Look. I came here for a bagel. Just a bagel. A humble little circle of carbs with some salmon and cream cheese, because sometimes you don’t need bells and whistles. Sometimes you just want breakfast that won’t fight back. Bethesda Bagels in Washington D.C., however, said: “Oh honey, no. You came for a snack, but you’re leaving with trauma.” The Bagel Credit where it’s due: the bagel itself? Solid. Chewy, flavorful, baked by someone who respects gluten. If you surgically removed it from the rest of the crime scene, you’d think, “Yeah, this is a nice bagel.” The Cream Cheese Debacle But
Tag: Tourism
The Smithsonian American Art Museum: A Roasting in Oil Paints
If you’re in D.C. and want to feel both deeply inspired and mildly haunted, the Smithsonian American Art Museum is your jam. It’s like wandering into America’s attic: some pieces are gorgeous heirlooms, some are historical oddities, and some are the kind of thing you stare at for five minutes wondering if you’re the problem. Spoiler: you’re not. Let’s break down some of the highlights. The Seasons of Life: Your Entire Existence in Four Frames The Seasons of Life paintings are so beautiful they should honestly come with a warning label: “Will cause an existential crisis by the third cavas.”
Touring the U.S. Capitol: Democracy, But Make It Theater
If you’ve ever wondered what it feels like to step into the literal beating heart of American democracy, the answer is… surprisingly like stepping onto the set of a very high-budget historical drama where everyone has memorized their lines except you. The U.S. Capitol is not just a building, it’s an architectural flex, a stage for politics, and the ultimate reminder that marble is apparently the official building material of freedom. Whether you’re a history nerd, a political junkie, or just someone who wanted an excuse to wear sensible shoes in D.C., here’s what it’s like to tour Congress. Step
Thought the Reflecting Pool Was a Giant Swimming Pool. I Wasn’t Totally Wrong.
You know how you grow up with these weird mental images of places you’ve never been? Like, you hear “Mount Rushmore” and picture four giant heads just chilling in a field like forgotten Easter Island statues. Or you hear “Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade” and imagine everyone in New York constantly tripping over inflatable Snoopy. For me, it was the Reflecting Pool in Washington, D.C. I had never been, but I was absolutely convinced that it was the biggest swimming pool in the world. Not “reflecting” like “thoughtful,” no. Reflecting, like, “the sun glints off my goggles while I do a killer backstroke
A Brief History of Washington, D.C. (aka how America’s capital became a hotbed of monuments, scandals, and overpriced sandwiches)
Washington, D.C.—that politically-charged swamp-turned-status-symbol where ambition goes to put on a tailored suit and yell into a microphone. But like every power player, this city has an origin story. So grab your metro card and a sensible pair of walking shoes, because we’re time-traveling through the surprisingly messy, mildly shady, and definitely weird history of America’s capital. The Birth of a City (That Nobody Really Wanted) Back in the late 1700s, America was still figuring things out. They’d kicked out the British, written some spicy new rules called the Constitution, and now they needed a capital. But choosing one? Nightmare
An Open Letter to Victoria, British Columbia (From a Tourist Who Was Just Going to “Pop In” and Accidentally Fell in Love)
Dear Victoria, You mischievous little imp. I came to you thinking, “Cute place. Bet I can knock it out in a weekend.” What I didn’t realize was that you’d quietly rearrange my internal compass, ruin me for every other small coastal city, and have me googling ferry schedules and real estate listings like I was starring in a Hallmark movie. Let’s start with the harbor. Are you kidding me with that view? Boats bouncing, seaplanes landing like it’s no big deal, seals occasionally popping up to say, “Hey, this is our neighborhood too.” Meanwhile, I’m standing there with a coffee and an
A Whirlwind Tour of the Royal British Columbia Museum (aka: I Tried to Be Cultured but Got Distracted by a Glowing Sea Lion)
Back in July 2017, my man and I took a trip to the Royal British Columbia Museum in Victoria, BC. And look—I’m ashamed to admit how long it took me to write about it. Because this place? Delightful. Absolutely, gloriously delightful. You know what wasn’t delightful? Realizing mid-selfie that the full name of the museum didn’t fit in the frame. That’s a lot of syllables, y’all. Let’s Start With a Confession I’m not what you’d call a museum scholar. My approach is more along the lines of: • Step 1: See shiny things. • Step 2: Gasp. • Step 3:
📸 That Time I Tried to Become an Egyptologist (But Mostly Took Pictures)
A Royal BC Museum Adventure | July 2017 ✨ The Grand Plan Back in July 2017, I had Big Main Character Energy. I was visiting the Royal British Columbia Museum in Victoria, BC, and I was fully prepared to emerge from the Egyptian exhibit with enough notes to write an academic paper. Maybe even a new career path? Kristen: Amateur Egyptologist. It had a nice ring to it. My intention? My reality? 📷 The Exhibit Was That Good Let me be clear: this wasn’t a failure of willpower — this was a failure of awe. From the moment I stepped into the exhibit, it was dimly
I Got Drunk on Truffles in Victoria, and Honestly? No Regrets.
I’ve made a lot of questionable decisions in my life. I’ve cut my own bangs. I’ve bought fancy skincare without checking the price tag. I’ve said “you too” to a waiter who told me to enjoy my meal. But this time? This time, I got drunk on truffles. Yes, chocolate truffles. With booze in them. This is not a metaphor. This is not an exaggeration. This is a cautionary tale wrapped in foil and filled with brandy. Enter: Chocolatiere de Victoria, a Dangerously Charming Chocolate Shop There I was, strolling through Victoria, British Columbia—land of tea rooms, mossy rooftops, and quiet streets
This “Castle” Has No Moat but All the Drama: A Visit to Craigdarroch
At the remains of what was once the grand entrance gate to Craigdarroch, I declared—arms spread wide like a low-budget Disney princess: “I’m going to see a castle!” Cue every Canadian, tourist, and possibly the squirrel perched on a nearby cedar going, “Well, technically…” Apparently, the entire population of the Western Hemisphere has been to Europe and now feels personally responsible for reminding others that real castles come with turrets, tapestries, and at least one vengeful ghost. Even the server at the Empress Hotel audibly sighed when I called Craigdarroch a castle. “It’s more of a mansion, really,” he said, dashing my fairytale moment with