This blog post will grow alongside our travels—a little collection of memorable moments that don’t have homes anywhere else. Think of it as a scrapbook of odds and ends. Enjoy!
Japan Stories:
We were traveling on a Shinkansen from Narita Airport to Osaka, where we’d be spending our first week in Japan. Unbeknownst to us, we accidentally sat in the reserved section. The seats were wider, quieter, and topped with white cloth bibs to keep them clean—an unexpected luxury we enjoyed for four or five stops.
Eventually, a conductor came through to check tickets. When he reached us, he simply said, “Ticket?” We proudly handed him our beautifully printed Shinkansen passes—thicker and more elegant than the flimsy train tickets we were used to in the U.S. He glanced at them, then at us, and politely said we were on the wrong train car and needed to move to Car 3. We were in Car 8.
So we gathered our backpacks from the seats beside us and pulled our stowed luggage down from the overhead racks. Hobbling after him through the speeding train felt surreal—slightly disorienting, almost like walking through a dream. We stumbled past passengers, trying not to bump into anyone, feeling a little embarrassed as we made our way through the cars.
When we finally reached Car 3, it was noticeably more crowded—clearly the unreserved section. We found two open seats across the aisle from a kind-looking Japanese man. Not long after settling in, Mt. Fuji came into view. I glanced across the aisle to see it through his window. He noticed me looking, smiled, and immediately stood up so I could take his seat and snap a picture. He even took out his phone and joined in, capturing photos of the view himself.
I don’t know where he is now, but I wish him well. His small act of kindness made a disorienting moment feel warm and memorable. It was the kind of gesture that sticks with you.
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During our stay in Osaka, we planned a day trip to Nara Park to see the famous deer that roam freely through its temple grounds. On our way there, we boarded the metro—and just after we found our spot, a little girl, probably around six or eight years old, stepped onto the train.
She had a sleek black bob and wore a bright red randoseru backpack that looked almost half her size. Despite her small frame, she moved with quiet confidence, walking straight over to a clean metro seat like she’d done it a hundred times before. She sat down, leaned back until her head rested on the top of her backpack, and promptly fell asleep.
Every few stops, she’d stir just slightly—shifting her weight or adjusting her posture—then doze off again, undisturbed by the motion of the train or the murmurs of passengers around her. It was as if the metro was an extension of her world, safe and familiar.
About thirty minutes later, right on cue, she suddenly sat upright, stretched a bit, and walked off the train like it was the most normal thing in the world. No hesitation, no looking back.
I’d never seen someone so young ride public transit alone, let alone nap on it so peacefully. In a city that felt so new to us, watching her navigate it so effortlessly was both surprising and oddly comforting.
Thailand Stories:
John and I were out for a walk one night in Bangkok, drawn by the cool air and the calm that settled over the city after the shops had closed. The temple housing the reclining Buddha shimmered under the streetlights, its ornate rooftops catching the glow and sparkling in the quiet. As we wandered, we passed a gate leading into a small shed-like area. There, on the sidewalk, a woman sat gently filling bowls with cat food, sliding them through the bars for the two cats that lived inside. It was so kind – the perfect example of how locals treated the stray cats around Ralph Bangkok, the hostel where we were staying. I love cats, so it was sweet seeing someone go out of their way to make sure these two were fed.
Bali Stories:
We landed at Ngurah Rai Airport in Bali at 1am on March 24th, bleary-eyed and sleep deprived. As we taxied on the tarmac, the flight attendant announced over the loudspeaker, “please be aware that bringing heavy narcotics into Bali is a crime punishable by death. Also, please remember to fill out your health declaration and customs forms. Welcome to Bali.” John and I looked at each other thinking, way to just slip that information in there lady. We quickly got out our phones to fill out the necessary forms to make it out of the airport smoothly. Then once it was safe to do so, we collected our bags from the overhead compartments and exited the plane.
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John was driving Scoopy, our black-and-silver scooter rental, through the Amora Huts area with me riding on the back as his trusty passenger princess. His phone was clipped to the handlebars, guiding us to Secret Beach — a tucked-away gem on Nusa Ceningan. We passed little roadside shops selling everything from snacks to beachwear, and locals perched on stools outside either stared, nodded, or ignored us entirely.
We reached a bumpy stretch of road near a makeshift wooden garage where scooters were parked. I pointed and said, “We could just park here,” as John rolled up beside it. The engine was still softly humming as we debated our next move when a man on a white scooter appeared out of nowhere.
He pulled up beside us and asked, “Where are you going?”
“Secret Beach,” John replied.
“Come, I’ll show you.”
