Growing up in Buffalo meant that going to Toronto on school trips was inevitable. I don't remember much about them anymore, except for waiting on the side of the road when our bus broke down on the way home from seeing The Lion King—It's funny to think about what our childhood brains deem memorable. I was excited to have a large city nearby when we moved back to NY. I use Toronto as an escape when Buffalo feels too small.
A man followed me all the way from my home in West LA/Santa Monica to my office in Beverly Hills a few years ago. He boarded the bus with me, followed me around as I wove in between people and switched seats trying to lose him, and walked down Robertson Blvd behind me for 10 minutes, finally turning back once I stepped inside my building....
By the time we arrived in Scotland, we had been in Europe and in cities for 2 weeks. Our drive north into Scotland was leisurely, allowing us to stay in Gatehouse of Fleet near Castle Douglas the first night. We basically just opened Expedia and put a finger on a random hotel room, and we ended up loving it.
Duolingo tells me I'm 23% fluent, but that seems prettttty generous. All 3 years of high school French were ruined by a terrible teacher who pronounced everything like she was inventing a new language from her basement in Nebraska, and no one cares that I know how to say, "she sees a spider but she is calm," you know what I mean?
I found Loudon Wainwright's Therapy on vinyl shortly before I moved. I downloaded his digital discography a while ago, but for some reason hearing side A on vinyl conjured up childhood memories that were previously lost: playing in someone's driveway in the summer, presumably a party my parents went to.