Summer

September 1, 2026

If that sexy Spanish butcher smiles at me one more time…

It was our last day in Granada and I found myself having a rare breakfast alone. After ten days traipsing through Spain with four teenagers, this moment was so unbelievably sacred. And now, made exponentially more interesting as I exchanged flirty eyes with Señor Carnisero across the mercado.

Ugh. If only I had more time…

But the train was leaving, and it was time for the next phase of my month-long summer sojourn.

(Surprise! She’s still traveling the world).

Now back in Miami, I’m reflecting on the highlights, lowlights and insights from my surprisingly adventurous summer.

Here we go.

Spain

I started a nonprofit program four years ago that takes students abroad every summer. And, as it is a passion project I do in my limited spare time, I honestly don’t know how I pull it off each year.

I guess I’m fueled by this idea that opening up the world to students will make the world better for everyone. Might be my optimistic delusion, but it keeps me putting on my fundraising hat and shaking my jazz hands for donations year after year.

Which brings me to Spain.

I chose Spain as our Summer 2026 destination for its safety, culture, and convenience. Nonstop from Miami, accessible in-country transportation, relatively safe and affordable, rich with diverse culture to explore.

And, Spain delivered on all fronts.

Of course, my painstaking planning also helped with the smooth running of the trip (pats herself on the back as she sips her celebratory sangria and types a secret “thank you” to her AI travel agent, “Chad”GPT).

What I didn’t plan for were the personalities.

From extreme jet lag to constant hunger, dietary disasters, nervous breakdowns, and terrifying teenage resting face, the group dynamics this year were, at times, difficult.

“What?!” cried my optimistic delusion. “Why don’t these teenage students (who’ve never traveled before and are spending 10 days in intimate proximity with total strangers in a foreign country completely out of their comfort zone) have boundless energy all day long, smile in awe at all the things, all the time, love all the exotic cuisine, never complain or feel uncomfortable, get along swimmingly with each other and express how utterly grateful they are for this opportunity every single minute of the trip?!”

Oh, right. I am delusional.

The truth is, traveling is hard for the most seasoned of us. And, as the program grows and more students take trips, navigating group dynamics will be just as important as navigating a new country.

But those are the moments of growth! And what I’ve learned as a trip leader is to be a gentle guide and then let the rest unfold.

And what actually unfolded in Spain was this: reflective conversations over family-style meals, inside jokes that made us laugh all day, endless landmark selfies, deep connections with locals, a flamenco experience that brought us to tears, a challenging but possibly life-changing hike in the Sierra Nevada mountains, our unforgettable last night bouncing to Bad Bunny in da club, and so so so much more.

Turns out, the trip was transformative. For all of us.

And, if I ever get back to that mercado and find my butcher boyfriend, holy chorizo! I may just live in Spain forever.

Tunisia

Arriving in the medina in the dark was a bad idea.

And even though I dressed conservatively, looked down, and made myself small, the walk to get some food felt foreboding. The stares from the doorways lingered. Conversations went silent as I passed by. Teenage boys on bikes, smirking, asked me, “Where are you from?”

I decided to lay low for the next few days. After all, I was exhausted from the Spain trip, it was hot as hell in North Africa, and my dar (or “house” in Arabic) was a sanctuary. Oh, and my male companion, Patrick, would arrive soon to make exploring a little easier as I waited for the next leg of my Tunisian trip.

So how did I end up in Tunisia in the first place?

That’s a great question.

My friend Christie, a fellow free spirit and world traveler, met a Tunisian man on a trip back in November. They fell in love, and she stayed. So I got to go visit my old friend in a new place.

Boop.

So, there I was. Squeezed in the back of a tiny rental car as Ismail, Christie and I set off on a 3-day road trip around the country. My only request? That I didn’t have to plan a thing.

We explored ancient caves, climbed the oldest olive tree in Africa, and made our way to the fabled island of Djerba where I spent the next 7 days delighting in the magic and mystic energy of this ancient realm. I enjoyed such activities as the never-ending entertainment of a traditional Tunisian wedding, dips in the delicious Dar Dhiafa pool and shopping sprees in the Houmt Souk.

Ismail’s warm parents welcomed me with open arms and endless plates of harissa-heavy fare that forced me into fabulous food comas.

