What to Pack for Vacation: 10 International Travel Essentials

At least once a year, I like to save up some money and take a week-long trip. Whether it’s vacationing in Rome with my family of seven, or sleeping in a tent on the beach with my high school best friend, it’s crucial to escape New York City for a few days and embrace another type of adventure.

Over the years, I’ve learned some personal hacks: For instance, I now know that I prefer the aisle seat on an airplane because I always have to pee (at least twice) and I get anxiety about waking people up and asking them to move for my small bladder. I know how to use my credit card to get a free trip to Europe via points. I know I should always bring a shower cap so that I don’t waste an hour each day doing my hair. And so on.

I’ve also learned what to pack for my optimal overseas experience—and I’d like to share my findings with you! Below is a general list of 10 travel essentials. Note: If you’re headed to Iceland or somewhere cold, here is a more specific packing guide.

Ryan and I on our Saint Lucia honeymoon in 2017.

Ryan and I on our Saint Lucia honeymoon in 2017.

Let’s start with what to pack for the plane.

1. Sleep Mask

This soft sleep mask is contoured, so you’re still able to blink with it on—I personally don’t like when my eyes feel plastered to my cheeks. It also has an adjustable, Velcro strap, meaning your head is never squeezed. Grab a three pack for less than $10 on Amazon

2. Noise Cancelling Headphones

Some might say that I’m… sensitive to noise. They are correct. For instance, I hate if the person next to me on the subway is chewing gum with their mouth open—or if my neighbor on a plane starts snoring. So for Christmas last year, my parents gifted me with some brilliant, Bose noise-canceling headphones.

These little pillows of softness have been life changing (it’s worth noting that I live in the lovely but LOUD New York City). Being able to turn off the world around me when I’m trying to sleep or get work done is important. Another perk: these wireless headphones don’t insert into the ear, so I can wear them for most of a Transatlantic flight without feeling sore.

If these headphones are out of your price range, be sure to bring some ear plugs! You never know what the plane situation is going to be like.

3. Other Plane Necessities

Before boarding, I always make sure I have the following in my backpack:

  • Passport

  • Headphones (see above)

  • Sleep mask (see above)

  • A few Advil + Tylenol PM

  • Mints + chap stick

  • Toiletries bag

  • Phone charger

  • Toothbrush + facial wipes

  • Wallet + phone

  • Pen (for handling Customs)

  • Inflatable neck pillow: Does anyone have a good recommendation for this? If so, please leave a comment below—I’m looking to upgrade! I prefer an inflatable one for space, but am open to options.

Hiking the Quiraing on the Isle of Skye, Scotland in 2016

Hiking the Quiraing on the Isle of Skye, Scotland in 2016

And here’s a list of trip essentials:

4. Portable Battery

My husband bought these two products, both of which I’ve used in different circumstances. The Anker PowerCore has two jacks, making it perfect for when you’re traveling with a companion. We use this frequently on family trips.

This Jackery Portable Charger is a lighter option and great for solo travel. I also just throw it in my purse for everyday usage when I’m bopping around NYC and might not have access to an outlet for a few hours. It’s probably my favorite little purchase of 2019.

5. Outlet Converter

If you’re traveling from the United States to Europe or another part of the world, don’t forget that you’ll need an outlet converter. This one is my preferred companion because it has several outlets, as well as a USB port. I’ve probably been using this same model for about five years.

6. Quick-Dry Towel

Even if you’re not camping, these microfiber towels can be helpful in multiple travel situations. Let’s take a trip down memory lane for some examples:

  1. I used one in Mykonos on the beach because the hotel charged per towel. This was the cheaper option.

  2. My friends and I packed these for a trip to Iceland because many of the hikes end with a hot spring. This towel was much easier to lug in a backpack than a regular one.

  3. I used it in Turkey when we ran out of towels at our Airbnb. And because it dries pretty quickly (much faster than a regular towel) my backpack didn’t smell like mold on the way home.

 You get the picture. Things happen, and sometimes you want your own towel. Here are the two that I’ve used for most of my journeys: one from Amazon and one from REI.

On our way to the Blue Hole on Malta’s island of Gozo in 2019.

On our way to the Blue Hole on Malta’s island of Gozo in 2019.

7. Guidebooks + Podcasts

They may seem outdated, but a book can come in handy when your wifi isn’t working in a foreign country. I always get a guidebook for every new place I visit—when planning a trip, it’s the second purchase I make, right after the plane tickets. My favorite series is by Lonely Planet: I love that many of the recommendations come from locals or travel writers who’ve really explored the area. I also trust most of the food recommendations. If you’re more of a pictures person, I think DK Eyewitness has great visual guides and maps in their city-specific books.