I had already hopped off the scooter, and the man patted the back of his seat, motioning for me to get on. I shook my head and said, “I’ll ride on ours,” climbing back onto Scoopy. Without another word, he turned and started up the gravel path like it was second nature, trusting we’d follow. John and I exchanged a look, shrugged, and took off after him.
Without turning around, John said, “I read there’s a guy who patrols these trails offering to guide people and then asks for money.”
“Huh,” I said. “I wonder if that’s him.”
“I wonder,” John said.
We followed him until he pulled off into a small dirt clearing surrounded by trees, where a narrow path led down toward the beach. We parked and walked together toward the stone path leading down.
He stopped and asked where we were from. “America,” we said.
He looked at us both and smiled. “You are very beautiful,” he said to me, then turned to John and added, “And you are very handsome.”
Then he asked, “How long have you been dating?” but John misheard and thought he asked how long we’d been in Bali.
“Oh, a few days,” John replied.
Realizing the mix-up, John then asked, “Should I give you a little something for helping us?”
The man nodded. “Yes.”
John reached into his man purse and handed him a small amount of IDR. We both thanked him, he gave a little bow, and just like that, we parted ways — us heading down the path to the beach, and him riding off into the trees.
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It was the day before our flight to Australia, and we decided to head to the Discovery Mall in Kuta to stock up on supplies. The mall was massive, with a mix of local Balinese shops and big-name chains. John was on the hunt for an insulated bag to keep his Royal Jelly cool on the plane, while I was looking for a pair of shorts and some razor blades.
We ended up in the food court, and to our surprise, we could see the ocean through the doors. They opened out onto a basketball court and a wide cement plaza—and just beyond that, the sea. We ordered smoothie drinks, and while we were waiting, I noticed a man at a table wearing a University of Vermont (UVM) basketball shirt. Naturally, I had to ask if he went to UVM. He said no, but the two women he was with chimed in. Both were doctors, and one was also working on her master’s. She mentioned she’d been to the U.S. a few times and knew people who went to UVM. Apparently, a surprising number of Indonesians study there, though she didn’t specify in what field.
While we were talking, there was a person nearby in a kawaii cat/rabbit hybrid mascot costume—just jiggling. That’s really the only way to describe it. They bounced in place nonstop, showing off the costume, which was apparently for sale. There was no music, just endless jiggling in the middle of the mall. People walked by and dropped money into a donation box, and the mascot would wave in return. It was bizarrely hilarious.
One of the doctors told me she was considering a PhD but was leaning away from the U.S. because of the current political climate, and thinking more about the UK instead. I could understand that. Once our smoothies were ready, we thanked them for a good conversation, and made our way outside toward the beach. As we got up, the same doctor asked if we were staying for the show. We said yes—though we had no idea what she meant.
Later, we discovered it was a free Balinese dance performance, complete with fire dancers, hip hop, and more, all taking place on the courtyard with the ocean as the backdrop. It turned out to be a magical end to the evening.
Vietnam Stories:
I was heading back to John after putting my sunglasses in a locker for safekeeping at Phu Quoc’s Aquatopia Water Park, when something caught my eye near the splash pad. A dad was holding his baby close to his chest, running back and forth through the fountains. Each time they passed through the sprays, he’d pause, look at her, and say something—probably the equivalent of “again?” in their language—and she would erupt into giggles, her whole body shaking with joy. Then off they’d go, dashing through the water once more. She was having the time of her life. To them, it was like they were the only people who existed in that moment. It was such a sweet and happy thing to have witnessed.
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John and I were walking through Swan Lake Park in Hanoi—a lovely little trail that circles a central pond. The path was lined with palm trees and, to our surprise, had the first public trash cans we’d seen since arriving in Vietnam. There was a bright patch of flowers, plenty of swans, and then, unexpectedly, a small farm tucked off to the side.
There were peacocks, a pig, and a donkey, each in their own pen along a side path that veered off the main trail. I thought, Oh cool! but John didn’t want to risk interacting with farm animals since we were going to Thailand next, so I wandered over alone.
As I looked around for someone to ask if I could pet the donkey, a group of five middle school-aged kids appeared from behind one of the huts. They wore matching uniforms and badges around their necks and walked over to the donkey. One of the girls approached me with a curious look and said, “Hello.”
“Hello,” I replied, pointing to the donkey. “Yours?”
She giggled, said nothing, and handed me a small bunch of grass to feed him. I took the grass and fed the donkey, then turned back to the group—now all five kids had gathered around—and said, “Thank you, bye-bye!” They all waved and said a chorus of enthusiastic “bye-byes”. I walked back to John, who was waiting on a bench, and told him all about it.
Love these…short and sweet!