When we first stepped into this travel lifestyle, most of our days were spent with the boating crowd. It made sense, we were living on the water, and naturally, those were the people around us. But over time, our circles grew. Not because we set out to “find more community,” but because it unfolded that way.

One of the biggest lessons we’ve learned is that travel communities overlap more than you’d expect. You might start out identifying with one group such as sailors, RVers, backpackers, or worldschoolers, but over time those lines start to blur. You end up swapping stories, sharing meals, and building friendships that reach far beyond any one label.

Looking back, I love that part the most. We didn’t just stay in one lane. We opened ourselves up to people who were on their own journeys, in their own way, and that made ours richer.

Different Journeys, Same Lifestyle

When we first set out by sailboat, most of the people in our circle were boaters, it just came with the lifestyle. But as time went on, we realized that travel has a way of broadening your connections without you even trying.

It wasn’t forced; it was simply the natural outcome of meeting people. One winter in La Paz, for example, we started making friends through the Clubhouse app. Later, when we missed the big flotilla of kid boats heading north to the Sea of Cortez for hurricane season, we found ourselves connecting with a whole new group of travelers.

Pretty soon we were spending time with RVers, van lifers, worldschoolers, and families who travel by plane and rental car. The RV crowd in particular reminded us of the boating community, the same like-minded mindset of freedom, the same challenges of living in a small space, and the same conversations about educating kids on the go.

Full-time and extended travel families often face different logistics, things like airline baggage limits, road conditions, or even civil unrest, but in many ways, the conversations overlap. The core struggles and joys are the same: storage is always limited, plans shift with the weather, and there’s a constant balance between flexibility and structure.

What stood out most to us, though, is the shared mindset across all these communities. Whether on water, road, or in the air, so many families are chasing freedom, education, and meaningful experiences. Everyone is on their own journey, and that’s what makes it beautiful. Some travelers give back by volunteering or lending a hand along the way. For us, giving back has meant sharing what we’ve learned, helping other families figure out how they can shape this lifestyle in their own way.

Why Sticking to One Group Can Feel Limiting

Sticking to just one group can start to feel limiting, and honestly, a little boring after a while. A lot of that has to do with the conversations. They tend to revolve around the mode of travel the group identifies with.

For example, sailors often talk about sails, boat setups, and anchoring spots. RVers discuss water fill stations, solar setups, and campground logistics. You get the idea, the topics are useful, but they can start to feel repetitive once the honeymoon phase of a new lifestyle wears off.

That’s why branching out, even if it doesn’t feel as natural at first, can be so eye-opening. Inside your group, you’ll definitely find strong friendships, we have. But the connections we’ve made outside of our main circle have been just as meaningful.

Making friends outside your usual community may feel daunting, but it’s worth it. In our experience, it can shift your perspective, spark new ideas, and even elevate your family’s life in ways you didn’t expect.

Real-Life Examples of Crossover

Making friends outside your usual group isn’t always easy, but for us, the rewards have always been worth it. Take our friends Sam and Blake, for example. They’d been abandoned by what RVers might call a “buddy rig” (like the boating community’s “buddy boat”), and we spent evenings swapping stories about it over beers by the campfire. Their experiences mirrored some of our own, and the conversations became learning moments for everyone.

We first met Sam through the Clubhouse app, and our friendship grew from there. When we found out they were heading to Baja, we kept in touch via Instagram and ended up meeting on different beaches over the years.

More recently, when we were staying in Cortez, Colorado, we even drove three hours to Grand Junction to celebrate their son’s birthday. Those are the kinds of bonds that make this lifestyle so meaningful.

We’ve also connected through worldschooling groups on Facebook, which help us see who’s nearby. While in La Paz, we met up with a family at different times over several months, a mix of parents and kids from Russia, Sweden, Germany, Canada, and the U.S. The kids didn’t care one bit about group labels; they just wanted to play, explore, and enjoy being together in the moment.

It reminded me of growing up in the ’90s, when you could find the neighborhood hangout just by spotting all the bikes in someone’s yard. Those moments still exist, though they’re harder to find with today’s busy schedules, travel logistics, and family dynamics.