And I’m always down for anything Rick Steves says about museums and attractions. He also has an app and web downloads available with podcasts for specific venues, like the Pantheon or the Palace of Versailles. My family frequently used the podcasts in Italy—they give awesome tips for how to walk through a museum or historic venue. (We even bypassed a huge line by using a hidden door in the Sistine Chapel, thanks to Steves!)

8. Raincoat + Umbrella

Don’t forget these basics, especially when traveling in spring. I venture into drizzly weather with an Eddie Bauer waterproof jacket that can double as a wind breaker and is easy to stuff into a backpack. I have a heavy duty umbrella for New York weather, but use this Repel Windproof umbrella for travel. It takes up less room, and has a handy automatic open/close function.

9. DSLR Camera

I love my iPhone camera—it does a great job capturing regular life. But there’s nothing like the clarity of a DSLR camera, particularly when the lighting is difficult or when what you’re trying to capture is far away (think, skyline shots). I also like to print my photos when I get home, and that’s when you can really tell the difference between the technology.

I’m a Canon person, simply because my parents bought me my first one as a graduation gift. It’s been traveling the world with me for the last 10 years, and I’ve never experienced an issue with the camera or the lenses. Here’s the latest version of the Canon Rebel that I’ve been using—it’s the perfect purchase for a hobby photographer. I also upgraded and bought the 18 - 135mm lens for most of my travel photos (this lens option is also available in the first link so you can purchase the body of the camera and the lens together). It has a wide focal length range, and is a step up in quality from the 18 - 55mm starter lens. You won’t need to change out your lens with this guy when traveling; it does it all. The only other lens I’ve purchased over the years is a 50mm for portrait shots. (If you have children or puppies, this one will blow your mind.)

It’s worth noting that if you’ve never used a DSRL camera before, you should practice a bit before you next adventure. I remember watching a few YouTube videos to learn the basics back in 2010! But if I can do it, believe me, so can you.

10. Collapsible Water Bottle

This is my latest purchase. I hate carrying a water bottle around—it takes up too much room and it’s always the first thing I toss out of my luggage when I’m tight on space. But I also get tired of purchasing one-off plastic water bottles; it’s not good for the environment or my wallet. Enter, the collapsible, silicone water bottle. I’m excited to take this on my next vacation.

Bonus: Travel Fan

Ok, this is not essential for everyone—but it is for me. Remember how I said I was noise sensitive? I also have a hard time falling asleep without the sound of a fan, especially if I’m sharing a room with snorers. This travel fan doesn’t make too much sound; just enough for me to black out. I will say that I have to leave the cord plugged into a USB outlet all night because the battery dies quickly. However, the lack of space the fan takes up in my suitcase was more important to me than the strength of the battery.  

Thanks for reading! I hope you found these tips to be helpful. For more travel essentials, check out my list on Amazon.

My family visiting Florence, Italy in 2018.

My family visiting Florence, Italy in 2018.

Travel makes one modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.
— Gustave Flaubert

Disclosure: some links in this article are affiliate links. This means, at no additional cost to you, I may earn a commission from a purchase you make. All products listed above have been bought and tested by me :)

Mysterious Apartment Noise: SOLVED

“Do you hear that?”
My husband and I are standing in the living room of our new apartment. A very strange dragging noise is coming from the roof.
“Yeah…” he says, looking up and then at me. “I’ve heard it a few times.”
“Do you think it’s a person?” I ask.
“Do you think it’s a person dragging another person?”
He gives me a look that suggests my imagination must be put in check.   

Last fall, Ryan and I were informed that our building was being torn down and that we’d need to find a new apartment by January 1st. (A word to the wise: as you can imagine, the holiday season is a very cold, busy, and overall disagreeable time to move in New York City.)

So we alerted our community to the impending disaster, searched on every apartment-hunting website available, and landed in a one-bedroom on the cusp of Gowanus and Park Slope about a week later. It “took a village” but we’ve happily settled into our new home.

Except for the occasional mouse.
And the dragging sounds across the roof.   

The plant’s name is Reginald the Resilient, but you can call him Reggie.

The plant’s name is Reginald the Resilient, but you can call him Reggie.

Now, I’ve met several mice during my New York experience. I despise that they perpetually raise little families in my often unused stove—and I despise killing them with traps that instantly squish their insides into a maroon sadness that has me mumbling “out, damned spot” as I Swiffer their leftovers into the garbage.

(Editor’s Note: The cleaning of the traps is now Ryan’s job. A round of applause for him, please.)

In short, mice are a vice that I know much about. But the dragging? This has me concerned.

I am alone one Saturday morning when the footsteps and dragging sounds loudly begin in the front of the apartment. We live in a Brooklyn row house built in the 1890s. Like most city streets in our neighborhood, our roof is connected with everyone else’s roofs on the block. Though rare, this means it is possible a good number of strangers could be walking around up there.

This thought pops into my head as the footsteps approach me.  
Step, draag.
Step, draaaag.

