On October 11, Carla and I are packing our bags again, this time for ten weeks in San Miguel de Allende and Oaxaca. The trip will look a little different from the long stretches we’ve grown used to, as we’re beginning to travel in shorter pieces and spend more time back home between them. Mexico felt like the perfect place to begin that new rhythm—close enough to feel easy, far enough to still feel like an adventure. And just as importantly, we’ll be home for the holidays.

Whenever Carla and I arrive in a new city, we’re drawn to its museums, ancient ruins, and magnificent buildings. I love seeing what people have created and preserved through the centuries. But the longer we travel, the more convinced I become that the most revealing museum in any city has no walls. It’s out on the streets, where everyday life unfolds and the people who live there continue adding their own stories to its history.

The Wonder of Wandering has a new home! We’ve completely updated our website to make it easier to navigate, easier to explore, and hopefully even more enjoyable to use. It’s a better way for us to share our stories from the road, along with our photos and videos from the places we’ve been. We hope you’ll stop by, wander around a bit, and see what catches your eye. And while you’re there, we’d love for you to subscribe to the blog so you’ll know whenever there’s something new

I’ve spent more hours than I could count sitting beside rivers, standing along shorelines, or looking out at the sea from an old stone wall somewhere. I’m usually taking photographs, of course. No surprise there. Eventually, though, I put the phone down and simply watch, because there’s a great deal happening in water even when it appears to be doing almost nothing.

It’s one of the stranger and more wonderful things about being a traveler. We stand in line to see cracked columns, broken walls, roofless temples, and stones that have spent thousands of years being worked over by wind, rain, war, and neglect. Then we photograph what remains from every possible angle and try to imagine the people who once moved through those places - what they believed, who they loved, and what kept them awake at night.

When I’m back in the States, I’m on a different kind of journey, and my grandchildren are such a big part of it. If I’m wise, I pay close attention to what they bring into my life, because I keep realizing that they touch something in me I don’t want to lose.

When you walk, the world has time to show itself. There’s the light on a building, the feel of a street, the little corner where people gather, or the old man taking his morning walk. You hear bits of conversation and catch the smell of coffee, fresh bread, or the sea if you’re lucky. None of this makes the news, but it does make the day feel more human.

After returning from our recent six-month journey, I’ve been feeling so much gratitude for this life Carla and I are able to live. I wanted to share some of that with you in the best way I know how. Thank you for taking the time to read this little tribute of thanks.

Carla and I will wrap up this chapter of our travels tomorrow, when we leave Chania, Greece, and begin our journey back to the States. We’ll stop in London for the weekend to see Carla’s sister, Eileen, and then we’ll head home for the summer. This segment of our travels began on December 8th in Turkey. From there, we made our way to Sicily, Montenegro, Croatia, and finally Greece. It has been a beautiful six months.

Imagine if someone you encountered today felt a little better because of something you said. Maybe they smile on the way home because of you. Maybe, later in the day, they remember your voice, not because you said something grand or profound, but because you noticed something in them. You noticed their effort. You noticed their kindness. You noticed the simple fact that they were trying. And for someone who needed to hear it, that can mean more than we know.

For Carla and me, there have always been two threads running through our travels. One is the simple desire to see and experience as much of this beautiful, complicated, astonishing world as we can . . . to meet new people, hear other languages, walk through unfamiliar towns, and experience the many different ways people live their lives. That part has always mattered to us. But there has been another thread running alongside it. We’ve also been looking for a new home.

Being back in Chania reminded me that places, like people, can have a soul. And Chania, perhaps more than anywhere we’ve been, wears its artistic soul openly. It also reminds me that a place can be beautiful in more than one way. There’s another layer we always hope to encounter, even if we don’t have words for it right away. But when it’s there, we know. It is the creative spirit of a place, the sense that imagination has found its way into daily life.

One of my greatest joys is photographing the places we visit. That probably comes as no surprise to those of you who have followed Carla and me as we have wandered over these past four years. I have been anything but shy about sharing my photos on Facebook, Instagram, and here on the blog, and I love this way of sharing our travels with others.

This is a busy week as we prepare to leave Montenegro and make our way to Greece, so I don’t have the time I usually like to spend refining this week’s blog. Instead, I’m leaving you with a visual parade of photos from our time in Montenegro. It is a gorgeous country, and I believe this little photo exhibition will be well worth your time. Next week, I’ll return to the regular blog. Thanks for understanding, and I hope you enjoy this beautiful visual tour of Montenegro.

Remember that old word from the 1960s . . . vibes? Well, the more Carla and I travel, the more I have come to believe that vibe of a place may be one of the most important parts of whether or not we enjoy being there. Maybe even the most important part.

I write a lot about our travels and how they affect us. For me, sharing our journey is about more than simply telling people where Carla and I are or what we happen to be doing. My hope is that something in it may resonate with you. Maybe it opens you to a place you had never thought of visiting before. Maybe it opens you to a different way of seeing your life. Or maybe it simply puts words to something you have already been feeling and, in that way, offers a little comfort o

Even as Carla and I travel through Europe, we remain very aware of the pain, division, and deep unease so present in the world right now. And sadly, so much of it seems to be coming from our home country, the United States. We do not look away from that, and we do not pretend it is not happening. It saddens us deeply. But travel has also shown us something else, just as clearly: how much beauty, kindness, tenderness, and love are still happening around us every single day.

Split, Croatia has something that matters just as much as beauty, maybe even more. It has an inviting feel. It is easy to feel at home here. The people have been friendly. The city has energy without feeling overwhelming. The promenade is lively and full of life. There is always something happening, always people out walking, sitting, talking, eating, and meeting.

Every evening, as the light softened and the day slowly gave way to night, people in Zadar, Croatia, gathered at the end of the promenade to watch the sun go down, accompanied by the haunting songs of the famous Sea Organ and the glowing light show of the Greeting to the Sun installation. They take their gorgeous sunsets seriously in Zadar, and that alone makes the town worth visiting.

Dubrovnik, Croatia is undeniably beautiful. Nearly every blog post or review about it is glowing, and it is easy to understand why. Its setting on the Adriatic is stunning, the old stone streets are striking, and the famous city walls are among the most intact and impressive in Europe, perhaps even the world. Walking those walls and looking out over the sea and the terracotta rooftops was a memorable experience. And yet . . .

In early April, Carla and I had planned to spend three weeks in Turkey, with time in Istanbul, Cappadocia, and the coastal town of Alaçatı. It was one of the parts of this journey we were most excited about. Turkey offers so much history, culture, and beauty, and we were eager to experience more of it. But over the past several days, we made the difficult decision to cancel that part of our trip. The reason is the war involving the United States, Israel, and Iran.

Just beyond the town, the mountains rise quickly and sit close enough that you can’t ignore them. They’re steep, rugged, and always present. When clouds move in, the peaks disappear. When the sky clears, they return just as suddenly. After a storm, they feel even larger and their color shifts. Their presence changes how you experience the town. You’re constantly aware of the power of the landscape and how surprising it feels to find a place this small and gentle tucked right

Both Carla and I love art. Wherever we travel, one of the first things we look for is the local art scene. We’re drawn to places where creativity is alive and visible, and where artists are part of the fabric of daily life. Art tells the story of a place in ways no guidebook or history book ever could. It carries emotion, memory, struggle, and beauty all at once. It shows you not just what happened, but how it felt.