Experiences – …on the B.L.

11[ish]… Pictures I Love from Melbourne and the Sapphire Coast

December 4, 2023December 4, 2023 RaeAnna

Last month, I went to Australia for the second (technically, third) time since August. I was there for two weeks, which is longer than I was there the first time by a week. The reason? When I was in Melbourne in August, I met the most amazing woman and fell in love. We decided to give this a try before I even left the country.

So I returned two months after our first date to be with her as my girlfriend for the first time. Gay, so gay, but we’re gay, so it figures. While I was there, I was exploring the city that could end up being my home. As much fun as this distance thing is, I really can’t wait to not have my girlfriend 15 time zones away in another hemisphere.

An important part of falling in love with a city, for me, is photographing it. If I take in a city as a tourist, I enjoy it deeply; know my way around; familiarize myself with its facets; but I don’t carry it in my soul. To really have a place etched on my heart, I have to perceive it as art. So I slow down, keeping my camera strap wrapped around my hand, looking. I find the beauty in the natural, the hope in the pristine, the history in the dilapidated, the humor in the contiguity, the love in the people. Through a lens, I try to capture places and humans in the way I see them. Beautiful and unique in the minutiae to the sweeping.

I have always loved pictures. Taking them. Looking at them. It’s been only recently that I’ve even thought of myself as a photographer rather than someone who takes pictures. I love the photographs as much for the art as the memories they contain.

I’ve been home from what feels like my second home, Melbourne, for two weeks. I didn’t just fall in love with Melbourne and Australia because I fell in love in Melbourne and Australia. Though, that is a massive part of why it feels so immediately like home. It’s a beautiful city in an exceptional part of the world. I took a lot of pictures in the beginning, and then I spent a lot of time being present without my camera or phone, learning what life with my person actually feels like. So, now that I’ve been home long enough to go through and edit my favorite pictures. I give you: 11[ish]… Pictures I Love from Melbourne and the Sapphire Coast. We are going in chronological order.

Elmer!!! This is my girlfriend’s cat. He is such a handsome man, and, honestly, one of the most incredible cats I’ve ever met. Sorry to all my friends. He’s a ragdoll and the love of my girlfriend’s life. I’m not even upset about that. He knows how to sit and paw on command. What a dude.

2. Moments Along the Yarra One (two) taken along the Yarra, flowing through Melbourne. My first full day in Australia, I had a lazy morning before Kate had to work in the CBD. While she was in meetings, I wandered along the river, taking pictures of things I liked. This boat and a walking bridge connecting the two sides.

3. Brighton Bathing Boxes I spent a morning exploring the iconic 20th century bathing boxes at Brighton Beach. It was a chilly, overcast day, which is my favorite for exploring and photographing. There are fewer crowds and better lighting. There were so many cool bathing boxes, each painted a different color and even theme.

4. Tathra Beach Over a long weekend, we hopped in the car and headed to the Sapphire Coast—Tathra, New South Wales to be specific. It’s a beautiful part of the country, and there were so few people there. It made a lovely place feel even more special. This canoe was just sitting there, and I loved it.

5. Mimosa Rocks National Park Oh what a beach this was!!! I absolutely fell in love with it. Kate and I both love the sea and quiet moments by it. So while she watched the surf and the horizon, I climbed rocks, took pictures, and prayed I wouldn’t slip in and ruin my camera. I didn’t. I really love this picture. It might be the most screensaver image I’ve ever taken.

6. Sapphire Coast Though you can’t tell from this picture, the water is a stunning shade of blue. I get why it’s named such. There was something incredibly powerful and peaceful about the waves crashing into the rocks. I’m a bit obsessed.

7. Echidna A swift pullover with no warning, drew my attention to the spikey boy crossing the road. Kate had stopped the car quickly so I could get out and snag a portrait of this distinguished gentleman. I didn’t even think about hoping to see an echidna, but I did. They’re neat!!!

8. Beans Whenever I travel and find out about a lesbian bar in a city, I do my best to visit. I didn’t even plan this, we met up with a friend at Melbourne’s lesbian, nonbinary, trans, neurodivergent bar in Fitzroy. It was cool!