The mysterious sounds move from the living room, to the dining room, and finally to my bedroom where I sit staring at the ceiling.  

Tap, tap, jingle, scraaaatch.

 I open my mouth in horror as the mysterious presence claws at my light fixture from somewhere above the ceiling.

“Stop that!” I say to the unknown.
I grab a hanger and tap back on the ceiling.
Bam, bam, bam.
“Stop that! Don’t touch!”

The mysterious scratcher remained silent.

Ryan and I had thought maybe we were hearing mice in the ceiling—or perhaps a troop of fat squirrels? But after several weekends of this nonsense, I didn’t believe my own theories. This was no small critter.


My eyes blink open at 5 am. I’m thirsty, so I creep out of bed and tiptoe to the kitchen sink.

As I pour a glass of water, I look out the window into the blackness of the night. Nearly every light is off as I scan the row of dark apartments and…


I quietly scream as a pair of eyes blink at me. I drop the glass of water, cover up my bare chest with my arms, and take a step back.

I can’t believe it:
There is a person on my fire escape!
And they are LOOKING in my window!

But then… I am also a curious creature. So, I step forward, hold my breath, and peer out the window once again.

There, blinking its eyes and moving its weird little fingers, is a fat, fluffy raccoon.

“Oh my gosh!” I whisper-yell at him, pointing my finger in scorn. “You’re what’s been on my roof. Stop playing with light fixtures!”

I swear on my life, that raccoon then smiled at me. And I couldn’t get over his hands: They were placed near his mouth where he was tapping his fingers together, like he was pondering the ending of a classic piece of literature. Or, like he was plotting my demise?

Alas, after about 20 seconds the raccoon grew tired of me. I laughed as his bushy butt pranced up the fire escape’s narrow stairs to his “loft.”

The next day I told Ryan about my encounter and decided to name the critter Kiku, after my favorite take-out sushi place. Upon meeting my upstairs neighbor, I also found the dragging to be more endearing—in fact, Kiku hasn’t played with light fixtures in weeks!

My only concern? I did hear on the local news that a feisty raccoon was captured and euthanized in my neighborhood a couple of days ago. The drama occurred only a few blocks from where I live.

I don’t think it was old Kiku—Brooklyn has its fair share of raccoons. But, now, I sit here in this apartment and wait for his scratches.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Apartment Tour

Here’s a quick look at the new apartment, per my mother’s request. We’re not done—but it's definitely beginning to feel like home.

What Are Some Ugly Truths About Living In New York City?

Note: I was originally asked this question by someone on Quora, a Q&A website.  

You get a bit jaded.

I think the same rings true for people living in other big cities, but it’s certainly a trend in New York.

When I first moved here, I would answer questions asked by strangers on the sidewalk, talk to people on the subway, give out money to the homeless, and even be excited by the street performers!

Now, if I see one more freaking mariachi band board the N train, or experience another “showtime showtime” dance performance, etc., I feel like my brain might explode. (Note: I still love the guy with the saxophone in Grand Central.)

I wear headphones more frequently. I watch when people are walking close behind me on the street. I carry mace. If someone approaches me, my first reaction is often, “don’t engage!”

I’ve been sexually assaulted on a walk home, and grabbed by strangers on the subway. I’ve been deceived, hurt, and scared while wondering the streets of this city over the last eight years. I’ve also met incredible people in the back of a cab, and chatted with a stranger at a bar until two in the morning.

So there is a constant inner battle: be the polite and whimsical me, or be the fierce and independent me who has learned to have a good scowl when needed.

But I think the ugly truth is…
All of the above doesn’t change my love for New York City in the slightest.


Park Slope, Brooklyn

Park Slope, Brooklyn

Tips for Traveling to New York

  • When I travel, I love getting a Lonely Planet guide book. The New York edition has information about the top spots to visit, places to eat in each neighborhood, and have opening/closing times for big attractions. It’s helpful, especially if you don’t have internet!

  • Consider getting a SIM card if you’re traveling from another country. I always prefer having Google Maps at my finger tips. Note: Read all of the fine print to make sure your phone is compatible.

  • See the view from the Empire State Building, visit NBC Studios, and watch a Broadway show. But make sure you get out of midtown and experience Lower Manhattan—or the boroughs!

Eleven Madison Park: What to Know Before You Go

I have a pretty average palate.

But I enjoy almost every type of meal, from caviar to Taco Bell. The only food that makes me really angry is unripe (and always prevalent) honeydew and cantaloupe—these should never be the main ingredients in a “fruit salad.” My husband, on the other hand, is more of a foodie and can appreciate the skill that goes into making a great dish or cocktail.

