For nearly 60 years, Let's Go has written and distributed Harvard student-written travel guides covering countries all across the globe.
You see them everywhere. When you walk out of your hostel. Passing by the outdoor seating area of a McDonald’s. Paired with an espresso. At the end of a long hike up Castle Hill. Overlooking the Côte d’Azur on the picturesque Promenade des Anglais.
Let’s just say that things were off to a rocky start. Don’t get me wrong—I read the guidelines for weight limits before leaving my house for the airport, but somehow, I managed to skip the part where the combined weight of my personal item and carry-on luggage had to be a maximum of 10 kilograms.
I went to Seville, Spain this semester with the hopes of learning Spanish—a familial duty I felt obligated to fulfill before I left for college, considering I was the only remaining Martín that did not know how to speak the language that our ancestors had once spoken with pride in the regions of Galicia and Castilla y León. What I stumbled upon was a new language entirely: flamenco.
...After the curtain had closed and both shows concluded, I was left with only one thought—thank God I had pregamed...
Because I, an RW, am constantly keeping up with current trends, I decided there was nothing for me to do but become a Galway Girl, using Ed Sheeran’s lyrics as a manual. Step one: play fiddle in an Irish band...
Some cities—your Londons and Parises of the world—have so many things to see and do that they don’t even have to try to attract visitors. Other smaller cities seriously amp up their tourism campaigns to convince young foreigners on their grand tour that it really is worth staying a few nights. One way to do this is to hitch your star to one famous thing.
I used to be convinced that squirrels were evil and plotting to take over the world. Or at least, there used to be a running joke in my family that I held such a conviction. I don’t remember how it started, but throughout my childhood, every time someone in my family saw a squirrel behaving even mildly out of the ordinary, I would be notified immediately.
His name was Seth, which either meant that he didn’t care enough about his job to adopt a flashy moniker or he didn’t need one. Other than the name, however, my tarot card reader looked the part: mysterious tattoos, gauges, dressed in all black. But still, if I had paid £10—they should give me something more exciting than Seth.
Full disclosure: I like eating weird food. It’s one of my favorite things about traveling. I’ve tried chicken feet in China (delicious), haggis in Scotland (somewhat less delicious), and pig intestines in Hong Kong (think really chewy, orange meat noodle). When I got to Iceland, I wasn’t really sure what to expect. After all, it’s normally the volcanoes, glaciers, and black-sand beaches that draw people to this island, not the food.
Both cities have plenty of history and are full of things to do. They both have the same monasteries, baptisteries, abbeys, or whatever other religious structure they could come up with in the 1300s. And both of their main architectural attractions are simply called “The Duomo” (they have real names, but I honestly doubt that many people even know that).
“Got 30 mins and a head to put a helmet on?”
“Hell yes I do.”
I arrived in Hamburg, Germany with a sinking feeling in my stomach. With the G20 Summit under way and the corresponding protests growing in scale, the city had become a hotbed of political and social tension. The night before I was set to travel to Hamburg from Cologne, I received an email from the train company I’d booked with saying that, because of the demonstrations, they were cancelling all train services to Hamburg.