The crossover is real, and sometimes humbling for adults. We’ve seen firsthand how the sailing community can feel a bit clique-like, almost like high school. That experience pushed us to open ourselves up to friendships with RVers, overlanders, and van lifers, and it has enriched our journey in ways we couldn’t have imagined.

How to Create Your Own “Blended Community”

Building community looks different for everyone, depending on your travel style, preferences, and even your budget. Some families find their people within one type of travel, while others, like us, end up blending groups naturally over time. The good news? You don’t have to force it. With the right platforms, apps, and a little openness, you can create your own version of a “blended community.”

Sailboat Community

When we were living on the water, the Kids4Sail Facebook group was a lifeline. Each month they post a roll call where families list their location, kids’ ages, and boat details. It makes it easier to connect in real life, and spotting another boat with the Kids4Sail burgee flag was an instant icebreaker.

Another great resource is the Sea People app, founded by an Aussie couple raising two kids aboard their boat. Their platform helps sailors connect, share updates, and combat the loneliness that can come with long stretches at sea.

RV and Van Life Community

Our friendships with people like Mindy, Kevin, Sam, and Blake taught us quickly that the RV community is one of the most approachable. Unlike anchoring out in a bay, where it’s tough to just “pop over” to a neighbor, campgrounds naturally foster closeness.

Kids can run between sites, and adults often end up around a grill, smoker, or campfire swapping stories. Apps like Sēkr and Driftr (founded by two van lifers) help break the ice before you even arrive, making it easier to build friendships on the road.

Facebook Groups Around Homeschooling & Worldschooling

Social media groups are one of the best ways to find your travel tribe, whether it’s just for a few days, weeks, or months. There are plenty of homeschooling groups across the U.S., but if you’re traveling internationally, worldschooling groups can help you connect fast.

Many of these groups are region or location-based, so keep that in mind when searching. You’ll also find interest-based groups that focus on hobbies like Dungeons & Dragons or sports like soccer and baseball. Others lean toward academics, including subjects like robotics, STEM, and math.

Often there’s opportunities to join groups in new locations. Pop ups and those are easily searchable. They require more effort but it’s how we’ve made connections with others from all sorts of travel backgrounds.

Hosting Your Own Meetup

Don’t be afraid to take the lead. Hosting a casual meetup, a hike, a beach day, or even a dinner out can bring like-minded travelers together. Some of our best connections have happened in the most unexpected places, like airports or while waiting in line. By putting yourself out there, you create opportunities not just for your family, but for others craving connection too.

The Travel Community Is What You Make It

The travel community is beautifully diverse, filled with people from different backgrounds, cultures, and walks of life. If you’re searching for your “tribe,” don’t be surprised if it ends up looking more like a mosaic than a single, uniform group and that’s the best part.

By blending with people who travel in different ways, you create a stronger, more flexible community. Your tribe becomes richer because of the variety of perspectives, experiences, and lifestyles within it. The connections you build won’t always look the same as the ones you started with, but they’ll give you a deeper sense of belonging.

At the end of the day, the travel community is what you make it—open, varied, and stronger when you allow it to grow beyond one lane. For families like ours, that diversity doesn’t just shape friendships, it becomes part of our children’s education.

Worldschooling isn’t just about learning from museums or history books; it’s about learning from people. By surrounding ourselves with travelers from all walks of life, our kids are exposed to perspectives, values, and experiences that no classroom could ever replicate. And that, to us, is the greatest gift this lifestyle has given.

As this guest post beautifully shows, the richest connections often come from mixing worlds, not staying inside familiar ones. The more we lean into that blend, the more meaningful our travels become. Here’s to creating communities everywhere we go.

For more inspiration from the SaltyVagabonds family, you can follow them on Instagram, TikTok, YouTube, or visit their website. 

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Three weeks after I turned nine, my parents and I take a four-day river trip on the wild and scenic stretch of the Rogue River, in southwest Oregon. Wild and scenic rivers are free-flowing (have no dams) and protected for their remarkable scenic value. There was a wildfire in the Kalmiopsis Wilderness, which had been burning for several weeks. We’ll have to paddle through the fire zone on the first day. A number of trips have already been canceled due to the wildfire, and we have to figure out if we are going or not.