So for his birthday, I saved up some money and made a reservation at three-Michelin-starred restaurant Eleven Madison Park in New York City. It was voted the No. 1 Restaurant in the World in 2017 and was recently featured on Netflix series, “7 Days Out.” They’ve also printed several cookbooks,  recently renovated their kitchen, and have a team of “Dreamweavers”—people who overhear your conversations and try to surprise you with a small personalized gift.

Our review? Worth it—for people who love food, enjoy a long dining experience, and cherish excellent service. I appreciated every minute of sitting in this historic Art Deco building, sipping on cocktails, talking with staff, and spending time with my favorite foodie. I was positioned in the exact middle of the restaurant, facing the rest of the dining room. Waiters whooshed by with colorful plates. A champagne and wine cart clinked over to a nearby table. The Maître D' sat a family of six to my right, and a strange choreography of the server leading and the patron following bled into a memorable performance.  


Note: It’s damn expensive to eat here, so if tasting menus aren’t your thing, check out the bar—or visit one of NYC’s many other amazing restaurants. I invested in a meal at Eleven Madison Park because I was seeking a birthday experience for a food-loving guy. (And it’s actually not the most expensive chef’s menu in this crazy city we call home; currently that odd superlative goes to Per Se or Masa).

If you’re interested in dining at Eleven Madison Park, or just want to see some fun photos, keep on scrolling to see how the whole experience works. I’ve also sprinkled in some tips for getting the most out of your meal.


Online reservations open on the 1st of every month at 9 am EST for the following month. This means all of February’s reservations become available on January 1. They tend to book up quite quickly.


When you make a reservation, you also pre-pay for your dinner. I actually loved this because when we got the bill after our meal, I only had to pay for the cocktails we’d enjoyed that evening. And because I’d already been paying off my credit card, it made the experience seem less costly.


You cannot tip. Don’t even try—they will not accept your cash! Gratuity is built into the pre-paid bill. And even if you order drinks the night of, the same rules apply. There will be no line on your check for tipping.  


The restaurant gives you the option of putting your phone in a box at the beginning of the meal so you can be in the moment. I obviously did not partake (I needed a photo of my duck!), but my husband went phone-free. However, if you do a kitchen tour—more on that below—they will retrieve your phone for you. Had I’d known this, I may have relinquished my mobile. Maybe.

Eleven Madison Park - duck - new york city


We were at Eleven Madison Park for approximately four hours. Most patrons on Yelp said their experience lasted between three and four hours for the chef’s tasting menu. They will also bring out a bottle of brandy with the bill. You’re encouraged to enjoy as much of it as you would like—this probably added 20 extra minutes onto our meal. I wasn’t ready to go!

Dress Code

There is no dress code; you won’t be turned away for wearing a tee shirt. But the majority of people in the restaurant will be in business attire. The night we visited, most men had on jackets.

eleven madison park kitchen new york city

Kitchen Tour

A few days before your reservation, one of the Maître D’s will email you and see if you have any questions, special requests, etc. I explained we were celebrating my husband’s birthday and asked if they still offered behind-the-scenes tours of their kitchen. She said that the staff would try to meet the request—and they did! Based on our experience and on a few other blogs I read prior to booking, it seems that if you ask several days in advance, there’s a good chance you’ll receive a tour.

Kitchen Tour (cont.)

If you tour the kitchen, they will have some little treat waiting for you in the back. When we visited, they were testing a few spices with fizzy apple-based drinks. We played a game: could we match the right spice to the three sample shots? (I would just like to say, I won—my average palate and I were elated!)



Some of the courses will have two options—I highly recommend you and your partner order different dishes so you can sample the full menu. Our favorite dishes were the duck, the halibut, the mushroom presentation, and the cheese course. Our full menu on the night of January 10th was as follows:

  1. Dosa with black truffle and parmesan, potato salad with black truffle and black truffle tea (which was actually some sort of amazing broth)

  2. Caviar and soufflé with clam, leek, and potato

  3. Foie gras seared with beet and horseradish OR scallop cured with kohlrabi (similar to cabbage), sea urchin, and apple

  4. Halibut roasted with black shallot and shiitake mushroom OR lobster, butter-poached with a celery root and apple tart

  5. Golden oyster mushroom roasted with pine and coriander—wheeled to the table on a carving cart, like a steak

  6. Duck, honey and lavender glazed with Napa cabbage and pear OR a steak of some sort. We both went with their signature duck dish.

  7. Leeks with cheddar and parsley and winter squash with brown butter and thyme

  8. Harbison in a washed rind cheese fondue with mustard and pear

  9. Chocolate mousse and dark chocolate sorbet with chai and gingerbread OR pumpkin cake with butternut squash and sarsaparilla

  10. Chocolate-covered pretzel—which actually tasted a lot like chocolate-covered cookie dough ;)


The staff are very warm here; it’s a fine dining restaurant without the stiffness of some other places we’ve eaten. Take the time to hear what they have to say about each dish and ask questions. For us, this rapport was what really made the experience stand out. Also, they were truly listening to us—for dessert, candles were placed on Ryan’s plate. And a T. rex cardboard cutout was served with our chocolate-covered pretzel display because I’d told a member of the staff that I work at the Natural History Museum! All the personal touches are what made our evening so memorable.

