Chancerne Co / Travel
I travel slowly. Not the romantic slow-travel marketing kind that means “stay in an artisan B&B for a week,” but the kind that shows up as lingering in a neighborhood until I can tell the story...
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I remember a winter evening in Lisbon when a plate of bacalhau com natas felt less like food and more like memory. It wasn’t the precise recipe that made it belong to that place; it was the light...
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I used to think ethical travel was a checklist: avoid obvious scams, don’t ride elephants, and book with the “green” company on Instagram. Over years of wandering and getting things wrong,...
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I learned the value of low-tech travel gear halfway up a wet ridge in Galicia, Spain, when my headlamp decided to die and all I had was a handkerchief, some hemp rope, and a stubborn sense of...
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I arrived in the city with a small bag, a cheap travel toothbrush, and a metal tin of watercolors I’d bought on a whim. The tin had twelve half-pans, a tiny brush with a bent ferrule, and...
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There’s a particular kind of attention that comes on board a train. It’s not the directed attention of a theater or the guarded attention of a commuter bus; it’s softer, more porous. You notice...
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I remember the first time I stayed in a ryokan—the traditional Japanese inn—feeling oddly exposed and oddly cocooned at the same time. The room was spare: tatami mats, low table, a sliding shoji...
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