearly to the extent we like creating our own. “Qualifications” don’t matter if the story is good.

That’s why I’m finally writing about my travels.

If you travel a lot, I hope you can relate to my sentiments on the matter and recognize my findings about places you may have already explored. If you’re a friend who promised you read my blog, text me “aluminum spleens” right now so I know you’re not a liar. If you’re like age 9-through-21-year-old Sally Grace and have never been anywhere (except to Canada once by accident) but you can name every capital and have a million dream trips already planned down to the last hostel, I hope you find helpful advice and anecdotes in my adventures, or at least a little inspiration and amusement until it’s your turn to go somewhere and begin a story collection of your own.

Ristras, Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Sally Grace lives in Central Texas with her fiance, two cats and a dog. She wishes she were allowed to have more cats. She spends her time writing, reading, traveling, hiking, camping and eating hot cheese in various forms – pizza, nachos, queso, mozzarella sticks, etc.