My gift from the Dreamweavers!

My gift from the Dreamweavers!

Food is everything we are. It’s an extension of nationalist feeling, ethnic feeling, your personal history, your province, your region, your tribe, your grandma. It’s inseparable from those from the get-go.
— Anthony Bourdain

Goodbye to the Apartment on the Corner

I am standing on the corner of 4th Avenue in Brooklyn as cars and bikes fly by in both directions. My eyes are focused on the three-story brick walk-up on the far side of the road—that building is my current home.


601 Baltic Street is the only stand-alone, pre-war apartment complex left on our block—besides an abandoned building that has been “FOR SALE” for four years. Each unit in 601 has a wood-burning stove, brick walls, and squeaky wooden floors. Ours also came with the occasional mouse and seven glorious windows. Government housing is on the far end of our street, as well as a huge generator-powered floodlight that beams onto a concrete playground, complete with a plastic seal that shoots water in the air during summertime. In between our building and the projects is a luxury high rise—a studio apartment in this shiny castle will cost you $4,250 a month.

But soon, 601 Baltic will be ground up into brick dust and splinters. The landlord of our property is selling it to developers, and within a few years another costly condominium will be planted in the grave of our first home as a married couple.

Ryan and I do not make nearly enough money to rent one of the luxury apartments on our street—or even a regular unit within our ever-pricier neighborhood of Park Slope. And we make about $500 too much a year to qualify for the affordable housing units developers are required to include in their luxury buildings. So we started the housing hunt, seeking another walk-up with character, no doorman, and some proper graffiti on the block to make us feel right back at home.

Now, I am standing near the kitchen table in 601 Baltic.  

It’s May 2016 and we’ve just gotten back from an incredible three-hour dinner date in the city, complete with king crab and caviar. I look around the large room and think about how the studio apartment is (surprisingly) clean just as Ryan says something behind me. I turn, and he’s on one knee.

“Britney, you’re my best friend…”
“Is this HAPPENING?!”
“Yes,” he smiled. “You’re my best friend and I love you.”

Then I dropped to my knees, too. Both of us sat on the squeaky wooden floor of what was just his apartment at the time. He slipped a family heirloom ring on my finger—we laughed and cried and danced around the living room in glee. Not long after that, both of our families snuck up the stairs to #2F, truly surprising me to tears. We were engaged, and 601 Baltic was about to become my new home.


I am perched on the roof.

Looking at the water towers in the distance and soaking in the pink summer sky, I sip on a glass of cheap white wine and think, “what’s next?” It’s July 2017 and the advertising agency I work for has just closed its New York City office. The wedding and our honeymoon are beautiful, recent memories. But without a job, I’ve turned into a person who is permanently lost in thought. I want to do, make, create—and I’m not very good at sitting still. Each day I take a five-mile funemployment walk around the neighborhood, trying to move my legs and my brain. 601 Baltic has become both my prison and my haven. I walk away from its brick walls in the morning, only to return to its shelter by the afternoon with some new idea, exhausted albeit motivated.

The truth is, I can’t not talk to anyone for a whole day. I’m too extroverted and a sinking depression overtakes me around 3 p.m. But sometimes, I’d find a neighbor on the roof, or drink a cup of coffee and chat with a barista at the nearby café.  

And then, quite suddenly, I had a job. For the first few months, I happily worked long hours on the Upper West Side, throwing my once bored brain into a spasm of activity. But it surprised me that I missed my little apartment—and the ragtag community I’d created out of loneliness. 


I am opening the awkward metal door to our apartment and smiling.

People are always popping by for a nightcap or quick “hello.” We live down the road from our friends on Douglass Street, and we have visitors who stop in before heading farther out to Brooklyn’s Sunset Park neighborhood. Ryan keeps our bar stacked with whiskies, gins, tequilas, and other mysterious bottles. In the winter time, you’d find a fire roaring in our wood-burning stove. In summer, we’d take snacks up to the roof and watch the sky explode with color.   

Of all my memories of 601 Baltic, this is one I hope we get to replicate in our next home. We may not be off the prime subway stop anymore, but we deeply love our community and feed off of its energy.

Now, I am sitting on couch, typing.
I look up.
And I really look.  

I see visions of myself, Ryan, and our guests floating around the apartment. A spat near the kitchen counter when his alarm clock went off for an hour and a half. Laughter near the bar when a friend and I tried to replicate Ryan’s perfect Manhattans—with limited success. A kiss on my cheek near the door. An “I love you!” from the closed bathroom, shouted over the hair dryer. A debate about the metaphors of “Lolita” around the coffee table. And a cozy nap with my husband while it snowed in the spot where I’m currently reminiscing.