The trip organizers and guests make the decision to go, but on the condition we have a very long first day, about eighteen miles to travel, so we can get through the whole burn area and camp in a safe bank of the river.

Everyone is quiet when we put in early the first morning. I think we’re all a little nervous. The river water smells fresh and piney, but the air is warm and smells like ash. We see smoldering logs and debris on the riverbanks. Luckily, it starts to rain midmorning; we can hear the crackling logs, hissing soil, and raindrops tapping on the water. It feels primal, like it could have been the 1800s.

We get to our camping spot on the bank by late afternoon. Phil and Mary, the guides, instruct us to have everything well organized and packed so that if there is a flare-up, we can depart downriver quickly. That evening, the sun looks hot pink through the thick smoke, and the air is still.

This is an odd start to the trip for sure, but I’ve learned you have to push through your fear sometimes, and once you are immersed in the adventure, it will be amazing. And it is. The next morning, I get my kayak roll working really well, smoothly flipping my capsized boat back up using a paddle sweep across the water and a strong hip snap.

The kayak roll is a necessary whitewater skill so you don’t have to “wet exit” and risk losing your boat or paddle, slowing the group down, or ending up in sketchy water. Phil tells me I’m ready to paddle in my own boat, and I paddle all the class III rapids on the Rogue River that day and the next. Pretty big water for me!

I help make crepes for dinner, get my toenails painted (a good river-rat practice), and hang out with the hilarious crew. I dunk in the cool water in the evenings and see sturgeons and other fish. I even see a juvenile black bear on the third day.

Paddling on a river during a wildfire is like being in a sanctuary. It’s beautiful, and I feel brave.

For more stories and inspiration, check out our book, Wonder Year: A Guide to Long-Term Family Travel and Worldschooling. You can also sign up for our quarterly newsletter below and follow us on Instagram @wonderyeartravel. Our mission is to help you find your way out the door and into the world.

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I rise quickly from my bed, as I always do, sleep never making me groggy in the morning. The morning sun shoots through the blinds in the room I share with Ronan, making parts of my skin feel hotter. It’s my tenth birthday, and I’m celebrating it in Sydney, Australia.

I join my dad on the balcony, ten stories above a busy street filled with the sounds of stores opening for the day and the commotion of morning rush hour. Even though it’s the middle of the Australian summer, we aren’t hot because a brisk wind comes through every few minutes. We sit outside, making guesses about what people are doing and whether they are late to work.

Our tradition is that the birthday kid gets to decide how our family spends the day. I want to go to a local animal-rescue center filled with dozens of beautiful species endemic to Australia. First, we go to a brunch place a few blocks away from our hotel. Inside, it feels like we are back home: loud voices, cool air, the hustle and bustle of coffee makers and people trying to get their food. Everything we could ever want is on the menu: pancakes, waffles, eggs, pastries, fruits, and butter—lots of butter.

After our bellies are full, we start the long drive to the rescue center.

When we arrive, the sheer difference of the area truly hits us. The temperature has risen another fifteen degrees, the wind is gone, dust is thick in the air, and we can feel the lack of sunscreen on our bodies. Scattered eucalyptus along the ridge frame our view of the outback. We move over to the shade of a small tent that has been set up for visitors and apply sunscreen, consume large portions of our water bottles, and shed some extra clothes. I can’t wait to get going. We are so close to some animals you can’t see anywhere else.

We start off with the wallabies, smaller kangaroo-like creatures that are generally nocturnal. We get to feed them from small cups filled with their food. There are two of the cutest owls I’ve ever seen. They look like furry heads with feet. We enter the koala enclosure to have them climb onto our laps, a total thrill we’d never get back home.

Australia is known for all of the animals that can kill you. Along our path, we see some of the most venomous snakes and spiders in the world. But the scariest thing we see that day isn’t the crocodiles, and it isn’t the Tasmanian devil (which can run faster than a bike can go). It is the cassowary, an emu-like bird that stands on two long hind legs and is flightless. It looks like a dinosaur and has super-sharp claws.

When you look up cassowary on the internet, the first thing that pops up is “cassowary attack.” That makes sense. Every spot we’d hiked in Australia had signs with stick-bird drawings and red and black text telling us how dangerous cassowaries are and to keep our distance.

Our final stop is the kangaroos. It is so weird to be seeing an animal for the first time that you’ve always seen in picture books. A tiny joey pokes his head out of his mother’s pouch and looks us straight in the eyes.

Tired from the heat, Ronan and I take naps on the drive back to our rented condo in Sydney so we can feel rejuvenated for my birthday night. Back at our room, I request cheeseburgers for my birthday dinner. Mom treks a few blocks to a local grocery store for the ingredients while I make my birthday calls home to family. I talk to my mom’s side of the family in Ohio and my dad’s side in Missouri.

My mom returns and cooks the burgers and serves them up on plates with tater tots she’s baked in the oven. We top off the meal with a giant container of Neapolitan ice cream, and I am allowed to eat some directly from the carton. But first, we put candles on top and sing “Happy Birthday,” just like at home. 

For more stories and inspiration, check out our book, Wonder Year: A Guide to Long-Term Family Travel and Worldschooling. You can also sign up for our quarterly newsletter below and follow us on Instagram @wonderyeartravel. Our mission is to help you find your way out the door and into the world.

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I rub sleep out of my eyes and relinquish the covers that I’d been fighting my brother for all night. The muffled buzz of insects pauses periodically as I splash my face with warm water. My mom and I had decided on an early-morning excursion—rare for us night owls—to round out the afternoon boat and evening jeep safaris of the days before. The sun is low, and the breeze blows enough to ease us into a day that’s going to be extremely warm. Although wildlife is out and birds are chirping, there is a mesmerizing stillness to the world. The sky is chalky gray, one of the rare occasions during our time in often-sunny Botswana. A few minutes into our game drive, it begins to sprinkle rain, pattering against the canvas top of the vehicle.

The first hour remains drizzly and quiet. We see a few boar, tails raised in alarm as something approaches behind their den. A litter of Cape foxes plays with their mom in the dirt, just like puppies back home. A baby elephant with half a trunk crosses with its herd in front of us, and I wonder how the injury will affect its life.

Our driver comes to a sudden halt and bobs her head toward the right side of the jeep. There stands an impala, alone and shaking. Normally, game trucks will send impalas—who are prey for many animals—leaping quickly away. This one doesn’t budge. She is immune to our presence, fully occupied with something far more important. As we look closer, I can see two tiny hooves hanging out from under her tail. I’m usually kind of squeamish, but I can’t look away over the next hour as the hooves turn into legs and then a body and then finally a tiny impala face. The newborn lays shivering slightly as the mother cleans it, then slowly raises its head. My mom and I watch as it stands, wobbling. It takes three comical, knee-knocking attempts to get to its feet. Its first steps are in search of its mother’s milk, and I’m struck by how it knows where to find the meal.

Our guide is kind and patient with us, happy to stay as long as we want to watch, but mostly stares into the middle distance during the birth. I realize she’s likely been witness to something like this many times before.

For more stories and inspiration, check out our book, Wonder Year: A Guide to Long-Term Family Travel and Worldschooling. You can also sign up for our quarterly newsletter below and follow us on Instagram @wonderyeartravel. Our mission is to help you find your way out the door and into the world.

The post Stories from the Road – Okavango Delta, Botswana appeared first on Wonder Year Travel.

It’s clear from our arrival at the airport in Saigon that Mr. Nguyen is a military man. His stature, handshake, and carriage all suggest a lifelong mastery of mind and body. He looks us directly in our eyes when he speaks; he walks with purpose. And he’s taking us to Ben Duoc in the Cu Chi district for a history lesson.

The drive is long enough to afford time to talk with Mr. Nguyen, and he joins us for lunch along the lazy Saigon River. He leans in close to Ronan as we eat, glancing back over his shoulder.

“You’re American, yes?” he asks. “Good. Then there are things I can share with you about this region that you won’t hear from others.” His gaze returns to our family.

“Who wants to go down in the tunnels?” Mr. Nguyen asks.

Asher and I raise our hands. The tunnels of Cu Chi are a significant memorial of the Viet Cong’s successful campaign against the American soldiers during the war; more than 45,000 Vietnamese people died protecting this underground base. Entire hospitals, armories, dining halls, barracks, and kitchens once existed across four levels beneath the jungle floor, a network stretching more than 150 miles. The crude weapons used by inhabitants—punji sticks; spears; and hand-dug, booby-trapped pits—were things kids could make in their backyards.

Our boys’ slender bodies just fit down the leaf-covered mud hatches originally used to pop through and surprise invaders.

Mr. Nguyen points at a spot about a hundred yards away and says that is where we’ll reemerge. He then disappears down a flight of stairs cut into the red clay earth.

Tunnel rats were specialized US soldiers who performed deadly search-and-destroy missions in the twisting burrows of the Cu Chi fighters’ base, sneaking into holes like these, each armed with a .45, a flashlight, and a bayonet. We had an iPhone.

“Did they clear these tunnels of all the mines?” Asher asks Mr. Nguyen.

“Yes,” he replies. “They don’t find new ones very often anymore.”

In the dark shaft, there are no lights. No handrail. It is hot and claustrophobic—we have to crawl on our bellies for much of the journey.

Mr. Nguyen is far ahead of us in the pitch black, encouraging us through a burrow no more than three feet in diameter. “I’ll get you out. Do not worry,” he says, seemingly reading our thoughts. “I know the way.”

We can hear the smile on his face as he reassures us from the gloom.

“Are you scared?” I ask Asher.

He stops shuffling along on the hard-packed clay ahead of me and replies after a long pause, “Are you?”

There is a glimmer of light off in the distance, and we relax a little bit, but Mr. Nguyen stops and says, “Give me your camera and I’ll take a picture of you. Does it have a flash? Yes? It will work then.”

Asher and I wait for Mr. Nguyen to crawl back to our position, turn around, and snap the photo—all the while looking at that sliver of sunlight at the end of the tunnel.

For more stories and inspiration, check out our book, Wonder Year: A Guide to Long-Term Family Travel and Worldschooling. You can also sign up for our quarterly newsletter below and follow us on Instagram @wonderyeartravel. Our mission is to help you find your way out the door and into the world.

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Sadako Sasaki was only two years old when the A-bomb devastated Hiroshima. Initially one of the lucky ones who survived the blast, she showed no signs of injury and grew into a healthy young girl until the age of nine. An illness was then revealed to be leukemia and Sadako, which means ‘innocent child,’ began a fight for her life. Believing that folding colorful paper cranes helped in her healing process, she spent

We spent hours folding cranes with the help of volunteers.

the last eight months of her life folding countless graceful cranes with delicate hands. Sadly, the lingering effects of the bombs kept killing long after schools were rebuilt and normal services were restored in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The A-bomb was dropped on Hiroshima on August, 6 1945 at 8:16am; Sadako Sasaki died on October 25, 1955. It is estimated that more than 10 million cranes are offered each year at the Children’s Peace Monument in Hiroshima.

 In a world locked in conflict over religious ideologies, it is challenging – if not impossible – to believe in the concept of universal truth. Common notions of freedom or justice or family have become objectified by opponents – tolerances narrowed to highlight differences, emotions amplified to spur action against those differences. Consider Auschwitz. Wounded Knee. Srebrenica. Ground Zero. Stalingrad. Yet, standing on ground where thousands of people lost their lives due to genocide or war, accident or terrorism is a coalescent function. It reminds us of the bird-bone fragility of life and that, after differences are discarded as superficial, we are human.

Hiroshima is one of the most sacred grounds in the history of the world, and in that it is a living legacy, a paradox. Seventy years ago, this broad valley with romantic views out to the sea was wholly destroyed – its buildings flattened and burned; its people poisoned and killed.

Where Oppenheimer leaves off

Yet today, atop that solemn foundation, it is vibrant and bustling with people pulsing through its avenues, visiting shops and restaurants as illuminated as a Saturday-night carnival. It is very much a place of living; it shows almost no scars.