9. Cheese Counter at Preston Market Preston Market is my new happy place. Partially because they have amazing arepas. Partially because I can have any food I crave plus coffee in one space. Partially because I love authentic, diverse markets. Partially because seeing how happy it makes Kate makes me happy. On a Saturday, we woke up and walked to the market (it’s so wild to exist in a walkable space), and I, of course, made my way to the cheese counter.

10. Holding Hands I love holding her hand. It’s exciting and grounding, and I do not get to hold her hand whenever I want to… yet. On the way to the airport, I took this picture surreptitiously. There is something so remarkably intimate and vulnerable about reaching for someone’s hand.

11. California Mountains This isn’t in Australia but the view after taking off from San Francisco on my way back to Texas. The view was absolutely incredible. I couldn’t fall asleep, but my brain wasn’t working enough to write or even read. So I took pictures and edited them. I do love this one.

Experiences, In My Own Words, Lifestyle, Travel

Flying with the Window Open

November 21, 2023November 21, 2023 RaeAnna

I will never understand people who fly with the blinds shut. Let alone people who don’t point out the window so their children can feel the awe of a vast world below. [But that’s an entirely different opinion, I think.]

There are so many who will never see the world like this. It’s a way of transportation, sure, but it’s also an immense privilege.

We live in a time like no other. The Wright Brothers only just took flight in 1903.

Planes have fascinated me for much longer than my memory serves. To this day, I love being at the airport. For just about every reason you can think of from the scientific to the sociological to the engineering to the sheer joy of flying off on an adventure. They’re fascinating.

We spend so much money flying. It’s expensive and oftentimes the fastest if not only way to get some places. Whether it’s work or travel, it’s an incredible feat of humanity to be in the sky. Strip all the possibilities away down to one: you’re paying a lot of money for that view. Also… going through security/customs deserves a good view.

The world is stunning.

Clouds and topography, I clammer for window seats and spend the majority of my flight daydreaming out the window. Of the far off majestic places I know exist somewhere over the horizon. Of the people and stories to hear in abundance too great for any one person to know all the stories of just one person. A planet as fertile as it is ravaged. A civilization as generous as it is greedy. I’m an idealist at heart, but shhhh don’t tell anyone. Looking at the lands I know and don’t, I can’t help but think: This world is beyond words, and yet, we’re collectively destroying it.

How can one look out the window of an airplane and not be left a little in reverence of its abundance and desolation? Maybe if more people did, the world would be a bit of a better place.

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

Experiences, In My Own Words, Lifestyle, Travel

Realizing My Fight for Education at George Peabody Library

February 23, 2023February 23, 2023 RaeAnna

History

George Peabody Library sits on the Mt. Vernon Campus of Johns Hopkins University. Founded in 1857 with a donation of $300,000 by George Peabody to create an accessible cultural center of learning for all. The original structure was finished in 1866, but the library seen today was finished in 1878 and designed by architect Edmund George Lind. When it opened, it was dedicated to the kindness and hospitality of Baltimore. At its inception, the librarians curated and pursued a list of 50,000 specific books to line the shelves regardless of price or difficulty. Today, the library stacks are home to a collection of more than 300,000 works ranging from rare first editions to 15th century tomes, including first edition Hawthornes, Melvilles, and Darwin’s On the Origin of Species. The rare book rooms’ newest books date from the 1700s. The collection is always growing with a focus on 18th and 19th century works.

Walking into the main atrium, the eye is met with stacks five tiers high, lined by ornamental cast-iron balconies. The library is capped by a stunning skylight soaring 61 feet above quiet readers below, illuminating the entire space with a warm comfort so rarely found in rooms so large. Created to be free and open to the public, despite changing hands multiple times, it is still a free and open library to the public. Though the collection is non-circulating, readers and researchers can explore the works while enjoying its immense beauty.

Visit

Visiting George Peabody Library has been really the only thing left on my Bucket List for years. I have actively been making plans and trying to go for many, many years. Those plans fell through every time. In October, I went on a roadtrip to Washington DC. There were lots of plans with lots of activities. When asked what I wanted to see on the trip, the only thing I said, “I’d like to take a trip to Baltimore and see the library.”

Done.

We took a day trip to Baltimore and I fell a little bit in love with the city. I went when I was 18 and adored it. As an adult with an even better grasp and love for history, I was in heaven. Historically, it’s a fascinating city. Architecturally, it’s stunning. Culturally, wow. It sits at an intersection of so many interests of mine as a human, learner, and writer of social justice. I would love to go back and spend more time existing there.