Homes change, and neighborhoods morph.
But I like to say goodbye to the places that I’ve loved.
So this is my farewell—and sincere thank you—to little 601 Baltic.

You had to keep on walking until you got home, and if your home is like mine—two rooms in which I could not seem to find a place for myself—you had to go out and start walking all over again. You had to walk and walk and walk until exhaustion set in, and once it did, home.
— Mary Cantwell, "Manhattan, When I was Young"

9-Day Italy Trip—Part 3: Cinque Terre

Welcome to Part 3 of our digital journey through Italy! This post will focus on our one-night stay in Cinque Terre. If you’re planning your own trip, be sure to check out my family’s Venice itineraryDuomo experience, and Florence tips. A guide for Tuscany and Rome will be published soon.  


This picturesque portion of Italy is comprised of five villages on the Italian Riviera: Monterosso al Mare, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore. Paths connect these villages, and one of the prime attractions of this region is hiking between the quaint and colorful towns. While once an isolated area that was difficult to access via most forms of transportation, trains now connect the villages to each other and to more central locations. Cinque Terre, which literally means “Five Lands,” didn’t become a popular tourism spot until the 1970s and has since been dubbed a UNESCO World Heritage Site and national park.

The village of Vernazza.

The village of Vernazza.


My family opted to hop a train from Florence to the largest of these villages, Monterosso al Mare, where we spent one night at La Cabana Hotel before heading to Rome. The quaint, family-run inn has gorgeous views of the Mediterranean, and the room price includes a sizable breakfast. My husband and I splurged on one of the “Junior Suites,” which included a terrace and hot tub. We liked the idea of having a place where the family could relax together. Monterosso also doesn’t have the same night life scene as some of the larger cities we were visiting, so the hot tub provided us a fun evening activity.

The hotel is situated above the main town and is about a five-minute drive from the train station. Free shuttle service to and from La Cabana are available via the front desk. You should coordinate with the staff before arrival to ensure a smooth check-in process—we had no issues scheduling an early morning car through the hotel. You’re also able to walk down to Monterosso’s main street thanks to a paved path through olive trees, but I wouldn’t recommend it with luggage. The walk takes approximately 10 minutes.

We really enjoyed our stay in Cinque Terre—it was a relaxing portion of our journey placed strategically between the busy days spent in Florence and Rome. While we loved our large and affordable Airbnbs, it was also enjoyable to have a somewhat luxurious night in a proper hotel—we didn’t have to take the trash out or strip the sheets before leaving!  



There are ferries and boats galore in Cinque Terre, and if the weather holds, I’d highly recommend seeing the five towns from the water. The Fitzgerald family hired Captain Stefano for a three-hour private boat tour—and it was such a success!

Just three sisters, exploring Cinque Terre by boat!

Just three sisters, exploring Cinque Terre by boat!

After checking into our hotel, we picked up (delicious) pasta to-go and a bottle of wine for our tour. Stefano met us at the main port—his boats always leave from Monterosso, which was the main reason we opted to stay in this village. He doesn’t mind if you bring snacks and beverages on his vessel, though we double-checked with him via email to be polite. 

It was slightly too cold to swim in mid-May, but we managed to see all of Cinque Terre’s five towns, explore two of them by foot, and learn about the history of the area. (If you opt to walk around a few of the villages, just know Stefano stays with the boat while you’re out and about.) 

The view from the village of Manarola.

The view from the village of Manarola.

The cost of our excursion was €100.00 x hour x boat and had to be paid in cash. This was very reasonable when divided between my party of seven (the max for one boat). We left a 20% tip, meaning each of us paid about $50 for a memorable afternoon with a hilarious, Italian captain.  

Lastly, some of my best pictures from Italy were snapped on the boat! The pastel-painted villages change colors in the setting sun, and the Mediterranean makes for a beautiful backdrop. Stefano explained to us that he has taken thousands of photos of Cinque Terre, but it never feels like quite enough.    


As mentioned above, the main attraction of Cinque Terre are the hikes between villages. Four of us opted to hike from the neighboring town of Vernazza back to Monterosso. (The other three were dropped off by our boat captain directly to the port of Monterosso.) The Blue Trail hike took us about 1 hour and 45 minutes, and was a little over 2 miles long.  

To enter the trail, look for signs to Monterosso and an ascending path along an alley above the church of Saint Margaret of Antioch. You’ll continue to climb up through olive trees and vineyards before the terrain levels out a third of the way through your journey. Be sure to turn around and snap a few shots of Vernazza before getting too deep into the forest!

The path can be somewhat uneven and a few spots are narrow. As your hike comes to an end and you begin to descend into town, you’ll see lemon trees and the roofs of Monterosso. 