 The Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum is a collection of artifacts that survived the blast. There are many physical exhibits that show technically amazing things, such as two-inch-thick rolled steel beams that were twisted into abstractions, or hundreds of apothecary jars that had been melted into a solid chunk of glass.

There’s also the pocket watch owned by Kengo Nikawa, frozen at 8:16am. It was a gift from his son and something he considered precious. He died a little more than two weeks later from grievous injuries sustained in the blast. Kengo had been riding his bike to work.

There’s the tattered and ash-streaked uniform worn by Nobuko Oshita, a 13-year-old student at the girls’ high school. After being exposed to the bomb, she fled into hiding with a classmate, where relief workers found her and returned her home to her family. Nobuko died the following day, still wearing the uniform she’d made.

And there’s the lunch box of Shigeru Orimen, a junior-high school student whose body was found nearly four days later by his mother. Shigeru had been tending the family’s garden while his father and brother were away at the front. His lunchbox contained a meal made from his first harvest – something he was so proud of yet never tasted.

This museum, like the Normandy American Cemetery and the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, left an indelible mark on our psyche. It is a powerfully moving place filled with stories that raise unanswerable questions. The boys were exhausted and silent as we walked from the darkened exhibit hall back into the lighted gallery that looks out across the park, the A-Bomb Dome silhouetted against the blue sky. There, along the windows, Asher found a table where local volunteers were teaching kids how to make paper cranes. He sat down with Angela and decided to make an offering of peace in honor of Sadako Sasaki.

Remembering the people of Hiroshima

The post Stories From the Road: Paper Cranes in Hiroshima appeared first on Wonder Year Travel.

My good friend, Annika Paradise recently co-authored a travel book, and we got to talking about packing and specifically packing shoes for travel. I’m a stylist and I often help clients pack for their trips with a curated travel capsule that takes the guesswork out of packing and what to wear on their trip. Annika is an expert in long-term family travel and we discovered that we are both frequently asked about packing and specifically what shoes to pack for travel. This post covers the only three pairs of shoes you need to pack for a trip of any length.

Annika co-wrote, Wonder Year: A Guide To Long-Term Family Travel and Worldschooling, along with two other travel experts, Julie Frieder and Angela Heisten. Their book is part inspiration and part “how-to” for those who’ve ever considered long term travel with their family. They break down everything, from how to fund your trip to recommended destinations to how to teach your kids on the road. Wonder Year has something for all types of travelers so be sure to order your copy today. My readers can use discount code: DAISYTRAVEL for 20% off.

In Annika’s case, she and her husband took their three children around the world for a year and they packed light! In our friendship, she’s the practical one and I have been known to prioritize fashion over function. What a pleasant surprise to find out that we both agreed that you can get away with only packing three pairs of shoes for even an entire year of travel! 

Here are my fashion-approved (and her practicality-approved) recommendations for the three pairs of shoes to pack for travel.

Of course, the exact style depends on the locations and the time of year, but these three types of shoes will work no matter what. Reducing the number of shoes you pack is an essential part of packing light because shoes are relatively heavy and bulky. Try to stick to these three shoe styles the next time you pack.

#1: Sneakers

An athletic shoe is essential. Annika would say it’s practical, but Daisy the stylist has some ideas to make sure you look great, too. My clients often tell me, “I don’t want to look like an American Tourist.” Sneakers, these days, are stylish, straddling the line between comfort and fashion statement. These shoes will ensure you look great no matter where you go – even if you are staying in the U.S.

New Balance are my top pick for travel because they have character and are fashionable while still providing comfort. Adidas are a classic choice and Europeans love them. PS448 are on the expensive end, but are also incredibly comfortable and the “it” sneaker of the moment. Soludos Ibiza are a classic choice and very versatile. And the most practical option is On Cloud since they work for walking and running/working out, and are light as air.

Comfort and camouflage

#2: Sandals

There is a big range of styles when it comes to a sandal. If you’re like Annika, you’ll want these as almost a “slipper” option and opt for a comfortable Birkenstock style. If you’re like me, you’ll want a classic leather sandal that you can dress up or down. And depending on the type of trip this might be where you opt for a heel like a clog sandal or wedge.