Parking in front of the Mt. Vernon campus, the building is as gorgeous as every other 19th century building in the neighborhood. But there was nothing differentiating it from all the other incredible façades. So much so, I tried going in the side door as it was just as magnificent as the main entrance. Even standing in front of the door, I was vibrating with anticipation. Actually the whole drive there.

Getting to the library, we had to walk through the entryway, take a left, and then walk through a large room of stuff, which was probably a museum of sorts. I should have looked, but I was ready to see what I had come to see and didn’t really pay any attention. Obviously. And also fighting off an anxious pee feeling that was totally unnecessary and over the top. The moment I could see through the doorway, I started crying. I couldn’t help it. It was very embarrassing. A bad case of Stendahls Syndrome. Of course there’s a video because my friend is an asshat and documents everything. I wandered and cried. Thank God, I eventually stopped crying and kept wandering. I tiptoed through card catalogs, read every plaque, sat in awe of the sheer beauty, size, and knowledge this one room held. I took a crap ton of photos. So many pictures. None of which will ever do the room justice, though they’re brilliant. I don’t know what I expected. But I didn’t expect the library to be just a massive room in an even bigger building, yet it is.

I spent two hours soaking in that moment I had waited so long to enjoy.

More Than Stendahls Syndrome

As I walked into George Peabody Library, I was swept with so many complex emotions. I started crying. I tried to play it cool, but I am not a chill person. Part of me did cry because of the immense, architectural beauty. It’s art. Part of me cried because I was with someone who had no idea how much that moment meant to me but made it happen anyways. Sometimes, small things are not small things.

I stood there crying and sniffling for more than just Stendahls Syndrome.

Libraries always have a tendency to bring up the emotional side of me. It does exist, very, very deep down. As a writer, I know how much effort one book requires. As a writer in the time of computers makes it far easier, faster, and less physically taxing to actually write a book. Imagine writing an entire book with a quill… imagine the typos. My hand hurts thinking about that. The amount of knowledge in that one room alone is more than I will ever acquire no matter how dedicated I am to the pursuit. Libraries are a testament to the lives of people who dedicated themselves to gaining and proliferating knowledge. In their own ways, many of which I do not agree with, they were trying to make the world a better place. That is what I also aspire to do. It’s hard not to be a little overcome with emotion when one steps back from themselves to acknowledge the effort put into the existence and purpose of libraries. I do not believe in God. I do not go to church. I do believe in knowledge. Truth is my God. Libraries are my sanctuary.

Standing just inside the door as a gay woman, I was hit with more than awe. This library was not meant for me. As a woman, an out gay woman, had I walked into the library upon its construction, I would have been imprisoned existing the way I do. Hell, there are a great many places today I could still be arrested or even executed for existing as I am. It was built in a time when 20% (optimistic) of the population was illiterate and less than 2% of the population went to college. Fuck women on that statistic, there isn’t a percentage available. Wesleyan, the first women’s college, only opened twenty years prior. George Peabody Library was meant for everyone, but not really. It was created in a time where the “everyone” was implicitly understood as white men, maybe refined, respectable ladies who were educated but not too much. I am not either of those things by today’s standards let alone the standards of 1860s America.

The first Ivy’s—Princeton and Yale—didn’t even start admitting women until 1969. Women have had to fight with everything we have, including our lives, for the privilege, the right to receive an education.

Education. Knowledge. That is the path forward. Ensuring women—49.72% of the population—are educated is how the world turns around. Yet there are so many roadblocks for us. They’ve been lessened in this country and others by the lives and fights of so many women who have gone before us. But there are still so many obstacles. From societal pressures, laws, cost, so on and so forth.

Malala was shot in the head because she advocated for girls’ education in 2012.

I’m angry.

I am angry for all women. But this hits home for me. For over a decade I have, in so many unknowing ways, downplayed my fight for education. I have never been quiet about the fact I was a stripper to pay for college. So often, people hear “stripping” and latch on. They want those stories. It’s unique, and I’m open about it. I’m a novelty. I’m an information resource fountain about a taboo yet extremely intriguing topic from anecdotal and scholarly standpoints. I know my shit, and I lived it. The part about stripping to PAY for college is glanced over. I think, emotionally, I always glanced over it too. Standing in the George Peabody Library, for whatever reason, it hit me. I did all of that to learn.

I graduated in 2014 from Cornell College with a triple major in Literature, French, and Russian with an emphasis in Literary Translation and Analysis. I did it in four years. I paid for it by working 100+ hours a week (it is possible, hard, yet possible), taking my clothes off for men who didn’t give a fuck if I lived or died, figuring out better ways to withstand the physical and psychological violence. I did all of that so I could have an EDUCATION. I tried so many other ways. But I was shit out of luck. When I went to the financial aid office, I was told to join the military, get married, have a child, or drop out and wait until I turned 26. None of those were options. So I stepped outside of respectable society for knowledge, ultimately, a piece of paper.

And I am so fucking proud of myself for doing that. I fought for my education. I gave up so much. I still live with the repercussions of that decision and I always will. I knew what I was doing and the ripple effects it would have on my life and future, intellectually. I was not stupid. My eyes were wide open. As much as they can be. Reality is always different. I don’t regret it. I never have. I wish I’d had other options, a choice. I wish the country we live in prioritized people rather than money. I wish men knew how to treat women, all women—sex workers included—well. I wish college wasn’t so expensive. I would also do it again. Knowing everything I know now, I made the right choice when I was left with no choices to make. I chose an education above all else.

The fucked up part… I made that choice twelve years ago.

TWELVE.

A year before Malala was shot on the other side of the world in her own fight for women’s education. I was sitting on a strip club counter studying when the notification popped up on my phone. I live in a first-world country, and I was still forced to fight for an education.

In so many ways, it was a different time, but all that’s really changed is college is more expensive and stripping is only infinitesimally less villainized. Even then, as a poor, desperate college student, I knew I was so privileged. I am a white woman. I was “straight” when I started stripping. I had every seeming advantage. I still had to fight to learn. I dodged sexual assault, rape threats, death threats, a shooting, knives, and more over the course of four years so I could graduate, move on, get a good job, build a life.

So often, I come across as straight-laced. I am. I like rules. But I’ve always been a rebel. I have always pushed back. I do not fit in the society that is, but I’m trying to open society so there’s a place for me, women, minorities, the LGBTQIA+ community, and everyone who feels othered.

My fight for education looks different than most women’s. Yet, it’s so similar. I leveraged sex and femininity in the same way women have for all of written history to access information, power, safety, comfort, literally everything. I took the only thing I had—my body and mind—to dare to grasp for more than what was being offered. I succeeded. I didn’t die. I get to move on and rebuild and heal. I get to use the knowledge I worked so hard for to advocate for other women so one day no woman will be turned away from learning.

bisous un обьятий,
RaeAnna

Experiences, In My Own Words, Lifestyle, Travel

Abandonment Issues Triggered Over Driving Myself to the Airport

April 30, 2022April 30, 2022 RaeAnna

I drove myself to the airport this morning. It’s not the first time I’ve had to park my car while I jetset. It definitely will not be the last. But I was not supposed to drive myself. I hate spending money I don’t have to, and honestly, there’s something really lovely about having someone care enough to do the airport drop off and pick up dance with.

I masked up. I was just alone and drinking coffee.

I booked this trip two weeks ago, and for me, that’s some pretty good advance warning. I spoke with my platonic life partner and roommate and best friend, all one person, about driving me. I had picked flights that would work with his work/life schedule. He agreed. It went on our household calendar. Last night, he got home from work. I was working at the table. He’d been invited out with friends. Great! Have fun. Remember we need to leave the house by 3:45 am, so just be home by then. He gives me a hug and says he’ll be home by nine so we can watch a show before getting some sleep and heading to the airport. 10:30 hits, and I head to bed.

When I wake up and head downstairs to leave… No truck in the driveway. No ring notification. No man on the couch or in his bed or anywhere in the house at all. It’s 3:30. You know. Still time. Four calls straight to voicemail while I’m brushing my teeth. I eventually leave a voicemail. “I’m not angry. I’m not even disappointed. I’ve just come to expect this.” The petty asshole in me responds to his midnight-thirty “Love you!” text message with “Then maybe you should be home to take me to the airport…..” “But I guess not.” I did not take the high road. Grace was not given. Not my proudest moment. I let all the doggos out and said my goodbyes before hopping in the car and driving my independent lady ass to the airport. I did cry in the car. Not a breakdown cry. The silent stoic tears of a war bride waving goodbye on a train platform in a 1950s black and white movie. Probably not that pretty, but you get the picture. Hurt.

I’m taking this trip because I miss my best friend; I’m going through an intensely tough time and need to get away; the day after I get back my life will revolve around the out-all-nighter because he’s having his hip replaced, and I’ll be taking care of him. This is me being punchy about the fact I’ll be his nurse round-the-clock for six weeks and he couldn’t make it home in time to take me to the airport. Not sorry. I am also not sorry for airing this information. I’m a writer. He knows this. Life is copy.

Two quick things before I get to what I actually want to talk about. 1) This scenario is not actually a huge deal and was easily solved. The emotional aspect… Different story. Had this happened ten years ago, I would be a proper mess, but I’m so much more healed now. So I’m a slight mess instead. 2) If this were an isolated incident, I would be mad or disappointed. The problem, it’s not. So I’m hurt because it never feels lovely to be forgotten, and it’s pretty terrible never being a priority or able to depend on someone.

Trauma is a huge part of my story. I have issues. I am excessively familiar with all of my issues and triggers and the coping mechanisms I’ve developed over the course of thirty-one years. I’m quite good at telling my people what I need from them to keep functioning as optimally as I can. These things are quite easy and simple because at the end of the day, they’re my problems and I hate being a burden. I wear my trauma on my sleeve; it just makes life and relationships easier when I’m not hiding things that impact me so deeply. So everyone close to me knew what they were getting into and decided to stay. To the extreme point that if I’m dating someone or getting to know someone as a friend I lay it all out there on the first date/hang out. Truly, all they have to do is Google me and so much is out there for consumption. I am old enough to know I don’t want to waste my fucking time on people who will judge me, not support me, are intimidated by whatever, think what I do is dumb, can’t handle it. Trial by fire. Their reactions say it all.

Sad and hurt for too many reasons but ready for adventure.

When you have a relationship, platonic or romantic, with a person who has survived and lives with trauma, you have to accept that your actions, even the innocuous ones, can have a huge and sweeping impact. I struggle with worth, abandonment issues, being enough, and just feeling like an entirely forgettable human. Among other things. So when I was left to fend for myself this morning, the thought was “Alone. Like always.” Maneuvering the logistics of getting to the airport: so simple. Maneuvering the emotional toll of being forgotten and abandoned: not so simple.

Trusting people is so hard for me. I’ve let people in and been hurt over and over and over again. Trust is built over time and in the little moments. Watching TV on the couch after a rough day. Text messages to check in after falling down the stairs. Sleepovers for funsies. Showing up on time or at all when plans are made. “Safe travel” texts before planes take off. Not canceling. Including people in conversations. Remembering how to pronounce a name. Randomly reaching out for no reason. Sending a postcard. Listening without judgement. All these little things are teeny moments building trust and relationship between people. Trust takes time to build and often so little to corrode or destroy. To protect myself and cope with a life of abuse, I keep people at a distance, don’t give them chances to build trust, and make it incredibly hard to get to know me. How I have any friends is quite the mystery at this point. I’m working on it. As shitty as it is to say, when one person lets me down, it feels like another tick mark against all of humanity. Like, welp, this person can’t be trusted, and they’re human, therefore all humans are ashtrays. Refer to the first sentence of this paragraph… I am aware this is a problem.

I’m not someone who needs, wants, or even craves grand gestures. (Maybe I am, but I’ve never had anyone remotely try, so I wouldn’t actually know. I do love doing them, however.) Little things mean the most. A ride to the airport is not life altering, but it’s a little thing. Love, true love, exists in those little things, the quotidian, the quiet moments, the in betweens. It’s not always explosions or fireworks. It’s life altering in fundamentally consistent, persistent ways of sharing joys and sorrows, every big and little moment. Love is showing up and bearing witness to a lived life. Those tiny moments mean everything. To someone with trauma, it means everything and so much more. I don’t ask for much. I don’t need much. I probably need more than I realize, but I’ve been alone and self-sufficient for so long, I don’t know what it’s like to lean on someone or ask for help. Maybe someone will force my walls down and make me realize it’s okay to need things. To that woman, I say, “Best of luck. I’ll be quite the challenge.” Until then if ever. Fuck that shit; I’m a strong, independent woman. I don’t need anyone. I got myself to the airport like I’ve done numerous times before. And I’ll take myself home.

That doesn’t mean I’m not hurting. I’m not struggling. I’m not wondering if he forgot because I’m forgettable. Or he didn’t come because I wasn’t supportive enough of his night out. Or he didn’t think I was worth taking to the airport. Or that maybe I just don’t deserve someone to care about me. Or he just doesn’t want me in his life anymore. Or he never cared at all. Logically, I know all of this is untrue and it was an accident. But that doesn’t mean I believe it. Feelings and logic rarely coexist peacefully.

When you decide to be in someone’s life who is dealing with trauma, you better be damn sure you know what you’re getting into and that your actions have repurcussions. Your accidents and mistakes carry more weight. Little things mean the most, for the good and the bad. I know what it’s like to be on both sides. Being the traumatized and loving someone with trauma. It’s hard doing the loving, but I also know just how worth it it is. Then again, I also know how to be there for them because I know. And when you love someone, you just show up. Trauma or no trauma. Show up. That’s the bare minimum, and it shouldn’t be a lot to ask for. Then again, my bare minimum was “This one doesn’t rape me!” for the longest time. It’s been upped to, “This one doesn’t make me cry every day!” I’m fucked up. I know.

So I’m sitting on this fucking plane, crying my big, gay tears next to a man in a MAGA hat, trying to convince myself that maybe someday I’ll find someone who will ask if I need a ride to the airport and show up. (Shout out to Amanda, who offered, but I “had a ride.”) It should be simple. But it’s not for me. The idea of my having worth enough for anyone to take me to the airport let alone love me does not exist. The accident of falling asleep at a friend’s house after a fun night out is small, but to me, it carries connotations of so much more.

Posing in front of the Arc de Triomphe at Paris Casino in Las Vegas.

11..., Experiences, Lifestyle, Travel

11… Ways I Passed the Time in Las Vegas

May 3, 2021May 3, 2021 RaeAnna

A boat filled with flowers floating in the Bellagio's Conservatory. — A boat filled with flowers floating in the Bellagio’s Conservatory.

The last five days, I spent exploring Las Vegas. I’d been once before… in December 1999. A little more than 21 years ago, so I had never really done Vegas because I was nine eight years old. Some would argue I still haven’t done Vegas because I don’t drink or gamble and the shows are still closed for the most part. That being said, there are loads of things to do, and I managed to fill my five full days with fun nonetheless. I got in very early this morning and am very ready for a nap.

This is not a travel guide by any means. It’s just a quick overview of some of the fun I’ve had over the last five days. If you’ve been following my stories on Instagram, you know there were lots of outfit changes, food, and activities. Lots of pictures to come, but I need to go through them all and edit… Did I mention I didn’t get home til early this morning, so it’s not happening today.

Change Hotels There are so many fun hotels and casinos. If you stay for more than a few days, I suggest switching hotels like I did. I was able to experience Las Vegas from different vantage points, locations, rooms, and amenities. I stayed at the Luxor, Hilton Grand Vacation at the Flamingo, and Waldorf Astoria. I’ll chat more about each of them later!
Content Creation One of my favorite things about being a writer and blogger is the content creation. I love having an excuse to take beautiful pictures. I’ve always loved being behind and in front of the camera. It’s taken me a lot longer to get comfortable being in front of the camera in public spaces, but I’m getting there. It’s always worth it when I see the finished product. I think everyone deserves amazing pictures of themselves, and we need to normalize that. But I did a lot of solo content creation all over The Strip.
Eat Oh my goodness. I ate so much all over the place. I will definitely have a dedicated food post. Some exceeded expectations. Some did not. I didn’t have any bad food, though. I did return to Eataly… a lot.
Work The blessing and curse of being a freelance writer is: I still work on vacation. In the before times, I traveled so much that not working every time I was on a trip would have been unfeasible and completely unrealistic. This was my first trip since COVID, but I still ended up working every day. I like it because it keeps me grounded and makes me appreciate the fun even more! Plus I’m more motivated to get it done ASAP, rather than procrastinate.
The Conservatory at the Bellagio I happened upon the Conservatory in the Bellagio on the very first day I was there. It was absolutely stunning and beautiful and everything my flower dreams are made of, so I went back… pretty much every day.
Walking I walk a lot when I travel. I walked between 8.75 and 14.6 miles every single day. I love going, going, going to explore everything. I’m not good at down time when I’m traveling. I have a few blisters from a poor shoe decision on the last day—the photos made it totally worth it, however.
Pool + Reading I landed at 8:45 Wednesday morning, and I was already checked into my room at the Luxor. I headed straight to my room, put on my swimsuit, grabbed a book, and sat my butt by the pool. It was 9:45, and I was two chapters into a new book and soaking up the sun. #goals I did sit poolside with a book every single day I was there. (The Waldorf Astoria’s pool is by far my favorite.)
People Watched Oh, Las Vegas. It might be one of the more interesting places to people watch, especially late at night.
Shopping, Shopping, Shopping I actually did not do a lot of shopping. I’m too poor for the stuff I really want to buy. I did buy a few souvenirs for friends. I don’t like to buy things plastered with the location on them for myself—the exception being mugs—so I buy things that I like and will remind me of the trip. This trip happened to be hats. I found my new favorite hat store and went a little crazy, but a responsible amount of nutty.
Friend It Up I love traveling and being on my own because I meet the most incredible people. Sometimes there are some looney acquaintances made, but most of the time, I have really amazing conversations with total strangers.
See Friends Some of my closest friends just moved to Las Vegas. Maria of Millennial Fashionista grew up in Las Vegas. She, her husband, and baby just moved back. Due to COVID, I hadn’t been able to see or visit them in almost two years, which meant: I hadn’t met darling Clara!!! I was finally able to remedy that situation by spending Wednesday afternoon and evening with them. It’s never enough time when it comes to good friends, but anything is better than nothing, particularly when it’s meeting the most perfect baby in the whole world.

The most perfect baby in the whole world!

I had a great time in Vegas. I was definitely ready to head home and cuddle my babies by Sunday evening. I will for sure miss the Waldorf and all its amenities. I guess I can live without a pool boy… If I must.

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

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Experiences, Travel

Postponing My Scotland Trip Due to COVID-19

November 29, 2020November 29, 2020 RaeAnna

All the things reminding me of not being in Scotland. | Clanlands | Frommer’s | Lonely Planet

I have had to cancel a lot of really amazing trips this year and so many others went without being planned at all. I’ve been doing my best to stay home, stay safe, mask up, and flatten the curve. It’s not been fun, but it is the right thing to do. I’m also immunocompromised, so it’s the best thing for my personal health.

All that said, having to stay home and not travel has been the worst part of this year for me personally. The hardest trip to postpone was my trip to Scotland. I was going to go in the spring, but then it was pushed to November, and now it’s been pushed until further notice. I’m a bit heartbroken to be honest. I had it all planned, and my soul has been aching to explore Edinburgh and the countryside. I was supposed to be exploring the Highlands right now. Alas, I’m sitting at home in front of a roaring fire surrounded by my six dogs.

My present is not a bad one. I’m complaining but not. I love getting to be with my fuzzy family and enjoying the holidays, but I was so very excited to experience a taste of Scottish holidays.

I bought a couple tour books for Scotland a year ago to prepare because I’m that kind of traveler. I read them both within a week of buying them. I had my whole itinerary planned down to the Airbnbs I would be staying at. I’m not going to tell you all the details because a) I don’t want to bore you with the could have beens but have not happeneds and b) It’s still happening so c) I won’t ruin all the fun for those who want to follow along someday.

When I realized my trip was not going to happen yet again, I decided to buy a sweatshirt from my favorite band, which happens to be very Scottish. Tide Lines is amazing. If you’ve never heard their music, pay more attention to my Instagram stories and go check them out. I love them so much. I also bought Sam Heughan and Graham McTavish’s book Clanlands because I can and I’m adding salt to my wound. I also grabbed a copy of the first edition of the Hidden Scotland magazine.

I’m really hoping 2021 sees a vaccine and an opening of borders. My heart is yearning to walk the streets of UNESCO’s City of Literature, Edinburgh, and find a beautiful coo on the side of the road.

Anyways, I’m done complaining about my sad first world problems. I’m going to go back to reading and not writing reviews about the many, many, too many books I have read and piled in front of my computer as incentive to write reviews.

bisous und обьятий,
RaeAnna

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