Tips: Landslides shuttered some of the trails several years ago, and current weather can close certain paths. Be sure to check the status of your hike before taking off. This website and this website helped keep us up to date. I would also not suggest wearing flip-flops on the trail; I was very comfortable in these lightweight tennis shoes.   


We didn’t have time to complete the longer hike between Vernazza and Monterosso before sunset (you do not want to be on these old paths at night). But there is another trail option that will take you past two sanctuaries toward the top of the park. This hike is supposed to be around 3 hours and 30 minutes.


Looking for a historical spot to visit while in the town of Vernazza? Check out Castello Doria, the oldest surviving tower in Cinque Terre. It dates back to about the year 1000, and it offers up a beautiful 360-degree view of this Mediterranean village. The short but steep hike to Castello Doria will take you through winding paths of quaint, old houses. Once at the top, there is a 1.50 Euro entrance fee—be sure to have cash! Take the narrow staircase to the very top of the tower for one of the tallest views in town.   


  • Go to the beach in Monterosso—it’s the “beachiest” of the villages

  • Visit one of the nearby vineyards

  • Take a pesto-making class—this region is known for this sauce!

  • Go cliff jumping in Riomaggiore

  • Pick up regional goodies at Cantina du Sciacchetra in Monterosso

  • Check out views of Manarola while sipping wine at Nessun Dorma

  • Walk around the village cemeteries

Where to Eat


Don’t let the buffet-style counter and plastic dishes fool you—this place whipped up some of the creamiest pesto pasta I’ve ever eaten! There was no need for more toppings or salt; the regional pesto was perfection and the trofie pasta (a Northern Italy style-pasta that is twisted and made with a little potato) melted in my hungry mouth. We took our lunch to-go, and devoured it on our boat tour of Cinque Terre.  


After our hike back to Monterosso, we were famished and seeking another regional dish: seafood! So we went to Da Eraldo, and sat outside at a classic, Italian red and white checkered cloth table. We munched on cheese appetizers, sipped white wine, and ordered incredible seafood pasta dishes filled with prawns, squid, mussels, and salty garlic sauce. I also sampled Cinque Terre’s famous sardines, served with hunks of butter, slices of bread, prosciutto, pesto, and olive oil. This was one of our favorite meals of the trip.  


  • The weather is always changing here. In May, we wore jeans, short sleeves, and rain jackets.

  • As mentioned above, be sure to check which trails are open before starting your hiking journey.

  • Sometimes, when the trails are “closed” it really means the checkpoint isn’t open. Tourist information centers in the towns will have more information.

  • If you plan on hiking multiple trails and using public transportation, look into purchasing the Cinque Terre Card. It was unnecessary for us because we took a boat tour, but it could be useful if that’s not in your budget.

  • I love all of Rick Steves’ guide books—this pocket-sized one is for all of Cinque Terre.

And here’s a few more photos from our trip!

Who that has ever visited the borders of this classic sea, has not felt at the first sight of its waters a glow of reverent rapture akin to devotion, and an instinctive sensation of thanksgiving at being permitted to stand before these hallowed waves?
— Edward Forbes, The Natural History of the European Seas

The Nature of Home

There’s something special about getting off a plane in your hometown.

I traveled quite a bit this summer (at least, for someone who maintains a 9 to 5 job). The month of May kicked off with a 9-day family trip through the highlights of Italy: We took a gondola through Venice, tasted homegrown olive oil in Tuscany, and sat silent under the beauty of the Sistine Chapel.

There were also quick trips. We traveled to Wisconsin’s Door County with my husband’s family for a long weekend in August. The bunch of us snacked on cheese curds and explored quaint towns along Lake Michigan’s coast. The water comes right up to the Nugent’s cottage, so we grilled steaks and sipped whiskey while listening to the waves crash on the shore. My personal highlight? One morning, we went to a Swedish restaurant that employs four (live!) goats to sit on their sod roof and chew grass all day.

But as I said, there’s something special about getting off a plane in your hometown. And that’s what I did this past weekend.

As a child, the smell of Virginia must have been engrained into my mind. When the plane door opens, and I step foot into the makeshift walkway leading us to the airport gate, something deeply innate is always triggered. I am home, and there is no escaping the word.

New York is also my home.
Yes, you may have more than one.

After eight years of subway navigating, and hustling for a paycheck, and finding secret bars, and sucking up every culture and every type of food there is imaginable—I know where I find joy. It’s on a deserted street with a group of friends while we scream the lyrics to our favorite songs. It’s in a dark hotel bar. It’s on the rooftops of a Brooklyn apartment. It’s in one of the world’s top museums, or in the belly of the Broadway district on a Tuesday night when the rest of the world is thinking about work the next day, but we’re sneaking into a show and then hitting up the piano bar downtown. My New York Neverland is a bustling paradise that cannot be untangled from my city-loving soul.