Vionic are my top pick because the arch support is incredible. If you have ever tried on a pair I’m sure you bought them instantly. If you know, you know. Sorel’s Ella II sandals are lightweight, fold up in your luggage and can look both dressy and casual. I am a big fan of a flat strappy sandal for travel and these Boden scarf wrap sandals are like two pairs in one because the leather straps can be swapped out with the included patterned scarf straps – adorable! And for the most practical traveler, the Teva sandal is the best option in terms of comfort, weight and price.

#3 Boots

Unless you are going on a summer boat trip or someplace tropical, you should always pack a pair of boots (in the case of a tropical or boat vacation, pack another pair of sandals or flats for your third pair). 

The Blundstone Chelsea boot is my favorite boot of all time – not just for travel! It’s classic, comfortable and perfect year round. If your trip will involve a lot of hiking, then the Danner Mountain 600 is a great choice. As a stylist I think these boots are also great-looking (love those classic red laces) and can also be worn when you’re not on the trail. If your itinerary has you visiting several cities, I suggest the Born Verona boot. It’s classic and a bit edgy but still very comfortable and versatile. And if you want your boots to serve as a dressier option for your travels then try the Sarah Flint Perfect Zip Bootie. These are an investment shoe, but they are simply stunning and will last a decade. The functional winners are these Cole Haan waterproof boots – I love the modern platform sneaker sole – which are practical and very cool.

Reducing the number of shoes you pack is an essential part of packing light, so try to stick to these three shoe styles the next time you pack and if you’re traveling by air, try to wear the bulkiest pair on the plane to save room in your suitcase. The few minutes of taking them off to go through security is worth the extra space.

Stay tuned for more joint ventures between The Daisy Edit and Wonder Year. We both send regular newsletters that are geared toward our respective audiences. Please sign up for one or both, if you haven’t already. 

The Daisy Edit Newsletter

Wonder Struck Monthly Newsletter

Collaboration over travel, shoes, and remembering how fun it can all be

The post Three Shoes for One Trip appeared first on Wonder Year Travel.

He was our neighbor for six days in Fairbanks and we spoke every morning and evening, but I knew nearly nothing about the man, nothing except that our dog, who usually barks at strangers who approach too quickly, immediately knew he was good. Timber lowered his head and wagged his tail as he let the man with hard hands and a gray handlebar mustache scratch under his chin and behind his ears.

The man spoke without strain – even, confident and strong. With steel-toe boots, chain drive wallet and leather vest, my first read was that he must be a biker, and the way he carried himself spoke of tough-guy…if needed. He looked like a dude smart enough to stay out of a fight, but who would end it on his feet no matter the circumstances.

Introductions in RV parks are categorical. Passers-by will ask about the Airstream, the truck, the breed of our dog or where in California we’re from. As Timber rolled over and let the stranger rub his belly, the man asked, “How do you like the Ford Diesel?”

The man was chatty and intelligent; loneliness sometimes italicized his words or wrinkled his face, but overall he was a man who found goodness in life – he appreciated steak and beer.

Over the course of the next few days, I picked up bits and pieces about the stranger. He was from Pittsburgh and, after 50 years, ready to create a new life. He’d purchased on finance by the State of Alaska a 10-acre plot about two hours north of Fairbanks, in the thick bush near Livengood (pronounced LIE-ven-good). The property had no services whatsoever and was thick with willows and spruce, so he had no access to its heart. He’d surveyed and started to fence it, but it was only his third year up in Alaska, so there was still a lot to accomplish. He’d carved enough of a path into the property to park a trailer and truck just out of sight from the road. He hoped that, if the weather held out this summer, he could continue cutting through the bush to the center where he would eventually build a cabin.

Alaska is about futures, not pasts. We never talked about jobs or education. Only once did his talk deviate from practical matters and venture into the philosophical. It was when I asked him why he decided to go it alone in the Alaskan wild.

“It’s solitude, I guess. It’s so darn far from everything that it’s just me. Mother Nature doesn’t cut any slack; people don’t ask your name.”

He paused and looked at me. “You think you could do it?”

“I read somewhere… how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong, but to feel strong… to measure yourself at least once.”
― Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild

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