As I let my belly settle, I listened to Ismail’s father tell the story of Odysseus and the Land of the Lotus-Eaters, whose intoxicating fruit made sailors forget their journey home and surrender to the pleasures of staying. His mother brought out sweet delights as she practiced her English with me. And Christie and Ismail exchanged glances like lovers as I basked in the conviviality of it all.

Fun fact: Djerba is the Land of the Lotus-Eaters. And by the end of the trip, I understood why.

Tunisia had me intoxicated. She was a slow burner, but once she was in, I forgot where I was going.

And although I didn’t make it out to the desert proper (too bloody hot!), or the ancient Berber towns just over the Roman bridge that connects Djerba to the mainland, or a traditional Tunisian hammam, I experienced enough to know why people stay.

But, alas. I couldn’t surrender to the pleasures of staying. I had a flight to catch.

Paris

Honey, Paris is having a moment!

To get to London, I had to stop in Paris. Poor me. But honestly, Paris has never bedazzled me. I’ve either gone with school tour groups (my nightmare), or as a teenager finding herself in unsavory situations (don’t ask).

So, I reluctantly decided to stay the night to break up the journey to London.

As I checked into my tiny Pigalle studio, I felt the unexpected breeze of possibility through the open window. The heatwave of 2026 had just ended, and Paris was left with a perfect 75-degree reprieve. I quickly changed and went downstairs to the corner cafe where I sipped an alfresco vin blanc and wistfully watched Paris pass me by.

When the couple beside me saw me struggle over what to order, the girl smiled and said in her beautiful French accent, “Don’t worry, everything here is wonderful.”

Yes, it certainly is!

I chitchatted with my new friends for the rest of the meal, and as they left, the man came back, slipped me his number, and told me to call him later to go out.

Well! Maybe I will.

I only made it a few blocks before I caught another handsome Frenchman staring and smiling. He started to walk away, then turned around and, quite literally, ran after me. “Excusez-moi, madame. Where are you headed?”

Gentlemen! S’il vous plaît! There’s only one of me to go around 😘

The Frenchman, whose name I cannot remember, offered to give me an authentic neighborhood tour. I thought, why not? The breeze of possibility was still blowing and he was charming enough.

So we strolled up and down the streets of Montmartre as he pointed to this building and that park and regaled me with tales only locals would know. We laughed at another American girl being guided through the rues by an equally charming Frenchman. How perfectly cliché.

At the end of the night, we shared a kiss and parted ways. After all, I had a train to catch the next day.

Au revoir, Frenchman. Merci for the walking tour. I’m sure you’ll find another Emily in Paris tomorrow.

As I floated back home, I felt that Paris had finally managed to bedazzle me.

London

The next day, Holly was so caught up in her Parisian bedazzlement that she managed to miss her train.

Classic.

From savoring the slow and delicious breakfast of my dreams, to a bit of shopping on Rue des Martyrs, to a final vin blanc at my new favorite cafe, I had sort of lost track of time.

When I was finally on my way to Gare du Nord, stuck in traffic, I resigned myself to missing my train but knew that Paris would work her magic.

And she did. The kind ticket agent booked me on the next Eurostar and I was on my way.

I spent the next few delightful days exploring Notting Hill and my other favorite London haunts. The weather was perfect and the World Cup buzz had spirits high! And speaking of high, I met with my old friend Tsunami Steve, who managed to make a perfectly civilized Notting Hill lunch quite the lively affair. But he brought me my bathing suit, so I indulged the chaos.

For the Fourth of July weekend, I joined my friends (and eternal UK hosts) Jo, Nate and their gorgeous baby, H, at their lovely country cottage. It was absolutely QUINTESSENTIAL! Crisps, pints, picnics, cricket, cuddles, bbq prawns, Independence Day screening, wildflower walks, winery hangs, lemon cake, laughs, love and GLORIOUS sunshine!

What did I do to deserve such a summer?

A transformative trip to Spain, an otherworldly adventure in Tunisia, an enchanting encounter with Paris and a delightful visit to my beloved London. My goodness.

And although the oppressive heat of a Miami summer makes me mostly miserable, I am always grateful that after exploring the world, this is where I come home.

Gracias, shukran, merci, and cheers to summer 2026. You were a good one.