But sometimes, I want to walk through grass without wearing shoes.
Or ride bikes to the river during golden hour.
Or not wear makeup—and let the salty, humid air style my unruly hair.  

“Dad, I need another bowl of butter!” We were cracking a bushel of 84 crabs in the backyard of my parent’s river house. Newspapers had been laid out over the table, and citronella candles burned as Mom dispersed Old Bay-doused shrimp to a dozen of us. The cicadas were making their summertime noise, and our dogs circled around the table looking for scraps. I’d already dissected six crustaceans and was about to smash the seventh to pieces. This task demands a knife, melted butter, a bowl of water to wash the “dead man” off, and some well-trained hands.

In this moment, it was my hands that struck me.

They moved quickly and without thought: Pull off the crab legs. Open the top shell and remove all the junk. Dunk ‘em in water; split him into two pieces and pick, pick, pick…

Inherent motions.
Hand movements that wait in the back of my brain to occasionally be released.
And then there’s that sweet smell of summer in Virginia, and the sounds of my family laughing around a table full of food.

I know I am lucky to have a place where I come from—and to have a growing list of "homes," including my husband’s childhood towns.


It is New York City that never ceases to make me feel like I’m always on the cusp of the next, great anything. I feed off of its collective energy, like a true extrovert. But, we all have nostalgic places that let us slip into our most comfortable “at ease” selves. And something inside of us yearns for a visit to those sacred locations every now and again—perhaps to "reboot," or to seek a peaceful moment.

Virginia is one of those places for me. 

We should come home from adventures, and perils, and discoveries every day with new experience and character.
— Henry David Thoreau

A Midsummer Night's Nostalgia

I am running. 

We’re in a field and the sunlight sprinkles my auburn hair, lighting it on fire. The neighbor’s unkempt flowers are crushed beneath our feet and dust gets kicked up from your bike. We’re about to go—I don’t remember where—but it doesn’t matter because going anywhere is enough and the thought of it all makes me giddy. 

I am climbing. 

Up the electrical box, over the old bowling alley’s wall, and onto the roof where our small view of our small town is all we could know or want. And it’s perfect when it begins to rain. The humid mist makes the empty parking lot look like a scene from a movie. We all scream in delight as water rushes over our dirty feet. But getting off the roof is hard. I fall from the sky to the ground and it hurts. You try to catch me, which is kind. (You always try to catch me.) Maybe we’re not invincible—but then again, that theory still needs testing. 

I am dancing. 

We’re in a backyard somewhere near the beach—the air tastes salty, like the sweat dripping off of all of us. There is music, and laughter, and a late, loud night that leads to a quiet sunrise. You hold my hand for longer than you should, but I don’t mind. We always love the people that will leap with us—to where, it doesn’t matter because, as I’ve already told you, anywhere is enough. 

I am walking. 

I love meandering through the East Village, and you don’t mind because it makes me smile. We get an egg cream from the old bodega on St. Marks and eat oysters for dinner. It’s humid and the apartment doesn’t have AC but you sit with me anyways because it feels nice to be still with somebody. I stare at your eyelashes while you take a nap, and I smile at the little golden strands that catch the light. 

I am crying. 

It’s early in the season but too warm, so my hair is pulled into a ponytail. I walk on 7th Street, unaware of what is lurking. The darkness suddenly grabs at my cotton dress and I scream over and over again. Police lights come twelve minutes later, and then I see the cold face that felt nothing. You comfort me as I sip on a soda at 3 am, and I hold your pinky finger while the detective asks questions about that walk home. It seems we are not invincible, after all. 

I am smiling.

I am walking toward you; you’re the one that I adore. It smells like roses, and there’s a line of mud on the hem of my dress. The air is heavy with Virginia's humidity. My spirit leaves my body for a moment and dances in the summer air, like a lightning bug in June. I am jealous of my own joy; I want to keep the moment in my pocket and pull it out to watch it again, and again, and again. But the sun sets, and we must move forward, forever altered. Where we go, it’s unknown, but going anywhere is enough.

I am summer. 

There’s a shade of pink only New York summers know. The color illuminates the countless brick buildings of our city, turning even a dingy facade into something briefly ethereal. Rose-tinted hues reflect off of thousands of glass windows in a display of blinding brilliance, right at the cusp of darkness. But even the light is not invincible to the night that swallows it. Still, each morning, she persists.

I am old. 

I don’t know if I’m alone—or maybe I’m with you? The end feels very much like the beginning, so I’m told. Ah, but it’s all the little bits in between... the dirty feet, the lightning bugs, the anywhere we went—the anywhere we’re going. 

And that vibrant shade of pink. 

summer new york britney fitzgerald

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.
— F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby