That was the way I pitched my travel series, Who Knows Where, to Matador Network, a prominent online digital media company that was launching their own Original Series section.

The year was 2 BCE—Before Covid Era, aka 2018— and I, naive and hungry, proposed a laughingly low budget ($3200 for all costs and fees). They said yes, and I got to live out my dream.

The first episode was in Nepal. I roped in my sister-in-law to come as a producer by paying for her ticket (and there went most of my fee). We trekked up to Annapurna Base Camp, I did a segment on looking for tampons in a mountain village, we ran out of cash on the way—it was chaotic and a fucking blast.

I spent weeks editing the episode, the first 20 minute video I’d ever made start to finish. Soon after it came out, Matador shuttered their Original Series division. That was a real bummer. But I had gotten a taste for this life and I wasn’t going to let it slip out of my hands that easily. Matador was dragging their heels about paying for any more episodes—but were, of course, happy to distribute them for free.1

I rationalized this terrible agreement because it meant I didn’t have to grow my own social media following, something I had no interest in doing. I could leverage Matador’s massive audience, get eyeballs on my work and use it as a jumping off point for future, paid work.

So that’s how, one year later, I came to be working as a freelance videographer for a pharma company in Boston that was so cash rich they were blowing tens of thousands of dollars on internal training videos that no one watched. This soul sucking year was all part of the grand master plan. I’d fry my brain editing videos about inappropriate touching and then switch project files to work on Who Knows Where.

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Matador sure as hell wasn’t paying me, but I was going to make sure that everyone else got paid. I hired my very talented friend, Naima Maleika, as filmmaker. I licensed music from real musicians from the actual country of the episode. This was not going to look like some slap shot YouTube vlogging crap. This was going to be a legit series.

For the second episode, Naima and I traveled to Vietnam, where I rode a motorbike from Saigon to Hanoi over two weeks. I produced a mini-episode in Aruba, where I ate my way around the island while trying out a menstrual cup for the first time.

And my plan was working. Who Knows Where was some of the top watched content on Matador Network. I got great feedback and was improving my storytelling chops with each episode. Was I angry when they showcased me during Women’s History Month while they were still refusing to pay me for content? Yes. But they held the key to an audience I didn’t want to build on my own. And that was, maybe, hopefully, fingers crossed, going to be worth it.

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After my year in pharma, 2020 was my year of going all-in on Who Knows Where. Which meant that Naima and I were bumping along on a dogsled in Greenland, completely cut off from the outside world, when coronavirus spread across the globe. On Friday March 13th, we parked the sled in Kangerlussuaq’s dogtown and turned on our phones to find out that Denmark had closed its borders that morning. Naima managed to get on the last flight back to South Africa. I chose to wait it out in Greenland a bit longer rather than risk getting stuck in an airport (Tom Hanks The Terminal style) on my way back to the US.

While going slightly crazy in an apartment in Nuuk, I realized that if Matador wasn’t going to pay me pre-pandemic, they were never going to pay me ever in my entire life. It was time to build my own following. I broadcast my slide into isolation-provoked delusion in Greenland, followed by my work with the South Greenland tourism board once restrictions were lifted2. As one of the few people able to travel during the early months of the pandemic, my content flourished. A little boost from @nytimestravel helped.

I returned to the U.S. at the end of June 2020. The Greenland episode of Who Knows Where came out a few months later. Unable to continue the series due to lockdowns and delta waves and second lockdowns, I turned to short form content on TikTok and, later, Instagram. Growth in my following led to me wondering what in the world to do with it. In 2022, two major things happen: I organized and led my first group trips in Greece—and Preet Chandi completed a historic journey in Antarctica. These events would lead me to launch my own adventure trip company, the Adventure Better Club, and to become the first American woman to ski solo unsupported to the South Pole.

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My plan for Who Knows Where—to self-fund a show that was beautiful, funny, and paid everyone involved—filled my soul-cup but drained my bank account. It was the definition of an unsustainable business model. And yet, I’m so proud of it. If the pandemic hadn’t rerouted our lives, I wonder where it might have taken me. Would I have been happy with some corporate version of my travel series life? I think in a way, I got to live out the most idyllic version of it, when you’re all perspiration, inspiration and effort without the harsh reality of Making Money. I never earned a cent but I made something really, really good.

Writing this now, the parallel to my polar expedition is glaring. I never managed to find even one sponsor for my South Pole expedition. I ended up crowd funding a third, fundraising with expedition patches for another chunk and self-funding the rest out of my savings. That’s a through line of being a bitch who won’t take no for an answer. And it makes me proud to realize I’ve got things done despite the powers that be withholding their blessings (and funds). So I guess I’ve written this all to say: if you’re working on your dream and no one is paying you to get it done—or you completed your dream and still no one is paying you—you’re not alone. Maybe it’ll happen one day, maybe it won’t. But the creating is the point and it is so fucking worth it.

📚 The links for the books are to my bookshop storefront. Buying via these links means I get a little perk for pointing you towards buying your next read from an independent bookstore.

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books

438 DAYS : An extraordinary true story of survival at sea

Jonathan Franklin

The true story of how fisherman Salvador Alvarenga got swept out to sea in a storm and DRIFTED 6,000 miles across the Pacific Ocean. The back cover got ripped off while sloshing around in my tote because I kept carrying it around with me in case I could steal a moment to keep reading.

THE COMFORT CRISIS: Embrace discomfort to reclaim your wild, happy, healthy self

Michael Easter

I loved the ideas behind this. I couldn’t help but notice that out of all the people he talks to and cites (and there’s a lot of research in this book!) only a smattering are women. It had me wanting to wring his neck a bit. Michael, if you need some examples of women who do hard things, just let me know :)

THIS ROAD I RIDE: Sometimes it takes losing everything to find yourself

Juliana Buhring

Love a story of a woman doing something hard that she’s not over prepared for!! Juliana rode around the world after the death of her friend (lover?).

INTIMACIES

Katie Kitamura

I liked it, but I didn’t love it. I can fully acknowledge if I had read this in a different headspace, I might have enjoyed it a lot more. I’ve been reading a ton of memoir-style books where a lot happens and this style is more like…not much happens, but it’s beautifully written and thoughtful.

If you like books, subscribe (for free) to join our Polar Book Club in the chat. This month, we’re reading Madhouse at the End of the Earth.

essays & articles

This NPR piece about Nepali-speaking Bhutanese refugees playing soccer and handling the deportation horror show in the US.

This continues to be the most satisfying read about modern day polar exploration (if you like juicy gossip, that is).

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I get this question a lot, and I’m always thrilled to answer it.

If only my 6th grade self—the same one who hid a tampon down her pants to walk to the bathroom—knew I would be publicly publishing about bleeding all over Antarctica.

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Getting your period while on expedition is an experience with many layers: practical, logistical, physical and hormonal. Because of this, many people choose to take medicine to stop their cycle while they are in the field. This is totally valid. As periods go, mine is not so bad so I’ve gone the au naturel route of letting it be. This means I have bled in many a pair of woolen underwear and tried various in-the-field options.

If you want the quick answer of what I did while on expedition in Antarctica: I used a menstrual cup.

If you want the gory details, keep reading.

🚨 If you’re sensitive to images of blood, maybe skip this one.

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🥾 I skied solo to the South Pole but my group trips are a lot more fun :) Come travel with me via the Adventure Better Club.

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Kelsey is incredible, her accomplishment VERY newsworthy and reading about her dragged me through a fiery hellscape this week.

Earlier this year I became the first American woman to ski solo and unsupported to the South Pole. The New York Times did not write about me. And not because I didn’t try. I hounded journalists from all the national outlets, stalking them on Instagram, checking in with them again and again. I tried really hard to get on a morning show. I got some nibbles and some wins—People, Forbes, The U.K.’s Metro—but mostly only New England cared about me. My biggest win, which was absolutely fucking awesome, was getting on the front page of the Boston Globe both before I set off and when I returned home triumphant. Print might be dead but seeing my face on the front page made me feel like I had really lived.

But I didn’t have this sort of runaway train of press that both Kelsey and Cole Brauer1 appear to have experienced. Whatever press I received, I worked quite desperately to snag. Perhaps they themselves pitched all these outlets, or their team did. Regardless, this week, I had to stop checking Instagram because the recurring headline of FIRST AMERICAN WOMAN made my stomach curdle itself in the acidic juices of envy.

I want to be a champion for other women doing cool shit so my reaction not only hurts my ego but also offends my own sense of self. How can I be such a narcissistic bitch about this? This is not about me. And yet, I can’t even read the articles about Kelsey. It took a lot of teeth gritting to get the smidge of research I needed to write this. All I see are the parallels between my story and hers and the quippy soundbites I didn’t get to give about empowering women to try hard things.

Every little bit helps: If a paid subscription isn’t the right fit, no worries at all. Honestly, just reading along means a lot. If you’d like to support my work, the best free ways are to subscribe, tap the ❤️, leave a comment, or share a post with someone you think would enjoy it. It all helps this little project reach more people, and I’m genuinely grateful for every bit of it.

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I’ve tried to approach my jealousy rationally. Is there a lesson to be learned going forward?

According to Outside2, Kelsey used Starlink for internet access (as did Cole). Could I have done the same? Possibly. Antarctic expeditions are beginning to test out Starlink devices. The question is a bit more complicated in the polar regions because of the extreme cold, which drains batteries, and the nature of sled-pulling, which means every ounce must be pulled by your own hips day after day.

As it were, I was disconnected from most of the world for 57 days. Via my Garmin and satellite phone, I could text with family. But the waiting period for satellites to ping the messages back and forth meant I usually sent out an update in the evening and read responses when I woke up. The messages got split up into 140 character texts and would often arrive out of order. None of this encouraged much back and forth. I had no access to the internet, the news, or social media—and I could not send video.

Unable to post in real time, I didn’t gain any significant number of followers while I was on the expedition, despite getting very creative. Once I was back, I posted my daily video updates, which were quite successful (a video of me explaining my 2-month fungal infection got 3 million views) but not gaining-300k-followers successful.

I do know it would have radically changed my expedition and my training were I to have the connection that Starlink provides. I remember coming back online after crossing Greenland3 feeling like my brain cells had been rearranged. It was my first time since college being without the world in my pocket. There was no need to resist the urge to check Instagram because there was no Instagram. On Day 15, I had my first epiphany—which is honestly not too strong a word for it. I knew exactly what I wanted from life and what I needed to do to achieve it. All the other bullshit just dropped away. After 30 days, I came off the ice cap with my concentration restored, my phone addiction cured and a focused energy I hadn’t felt since I was a kid.

I was so shellshocked by the change, and so reluctant to lose what I had learned, that I didn’t return to social media—which is a major part of my livelihood—for six months. And the modern world has been dragging me back into its clutches ever since. I can sleep with my phone in the kitchen, limit my screen time, read every morning, but nothing’s been the same as when I was on expedition.

But if Starlink had been easily accessible and lightweight, could I have resisted bringing it? Would I trade that isolation for the chance to have all the press coverage of my dreams? With that level of coverage and increase in followers comes opportunities—book deals, speaking engagements, getting off Raya’s waitlist—and it is perhaps the best way to ensure there will be another expedition in the future.

I have no clue if Kelsey was scrolling Instagram before bed on the boat. With limited electricity and time, perhaps she only turned it on to send out her videos and updates. Maybe Kelsey is perfect and she’s not addicted to her phone so this is no big deal for her.

If I had had access to social media while on the expedition in Antarctica, I would have been posting in real time. I also would have spent some time in my sleeping bag scrolling, checking in with friends, and spying on my exes. Something would have been gained (perhaps 300k followers), but something would have also been lost.

I wish the system we’ve created, this monstrosity of the followers and the followed, was different. I wish when people asked me “Why weren’t you on Good Morning America?” I didn’t hear them saying “What did you do wrong?”. I wish we weren’t in this closed loop where what gets attention online becomes what gets attention in the media.

While going through my father’s laptop—icymi he died—I found a Word document labeled “My Death”. It began: “If you’re reading this, I have died. I am dead!” It was an obituary, of sorts, detailing his wishes for his own funeral, among other topics. He began it over a decade ago and never finished. In the first paragraph, he mentioned he would be writing each of us, his children, a letter. Instead, he wrote pages and pages detailing his career history. Why he was passed over for this promotion, how that lateral move led to a business ahead of its time that flopped, the few moments he felt success within his grasp, the more often times it was stolen from him. He was bitter about everything he didn’t get. And all I wanted to know was where my fucking letter was. I don’t think it exists.

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I don’t want to be bitter. I don’t want to be the swamp monster gurgling about what I should have gotten. I don’t want to be the person writing about my career instead of my loved ones. And let’s be honest about what’s happening here. It stabs me to see the news of these first American women getting picked up so easily when I wasn’t able to get these same big names to care because it echoes deep in the darkness of an original hurt, the stuff that happens to us when we’re young and we carry into adulthood. It makes me feel unlovable.

And that’s on me. That’s my own shit to deal with. I’ve seen first hand how any success just moves the goal posts. Once you get local press, you aim for national. Once you have 50k followers, you want 100k. As much as I want to believe that getting that level of press will change my life, the true life-changing experience is the one I already had. The one where I chose everyday to pursue a goal that seemed impossible, and then I fucking did it.

Today I sat on the back of a motorbike, music in my ears, Kathmandu blurring by, and remembered I am, deeply and truly, content4. Content with who I’ve become, how I spend my time—who I spend it with—and no amount of press would make it fundamentally better. There’s no denying it would have been the cherry on top—but I know the cherry is quickly forgotten once you’re digging into the sundae below. So, I’ll keep digging into the sundae I’ve got and, maybe next time, it will come with a cherry.

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On January 18, 2026, I became the first American woman to ski solo and unsupported to the South Pole. Over the course of eight weeks, I skied through whiteouts that lasted for days, temperatures as low as -40C/F, and winds up to 50 mph. By the time I reached the South Pole, I’d lost 30lbs—an average of ½ lb per day—despite eating close to 5,000 calories each day.

While January 18th marked the end of the expedition, it was also the beginning of something else. Something much more amorphous and slippery than the straightforward trajectory of my expedition training.

What the fuck do you do after you’ve achieved the biggest goal of your life?

I reached the South Pole 23 years earlier—to the day!—that I stood on a bimah in Wayland, MA and recited the haftorah for my bat mitzvah. As a thirteen year old, I memorized my Torah portion, stumbled through singing in public, ate chicken fingers at my Parisian themed party and—voila!—I was an adult. Or at least, that’s what everyone told me.

And now, almost a quarter of a century later, I’m at the crossroads of another transition, but I don’t have the roadmap of thousands of years of tradition to rely on.

For my body, it’s easy. Give it rest, give it food, give it time. I am a naturally lazy person; rest comes easy to me. I averaged 50,000 steps a day from November 23 to January 18. My first week post expedition, my average dropped to 500 steps a day.

After spending 57 days not only alone but hyper-focused in this singular experience, it would have been difficult to jump straight back into a social life. Luckily, I spent February and March in New England, where I am essentially a nomadic hermit shuttling from my mom’s to my brother’s house. By the time I returned to my apartment in Kathmandu, where most of my social life resides, I was four months post expedition and ready to unfurl my social butterfly wings.

If you’re wondering why I live in Kathmandu, check out the post below

My return to physical activity was slow and humbling. I had begun to go for walks while still in New England. When that began to feel easy, I did a simple body-weight-only ten minute workout and had to lower myself onto the toilet like a pommel horse Olympian for the next four days. Prior to the expedition, this workout had been my warmup.

But my muscles jumped back into it quickly enough after the initial aftershocks. Back in Kathmandu, I’ve stunned myself by voluntarily, willingly, working out six days a week. I alternate strength training with easy runs, using Sunday as either a long run or long walk day. I’m not training for anything in particular and I’m much more lenient with skipping a workout, but after 2+ years of training, it appears my body actively craves this daily movement. This past week, I finished a 10-day trek through Nepal’s Nar Phu Valley, my first major physical activity since returning from Antarctica.

A Housekeeping Interlude

Did you see we now have a Polar Book Club?! It’s available for all subscribers, including free. We just discussed our first pick (including the one passage that made me cringe hardcore) here. I’ll announce next month’s book—one of my polar history faves—on Monday.

And now, the mental side of recovery.

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respectfully befuddled

to the immediate no

honorable mention to my favorite go-to response when someone tells me I have big balls

The “why?!” of it all is understandable and hard to answer.

My teenage years included a lot of movement, change, uncertainty and hyper-independence. Did this set me up for a semi-nomadic adulthood? Probably.

But when I decided to move to South Africa at the age of thirteen, I remember having to bite back my smile while my best friends sobbed on the other side of security. I was so excited! Even though the move was mired in the noise of a truly Hard Time, there was something within me that saw the obstacle ahead and lit up.

Does that mean I was born with something inside me, some ineffable trait that made me predisposed to taking on challenges? I have no clue. It definitely wasn’t cultivated during my cushy pre-teen years in the predominately white, predominately well-off Boston suburb I grew up in.

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There’s so much layered into the entire experience. The performative mourning, the actual mourning, the bureaucracy, the logistics, the absurdity, the love, the disappointment, the mundane and the sublime.

For many years, I’ve seen life through the lens of a daughter with an aging parent. We knew my father had been declining for the past four years. Reflecting back, he was probably losing mental acuity before even that. What we thought was just an annoying dad with annoying, repetitive questions—What’s an Instagram post again?—were most likely signs of the mental decline before we knew to look for them.

For the past three years, my father had at-home 24/7 care from a team of Brazilian women. [sidenote: if anyone needs caregivers in the Boston area, I can pass on the holy grail that is their contact]. Making space and time to see him was almost never easy. The conversations that had been the hallmark of our relationship were no longer possible. In their place were stilted half-discussions. I would talk about what was going on in my life, a life that felt ridiculously lush compared to my father’s housebound existence. He would constantly apologize for the brain fog that kept him from remembering the question he wanted to ask, or for ending a sentence half-finished.

When he stopped attempting conversation at all, it made things easier. We could sit in silence and watch movies. Father of the Bride, The Little Mermaid, The Pitt.

When I left for Nepal at the end of March, I said goodbye to my dad, knowing it could be the last time I saw him. He didn’t understand why I was crying so much. Living most of my life abroad, I’ve had to be okay with the high chance that he would die while I was out of the country. But when I woke up to a message in April that the hospice nurse believed my father was "transitioning” to death, I knew I had to try to get to his bedside.

My flight was cheaper than it might have been. Peering out the window at the Strait of Hormuz, I knew why. I froze at every text message coming in, waiting for the news I didn’t want to hear, consoling myself that if he died before I got there, it was okay. Even though, I knew, without a doubt, that it would not have been okay—that I would not have been okay.

Landing at Boston’s Logan Airport, I waited for my luggage. In my panicked haze, it hadn’t clicked that since I’d leapfrogged onto an earlier flight at the last moment, my luggage was never going to arrive with this flight. My duffle, filled exclusively with dirty laundry because I hadn’t been in Kathmandu long enough to do a load, would be sent to my mom’s house.

But, of course, none of that mattered. I collapsed into a taxi, the last stretch of this 36-hour journey to my father’s bedside. I was going to make it.

My father was looking into my eyes when he took his last breath. Every fiber of my being wanted to look away. His breathing had changed from an almost comical snore to a shallower panting and there was this moment when he took just a millisecond longer before his next breath and I thought: this is it, he’s not going to take another one. His laser-eyed stare was so intense and direct that I thought I might vomit in the moment. But I knew to look away would be the highest level of betrayal. That if I could manage it, I had to hold his gaze until he broke it—the most important staring contest of my life.

Seconds later, he was gone.

I sat down at my computer today to write an update about life in Kathmandu but this is what came out instead. In so many ways, life is back to normal. Except it’s not, because my father is dead.

Just as I understood life as a daughter with an aging parent, I’m now a daughter whose father has died. Not only that, but a daughter who watched her father take his last breath, an experience I can only attempt to describe at this point as a positive trauma. I don’t know yet what that means, except that the shift feels significant.

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I didn’t really understand what that meant—beyond that it was a badge of honor—and I have never had the best listening comprehension skills. So I went around bragging about how I was wrapped around his little finger to who ever would listen to me.

Both have proven to be true.

When I was 6 or 7, I’d wake up early just so I could sneak into his study to sit with him while he worked.

As a teenager in South Africa, he asked me more than once: “don’t you want to go out and party or something?”

Nope. I wanted to spend the day searching the outskirts of Jo’burg for the perfect antique table, then cook an elaborate meal and watch CSI: Miami with my dad.

After college, I lived in his windowless basement for longer than I like to admit.

When I eventually moved to New York, I made sure to get an apartment with enough room for him to visit.

In more recent years, we made do with weekly phone calls from wherever I was in the world and movie nights when I was back in town.

When I think about my father’s life, his identity was made up of three pillars that I know to be true.

My father was a physician, through and through. I truly believe it was his calling. He was the on-call doctor for everyone in our family, extended family or even just one-time acquaintances. As an emergency medicine specialist, he was baffled at having raised kids who got queasy at the sight of blood. When I cut my finger and refused to remove the towel wrapped around it to even look at the thing, he stayed with me on the phone until I got up the courage to peek at it, which had, of course, stopped bleeding long before.

He was often right in his diagnoses, able to quickly spot the difference between appendicitis and gas, a sprain or a tear. He’d often say to me: “Your tail is wagging, you’ll be fine.”

Sometimes he got it wrong—like when he told my mom to take Advil when in fact she had toxoplasmosis, a quite serious form of blood poisoning. And, of course, we never let him live that one down.

My father was also a South African.

Born to a Jewish pig farmer in Springs, he carried South Africa in his heart and his accent long after he left the country in 1964, at the age of 20. His sisters, Brenda and Sharon also left South Africa, and the three of them, “exiled by choice” as my father would say, kept in close contact as their lives unfolded. My father is the last of his siblings to pass, and he took care of both his sisters, in different ways, to the end.

This living memory of South Africa has been passed on to me and my siblings. My brother and I traveled for several weeks through the country, even getting matching tattoos in Cape Town, which my father never admitted to appreciating but I do think he got a kick out of it.

And, finally, my father was Jewish. He cared deeply about the Torah and its rituals. He found a community in his local temple and weekly Torah Study classes.

I asked him several times if he believed in God, for how tightly he was bound to Judaism, and maybe this isn’t the best time to rat him out, but he never had an easy answer for me. But those were the kind of questions he liked the best. Complex ones that left him thinking.

He was a voracious reader. Ever learning, ever curious. And he had a deep sense of what is right.

As a white South African whose father had profited from the Apartheid system, my dad carried shame about not having done enough. He cared deeply about helping people, often quietly going above and beyond.

He volunteered as a tutor for ESL learners and helped his weekly pedicurist finish her studies to become an RN. In his will, he has dictated for a portion to go to charity, selecting the Southern Poverty Law Center.

Beyond this, he put aside a portion for me and my siblings to choose our own charities to direct funds to, a detail so touching I know it will inspire a legacy of giving far beyond us.

I will ask that if any of you wish to donate in his honor, you do so at the Southern Poverty Law Center or a charity close to your own heart.

My father believed in the importance of history and place. As a family we visited lower Manhattan one month after 9/11.

During my gap year, my father hired a somewhat sketchy genealogist to take us around Riga, Latvia where our ancestors either fled or died in the ghettos.

On Christmas Day, back in 2012, my dad and I drove the two hours to Newtown, CT where we walked along the memorial of flowers and teddy bears for the 20 school children and six teachers who had been murdered in Sandy Hook elementary school two weeks before.

We grabbed a coffee and then drove the two hours back home.

These trips were never driven by any sort of morbid curiosity but a respect for history and a deep yearning to understand something from all sides.

I began training for my Antarctic expedition at beginning of my father’s decline. By the time I reached the South Pole, he had lost any understanding of what I had accomplished. But the greatest gift he ever gave me was the knowledge of just how proud he was of me. It was a pride predicated not on what I did, but the immutable fact of who I was as a person, deserving or not. He beamed when I showed him my photo on the front page of the Boston Globe. Despite no longer understanding Antarctica as a concept, there was no confusion as to why his daughter was in the newspaper: she deserved to be there, just for existing.

When my father passed away on April 18, I was there with my sister-in-law, Bea. We’d spent the previous 36 hours talking to him, playing Willie Nelson and Leonard Cohen, crying and laughing.

I held the phone near his ear so he could hear the calls from friends and family across the globe calling in to share a story or a memory with him, or to just thank him for the role he played in their life.

The night before, my sister, Taylor, had led my father’s final Shabbat. His eyes opened wide as my mother and I lit the candles, saying the blessing for the bread and the wine. The next time he opened his eyes, almost 24 hours later, it would be to take his final breaths, looking into my eyes as the Sh’ma, read and recorded beautifully by my cousin Helen, played next to his ear.

I imagine my father looking into my eyes as I took my first breaths over 36 years ago and it feels like some sort of divine justice that I was there to witness his last.

Our lives intertwined, wrapped around our little fingers, until the very end.

Michael Eliastam

Jan 3, 1944 - April 18, 2026

DATES

August 16-23, 2026 [two spots left!]

August 23-30, 2026 [two spots left!]

there are max 5 travelers on each trip

PRICE 3200 USD per traveler

A 8-day retreat sailing south of Lisbon aboard a 43-foot sailboat. With 3 cabins, a wide open deck for sunbathing, an expert skipper, and a private chef on board.

How to book? Click here to email me at letsgo@monetizabeth.com

The trip starts and ends in Lisbon, a seven-hilled city known for its tascas & tiled buildings. In August, this region is deeply summery: hot, dry days, warm ocean breezes, crowded beach towns, and a rhythm built around late dinners & slow mornings. Each night, we’ll sleep on our moving home: a 43-foot private sailboat.

During the day, we’ll sail between small seaside towns and quiet, secluded bays, hopping off the boat to explore the coastline and visit local fish markets. In the evenings, we’ll linger over fresh seafood, wine, and sunset dinners.

All of this will be accompanied by the knowledge of our guide, Austin, a Portuguese-Canadian scholar with a deep love for the region. Through Austin, we’ll learn about the intertwined history of Portugal’s food, culture, and coastline. An accomplished cook, he’ll also be cheffing up many of our meals on board.

What’s it like to sleep on the boat?

I like to describe our sailing trips as camping-adjacent.

There are three double cabins on board. You can book a room for yourself and a friend, or be paired with another traveler of the same gender.

It’s very similar to sharing a tent. We can sleep head-to-toe, you can have your own blanket, or even a sleeping bag liner if that makes you feel more comfortable.

There are two bathrooms on the boat, both with handheld shower capabilities—the sink faucet is also your shower head! There’s also an outdoor handheld shower available on the back of the boat.

Sailing is one of my favorite ways to experience a place. The boat becomes our floating home, giving us access to secluded bays and beaches that are suddenly just a short swim away.

Day 1: Meet in Lisbon

Arrive in Lisbon, meet the crew, and settle into our floating home. We’ll head into the city for dinner as a group, our first introduction to each other and the slow rhythm of Portuguese evenings.

Day 2: Lisbon → Sesimbra

A relaxed morning sail to Sesimbra with breakfast onboard. In Sesimbra, you can explore with the group or head out on your own: stroll the waterfront, visit the castle, and squeeze in a swim or seafood lunch.

Day 3: Sesimbra → Tróia

Wake up early to wander Sesimbra’s famous fish market. After breakfast, we’ll sail along the coast to Tróia, known for its miles of pristine golden beaches, crystal-clear waters, and resident dolphins. We’ll spend the afternoon swimming, relaxing onboard, or walking the dunes before dinner together in town.

Day 4: Tróia → Sines

Today is one of our longer sailing days, giving us time to settle into life at sea. Expect long stretches of coastline, salty air, naps on deck, and the occasional stop for a swim if conditions allow. We’ll arrive in the historic port town of Sines by evening, where whitewashed buildings and quiet streets overlook the Atlantic.

Day 5: Sines

A slower day to enjoy Sines and the surrounding coastline. You can wander the market, relax at the beach, take a swim, or simply enjoy a slow morning with coffee on deck. In the evening, we’ll gather for dinner together.

Day 6: Sines → Setúbal

We’ll sail back north toward Setúbal. Along the way, we may stop in secluded bays for swimming or lunch onboard. Setúbal is known for its fishing culture, lively markets, and excellent seafood, making it the perfect place for a long dinner ashore.

Day 7: Setúbal → Lisbon

Our final sail takes us back toward Lisbon. We’ll spend the day soaking up the last moments onboard: reading on deck, swimming, sharing meals, and watching the coastline drift by before returning to the city. For our final meal, we’ll experience Lisbon’s fado scene.

Day 8: Lisbon

After breakfast, we’ll say goodbye and head our separate ways — hopefully saltier and with a few new friends.

This itinerary is subject to change depending on weather conditions.

Do I need sailing experience?

Not at all. The boat is fully crewed with a professional skipper and host. If you want to learn a little about sailing you’re welcome to, but you can also just sit back, watch the cliffs go by, and enjoy the ride.

Do I need to be very fit?

No extreme fitness required. You’ll need to be able to get on & off the boat unassisted, and be on your feet for several hours at a time.

How do meals work?

We’ll go shopping together to get supplies for the boat, splitting the cost. On past trips this has worked out to under 50 euros per person for the week. Usually, we’ll have breakfast and lunch or dinner on the boat each day. Austin will be our head chef. You can pitch in if you’d like, or just sit back and relax.

How many people will be on the trip?

It’s a very small group, with a maximum of 5 travelers on each trip.

How can I book a spot!?

Click here to email me at letsgo@monetizabeth.com

Hope to see you in Portugal!

Monet

People often assume I live in Nepal for the mountains.

And while they are absolutely majestic, the truth is I’m here for the people.

As a 20-something pursuing my world travel dreams, I gave up having any sense of everyday community. My friends were scattered far and wide around the globe. We caught up in intense bursts rather than daily routine.

After visiting Nepal while in college, I was drawn to the country in a way that felt hard to explain—or so simple to explain that it was hard to believe.

“But why Nepal?” people would ask as I booked yet another flight to Kathmandu.

I rarely had a satisfying answer. Eventually I landed on: “it’s the furthest away where I feel the most at home.” Poetic and vague but possibly the most true.

On my second visit to Kathmandu, I was one of the first guests at the recently opened Cosy Nepal. It’s where I’ve stayed ever since, moving from a small attic perch to a one-bedroom apartment (and everything in between) over the ensuing 12 years.

(If you ever come to Kathmandu, it’s where you should stay too.)

Read more

For example, arriving in London after two months in the US has me FINALLY updating my website.

It also has me cycling my way around the city on Lime bikes, which I am finding very fun.

Side note: I learned quite quickly that you must get either LimePass or a monthly subscription to make this affordable.

Back to the website.

You can click through it here!

I’m sure some bugs will pop up—a web designer, I am not. So feel free to tell me all about them. Apologies if it takes me another six months to get around to fixing them.

Some fun new additions to the website:

• I now have Office Hours. You can book one-on-one time with me if you want to discuss how to approach a big goal, get advice on the travel world, plan an awesome trip, or just ask all those burning expedition questions I haven’t been able to answer yet.

• Expedition patches are available through my online store. Missed getting a patch? No worries, you can buy one here! These will be mailing from the US and hand packed by my sweet angel of a mother so remember that if you’re about to hit send on an angry email asking about where your patch is :)

• I now have a Speaker page. You can contact me via this page to discuss any potential speaking opportunities—with never before seen photos to entice you to click on it!

I’ve also given my about me and my South Pole pages a bit of a face lift.

I’d love to know what you think.

Monet

I got to chat with Matt Breen of the Explorers Podcast about my expedition in full—you can listen to the full interview on Spotify or Apple or via his website.

Hope you enjoy!

Monet

DATES

January 9-14, 2027

there are max 8 travelers on each trip

PRICE 5250 USD per traveler

A 6-day retreat sailing Norway's Arctic fjords aboard a winter-ready 51-foot catamaran. With 4 comfortable cabins, wide open decks for watching wildlife and snow-dusted peaks drift by, an expert crew, and a private chef on board.

How to book? Head over to the trip page on Nautica Collective!

The trip starts and ends in Tromsø, a lively town tucked well above the Arctic Circle. January is peak whale season here, when orcas and humpbacks follow migrating herring deep into the fjords. At night, we’ll have an excellent chance of seeing the Northern Lights — all from the deck of our luxury catamaran.

During the day, we’ll sail between small Arctic towns and quiet, secluded bays, hopping off the boat to snowshoe through winter landscapes and cook with locals. Each evening we’ll return to the boat for a chef-cooked dinner, warm drinks, and another chance to watch the aurora ripple across the sky.

We’ll be traveling with our own mobile sauna, meaning we can warm up with a view just about anywhere we want.

What’s it like to sleep on the boat?

Pretty damn cozy.

This catamaran is about as comfortable as it gets, but at the end of the day, it’s still a boat—so space is always a little precious.

There are four double cabins on board. You can book a room for yourself and a friend, or be paired with another traveler of the same gender. This is where the “glamping” aspect comes in: it’s very similar to sharing a tent. We can sleep head-to-toe, you can have your own blanket, or even a sleeping bag liner if that makes you feel more comfortable.

If you’ve been dreaming about a trip to Norway, this is honestly a pretty incredible way to do it: sailing through Arctic fjords, spotting whales, and watching the Northern Lights—while still returning to a warm bed and a chef-cooked meal every night.

And I mean, look at this bathroom!!

Day 1: Tromsø → Hansnes

Arrive in Tromsø, meet the crew and settle into our floating Arctic home. Cruise into the fjords via Ullsfjord, with the first chance of wildlife sightings. Anchor in a sheltered harbour near Hansnes, framed by snow-dusted peaks. Welcome dinner onboard, aurora watch from deck.

Day 2: Hansnes → Lyngseidet

A relaxed morning sail into the Lyngen region with breakfast onboard. Step ashore for a local cooking experience and a long, cosy lunch. Late afternoon snowshoe hike through quiet winter landscapes. Return to the boat for a hot sauna session to recover and warm up. Dinner onboard and aurora watch.

Day 3: Lyngseidet → Nord-Lenangen

Cruise deeper into the fjords, surrounded by steep, snowy mountains. Drop anchor in a calm, sheltered bay. Try your hand at fishing from the boat in Arctic waters. In the evening, gather for a chef-led Arctic dinner inspired by local produce.

Day 4: Nord-Lenangen → Skjervøy (Whale Base)

Sail north toward the wild coastline of Skjervøy. Watch the landscape grow bigger as we enter whale territory. Arrive in Skjervøy, our base for exploring the whale fjords. Warm drinks on deck, relaxed evening onboard.

Day 5: Skjervøy

Wake up in the heart of the Arctic whale fjords. Head out for whale watching in the best conditions of the day. Return to the boat for warmth, food, and time to unwind. As the light fades, slip into the sauna for a deep, warming reset. Dinner onboard, aurora watch if the skies perform.

Day 6: Skjervøy → Lyngseidet → Tromsø

Set off on our first morning sail back toward the Lyngen region. Arrive around lunchtime for a final relaxed meal onboard. Continue our second scenic sail south to Tromsø. Savour the last views from deck before arriving back in the city.

Do I need sailing experience?

Not at all. The boat is fully crewed with a professional skipper and host. If you want to learn a little about sailing you’re welcome to, but you can also just sit back, watch the fjords go by, and enjoy the ride.

How cold will it be?

Cold, but very manageable with the right clothing. Expect winter temperatures around 15–30°F (-10 to -1°C). The boat is heated and cozy inside, and we’ll send a packing list so you’re prepared.

Do I need to be very fit?

No extreme fitness required. We’ll do things like snowshoeing and walking around small towns, but nothing technical or high-intensity.

What’s included?

Your cabin on the catamaran, professional skipper and host, chef-prepared meals on the boat, drinks, fuel, mooring fees, and the activities listed in the itinerary.

What’s not included?

Flights to/from Tromsø, travel insurance, and a few meals when we’re ashore.

Will we really see whales and the Northern Lights?

Nature doesn’t sign contracts, but January in northern Norway is one of the best times of year for both. Orcas and humpbacks follow the herring into the fjords, and the long Arctic nights make for excellent aurora viewing.

How many people will be on the trip?

It’s a very small group. There are four double cabins on the boat, so you’ll be traveling with a handful of other adventurous people—not a big tour group.

How can I book a spot!?

Head over to the trip page on Nautica Collective!

And if you have any questions whatsoever, just reply to this email or send me a message.

Hope to see you in Norway!

Monet

Over the three years I spent training for my South Pole expedition, I met so many incredible, interesting, goofy, and passionate people chasing big dreams of their own. Again and again I found myself thinking: more people should hear these stories.

Now that I’m back from the South Pole—and no longer training six days a week for my own big goal (okay, fine, maybe I’m getting a little bored)—it feels like the perfect time to sit down and chat with some cool people doing cool things.

First up we have Cat Burford, otherwise known as the Molar Explorer. Cat completed a solo, unsupported ski expedition to the South Pole in January 2025, and was an absolute lifesaver when I was wading knee-deep in expedition prep.

You can read a bit about her below and paid subscribers can scroll to the bottom to listen to our entire conversation in a podcast-adjacent format1.

And if you like this series, don’t forget to give this post a little <3 so the algorithm gods know to push this out to more people!

Q: Cat, what’s your “adventure origin story”?

Well, I’m a dentist, and I’ve always felt like I’ve had two different parts of me. There was the part of me that always wanted to be a dentist from about the age of 10, and that actually came from my adventurous side.

I was racing my sister—we used to go out on bike rides every Sunday. I had the worst, cheapest bike with no gears, and she had a racer bike with, I think, maybe three gears, but it was a lot faster than mine. I just wanted to beat her this one time, going down the steepest hill where we lived. She didn’t even know I was racing her; in my mind I was going, Yes, I’m going to beat her, I’m going to beat her. She was already well ahead, there was no chance, and I was going so fast I couldn’t keep control of the handlebars.

I went straight over the handlebars and smashed my front tooth, the day before we started the new school year. I was super self‑conscious with half a tooth until my dentist fixed it, and I thought, Oh, this is a bit fancy. Maybe I could do this. From then on I always felt like that was the direction I was heading in, but I never knew if I was going to be clever enough or anything like that.

At the same time, I was always torn because I loved geography at school. I loved taking the textbook outside—reading about something and then being in that environment and learning that way. That still makes me really excited. So I kept wondering, How can these two meet? Maybe I should do geography. But then I thought, if I study it too much, will I end up not enjoying it? Maybe it’s something I can learn for myself.

So it’s always been that kind of dilemma. I’ve never felt like I fitted into the typical “dentist” box, ever.

Q: When did Antarctica first come onto your radar?

I had a geography teacher named Allison Taylor. We called her Mrs. T, and she was just one of those people who was so full of enthusiasm. She didn’t care what any other teachers thought. She wanted to get us out on as many trips as possible. She’d pull the school minibus into the McDonald’s drive‑through on the way home, as long as we didn’t tell anybody.

There was this one day when she asked us, “What is the largest desert on Earth?” Everyone was like, “The Gobi, the Sahara,” all these big sandy wildernesses. She didn’t say anything; she just put this picture up of this huge white wilderness. And she said, “This is the largest desert on Earth,” and it was Antarctica.

I was like, Wow, how can a desert be full of ice, like frozen water? I just thought that was incredible. I looked at it and thought, I’ve got to go there one day. That was it. I can remember it so clearly—I always think about it and really feel the same feelings I felt then. It just got me interested in Antarctica: everything about it, the explorers, the history.

Q: How did you go from “I want to go to Antarctica” to training for the South Pole?

I’d signed up for a training course with Shackleton. Amelia Rudd was one of the instructors, and during the week we had to do this pulk race. It was me and then all guys on the team. They were all lovely, but I was thinking, Oh God, I don’t want to be the one that stands out for being novice-y.

We had the race, and I ended up winning it. I couldn’t believe it. I turned around and they were miles away.

It was Amelia, at the end of that, who said, “Look, Cat, why are you really here?” I wasn’t going to tell anybody that I wanted to go to Antarctica. But by then I’d heard her story—how she’d gone to the South Pole—and there were so many similarities: our upbringing, her not knowing how to do it, the age thing. I was like, Oh…

I remember one bit where she said she cried at this point and sat in a tent, and I’d never heard that kind of story. I’d always heard how gnarly it was, how brilliant and fit they all had to be. Hearing her be vulnerable and very honest was what really connected with me. I really looked up to her.

So at this breakfast she said again, “Why are you really here?” and she made me voice it. I said, “I’d quite like to go to Antarctica.” And she said, “You could. I can see potential in you. If you really want to go for it, I’m here to help mentor you.” I was never going to say no to that. That was really the catalyst.

She said, “You’ll never be ready. You’ve got to voice it. If you don’t put it out there, you’ll always find an excuse not to keep going. But if you’ve told people, you’ve got to keep going. You’ve got to keep that momentum.” And it’s so true—100%.

Q: And why did you decide to do the expedition solo?

That was the easiest decision ever. It was just so straightforward—mainly because I’m a bit of a people pleaser. On expeditions, if I’m in a tent, I’m always making sure I don’t take up too much space, making sure I’m keeping everything neat, while the other person might not even be thinking about it. Their stuff spreads out and I’m there thinking, I just want my own space, and I need that space.

On expeditions, even in a team, you do get a lot of time on your own, which is good for me. I’ve always loved time on my own, even though I can be quite social. But when you’re doing something so pressured, none of my best mates really do this kind of stuff, so who was I going to have joining me? It wasn’t going to be someone I knew super, super well.

I didn’t want to be the person who stopped someone else reaching their dream if something happened to me on the expedition. And likewise, I didn’t want to be evacuated because of something someone else did. I thought, This is my opportunity to really test myself, and I really wanted that isolation experience. The connection I had out there was as minimal as possible. I wanted to know how I was going to react, because I thought I knew how I’d be—but I didn’t really know. This was my once‑in‑a‑lifetime opportunity to do this.

And genuinely, I loved it. Absolutely loved being on my own.

Q: Okay, tell us about Girls’ Trip. What is it? What’s the purpose?

Girls’ Trip is an all-female expedition of six women who all met through my South Pole training. We’re planning a Northwest traverse of Svalbard, and the whole idea is to shift the focus away from being “the first” or “the fastest” and instead put the spotlight back on the environment we’re traveling through and the experience of being out there together.

The expedition is about showing that being yourself is an asset, not something to be judged. It was inspired in part by a meeting I had before my South Pole trip, where I felt deeply misjudged for being joyful and excited. That moment stayed with me and shaped how I think about expeditions: joy, small moments of fun, and a positive mindset are not signs you’re unprepared—they’re actually key to getting through the hard parts.

For Girls’ Trip, I wanted to bring together some of the incredible women in the polar world who often go unseen, and to give the expedition more purpose than just getting from A to B as fast as possible. We’re collaborating with researchers, scientists, and the charity Girls on the Run, which connects hundreds of thousands of young girls with confidence-building and the outdoors. Svalbard is warming several times faster than the rest of the world, so our journey will also be a snapshot in time of a rapidly changing Arctic, and a story that helps people feel more connected to what’s happening there.

We’re making a film about the expedition—leaning into our slightly “kooky and ridiculous” side—to show that you don’t have to be deadly serious to take something seriously. The aim is to inspire people to get outside, to connect with each other, and to see that expeditions can be about purpose, joy, and community, not just records.

Want to get involved? You can support Girls’ Trip here! And you can follow their expedition on Instagram here.

Want even more? Paid subscribers get to keep scrolling for access to our entire conversation, kind of like a podcast!

Read more

If you donated 100 USD or more to my GoFundMe over the past three months, I’ll be sending you a custom made expedition patch with a handwritten thank you note!!

BUT I can only do that if I have your MAILING ADDRESS.

It doesn’t matter if you gave it to GoFundMe, I don’t have access to that information.

So PLEASE respond to this email with your snail mail address!!

If you already responded once, no need to do it again. Just trying to round up the stragglers!

If you would like a patch of your own, there’s still time!

Donate 100 USD or more here—then send me your mailing address!

Get an Expedition Patch!

A massive thank you to everyone who has donated so far. Your support has helped me afford this incredible, very expensive, dream by the skin of my teeth.

I can’t wait to share more of the expedition with you all—much more to come.

There are only TWO spots left on each of our upcoming Food-Obsessed Sailing in Portugal trips this August.

No sailing experience necessary, just a desire for some hardcore relaxation.

DATES

Aug 16-23, 2026 (2 SPOTS LEFT)

Aug 23-30, 2026 (2 SPOTS LEFT)

there are max 5 travelers on each trip

PRICE 3200 USD per traveler

How do I book a spot? Reply to this email or send me a message!

We will meet in LISBON on Day 1, have our delicious welcome dinner that night, sleep on the boat and set sail the next day. We will sail south of Lisbon for the next week—depending on weather, we could be going from Cascais to Sesimbra, Tróia, Sines, Setúbal and back to Lisbon. Here’s a Google Maps thingy of these spots. We will return to Lisbon on Day 7, have our final group send off evening, sleep on the boat one last night and then the trip officially ends on the morning of Day 8.

This will take us through Arrábida Marine Park, where we might see the famous Setúbal dolphins (see photos of them here)!!! This woman wrote a travel blog about the area—every sail boat you see in the background will be us, chilling in the bay and avoiding the chaos of coming in by road! Also those Portuguese beach donuts?! Say less.

The Sado estuary is also home to the Portuguese oyster, a variety of oyster that was once the most sought-after in France. Local conservation efforts have brought this variety back from the brink of extinction and we’ll be able to taste them on our trip! YUM.

Meet the co-host, Austin!

Austin is a Portuguese-Canadian, PhD-toting academic smarty pants who loves food beyond anyone I have ever met before in my entire life. His big brain (he speaks…11 languages?) combines with his big appetite to make him the most perfect human on earth to help lead this trip. He’s fun, he’s oh-so-knowledgeable and he’ll be cooking up some mean meals on the boat.

While we may look like the cutest couple on earth, we are indeed just the best of friends—and were born to lead this trip together.

What’s it like to sleep on the boat?

On the boat, there is one bunk-bed room and 3 x doubles. As you can see in the photo, the doubles are two mattresses next to each other. This is where the “glamping” of it all comes into play: it’s very similar to sleeping next to someone in a tent. We can sleep head-to-toe, everyone will be provided with their own blanket, you could also bring a sleeping bag/sack (a summer one, it will be warm!)—whatever you want to feel comfortable.

One of these cabins will go to our skipper—which one depends on how we decide as a group to split up the cabins. If two people would prefer the bunk bed set up, the skipper will take a double, etc.

There are two bathrooms on the boat, both with handheld shower capabilities—the sink faucet is also your shower head! There’s also an outdoor handheld shower available on the back of the boat.

Are meals included?

Some meals are included in the price (mainly the Welcome Dinner and Farewell Dinner) and I’ll make it clear when food is included and when it isn’t. We will go grocery shopping together to stock the boat with supplies and then decide as a group whether we eat lunch/dinner on the boat or go out as the days unfold.

Simply reply to this email to save your spot—or with any questions!

See you in Portugal?

Monet

Wondering what a sailing trip actually looks like? Here are photos from my previous trips in Greece:

If you’re feeling embarrassed about the USA trying to “take” Greenland—what does that even mean!?—come learn from actual Greenlanders while having the adventure of a lifetime.

Let me preface this by saying: THIS IS NOT A LUXURY CRUISE.

Most travelers experience Greenland from a cruise ship, boating into only the settlements that have wide enough access and learning from Inuit guides only when local rules force them to.

This is the antidote to that.

Our 10-day group trip is led by Tobias Ignatiussen, a famous East Greenlandic hunter. We’ll be immersed in the awe of Arctic summer, traveling by fishing boat up the coast to explore fjords rarely seen by tourists.

Along the way, we will fish for Arctic char and cod, forage for berries, and—if everyone is comfortable with it—hunt for seals on the ice. This is sustainable subsistence hunting at it’s finest.

Don’t want to try seal? No problem. We’ll also bring plenty of groceries from town to make food for any dietary requirement.

Come experience Arctic Summer in East Greenland

DATES: July 6-15, 2026

PRICE: 10,500 USD

Includes:

• All accommodation including camping in untouched nature with polar bear protection

• All meals, including fire-cooked homestyle cooking.

• All activities

• All domestic transportation

Does not include:

• Flights to/from Kulusuk

• Travel insurance (which is required)

How to book? Just reply to this email or send me a message to get the ball rolling.

ITINERARY

Day 1: Arrival in Kulusuk
Fly into Kulusuk from Keflavik International Airport in Iceland or Nuuk International Airport in West Greenland. Upon arrival, our guides will meet you and introduce you to the group. Settle into your tent for the night, equipped with a comfortable mattress and warm sleeping bag to keep you cozy in the Arctic conditions.

Days 2-9: Arctic Exploration & Cultural Immersion
Over the next eight days, we’ll travel by boat, covering 200-300 kilometers along the rugged coast of East Greenland. Our journey includes:

• Wildlife Encounters: Keep an eye out for whales, seals, Arctic birds, and even polar foxes near our campsites. While sightings are never guaranteed, this route offers one of the best chances of spotting a polar bear in its natural habitat.

• Cultural Insights: Learn traditional Inuit hunting and survival techniques from our expert guides, gaining a deeper understanding of Greenland’s history and way of life.

• Local Cuisine: Participate in catching and preparing local game such as birds, seals, and fish, experiencing Arctic flavors firsthand.

• Camping in the Wilderness: Spend each night in tents at remote campsites, surrounded by Greenland’s vast landscapes. All necessary camping gear and warm clothing will be provided to ensure comfort in the elements.

Day 10: Departure
We’ll spend our last night at a hotel in Kulusuk to prepare for departure. Fly out with unforgettable memories of Greenland’s wild beauty and unique culture.

**This itinerary is subject to change**

What is the weather like in July?

July in East Greenland is true Arctic summer. Temperatures typically range from about 40–55°F (4–13°C), and the days are long — sometimes stretching toward the midnight sun. It’s not the bone-chilling darkness people imagine when they think of Greenland, but it is still the Arctic. The weather can shift quickly from sunshine to wind to drizzle, sometimes all in the same afternoon. You’ll need proper layers: wool base layers, a waterproof shell, and something warm for your head and hands. We will provide extra warm pants and jacket as your final outer layer.

Is this a luxury cruise?

Did you read the description above? Just kiddinggggg :)

This is not a cruise ship with buffet lines and cocktail decks. We will be traveling by local fishing boat, the kind actually used in daily life here, which allows us to access fjords and stretches of coastline that large ships simply cannot reach. Expect working boats, salty air, and immersion in real life. Accommodations will be simple and clean, sometimes in small settlements and sometimes more expedition-style. The luxury here is access — to landscape, culture, and experience — not thread count.

What level of fitness do I need?

You do not need to be an athlete, but you do need to be steady and comfortable in wild terrain. That means being able to step off a fishing boat without a dock, sometimes onto rocks or directly onto shore. It means walking several miles at a relaxed pace across tundra or uneven ground and carrying a small daypack. There are no technical climbs or extreme distances, but Arctic landscapes are rugged and require balance and awareness. If you hike regularly and feel confident moving over uneven terrain, you’ll be well prepared.

Will we really hunt seals?

Possibly — but only if the group is comfortable.

Seal hunting in East Greenland is sustainable subsistence hunting, and it remains an important part of daily life and culture. If the opportunity arises and everyone feels open to it, we may accompany Tobias while he hunts. No one is ever required to participate, taste seal, or even observe if they prefer not to. There will always be alternative food options available, and we will bring groceries from town to ensure everyone’s dietary needs are met.

What if I have dietary restrictions?

This trip centers around local food — fishing for Arctic char and cod, foraging berries — but we will supplement everything with provisions from town. Vegetarian, gluten-free, dairy-free, or other dietary needs can absolutely be accommodated. You will not go hungry, and you will not be pressured to eat anything that makes you uncomfortable.

Where will we sleep?

This is an expedition-style journey, which means flexibility depending on weather and conditions. Some nights may be spent in small local accommodations in settlement towns, and others may be in more remote locations near the fjords. Everything will be simple, safe, and beautiful — but this is not boutique luxury travel. The reward is waking up surrounded by the vast Arctic wilderness.

Is this safe?

Yes — and it is wild.

We will be guided by Tobias, whose knowledge of this coastline is rooted in lived experience. Line & I will be there alongside him with extensive experience in remote environments. Safety comes first, and plans may shift depending on weather or wildlife. Flexibility is part of the adventure.

What makes this different from other Greenland trips?

Most visitors experience Greenland from the deck of a cruise ship, entering only settlements that can accommodate large vessels. This trip is the antidote to that model. We travel slowly, by small boat, with a local East Greenlandic hunter. We fish, forage, listen, and learn directly from the people who live here. It is immersive rather than observational.

Who is this trip for?

It is for the person who wants to understand Greenland through Greenlanders — and who is willing to trade predictability for awe.

If you value depth over luxury, connection over convenience, and experience over spectacle, this is the trip for you.

What’s your connection to Greenland?

I first came to Greenland in 2020 to dogsled the Arctic Circle Trail as part of a Matador Network travel series. When I turned my cell phone on after five days out of service, I found a world changed by COVID. I ended up spending an extra four months in Greenland, experiencing the country and Inuit hospitality far beyond my expectations.

After crossing the Greenland ice cap in 2024, I spent an extra month in East Greenland, where I met Line & Tobias and this dream of a trip was born!

Other questions? Click here to send me a message!

Greenland not for you? Find out where else we’re going in 2026 ⬇️

Along my polar training journey, every expeditioner I spoke to had a different style when it came to personal hygiene. From leave-it-be to “showering” in the tent to even shaving their legs, there are as many preferences as there are people.

Whatever the cleaning regimen in place, there’s only so much you can do when you’re wearing the same clothes for two months. Smells are gonna smell, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t keeping my bits cleaned on a somewhat regular basis.

So, what does keeping clean look like on a polar expedition?

Read more

No sailing experience necessary, just a desire for some hardcore relaxation.

DATES

Aug 16-23, 2026

Aug 23-30, 2026

there are max 5 travelers on each trip

PRICE 3200 USD per traveler

How do I book a spot? Reply to this email or send me a message!

We will meet in LISBON on Day 1, have our delicious welcome dinner that night, sleep on the boat and set sail the next day. We will sail south of Lisbon for the next week—depending on weather, we could be going from Cascais to Sesimbra, Tróia, Sines, Setúbal and back to Lisbon. Here’s a Google Maps thingy of these spots. We will return to Lisbon on Day 7, have our final group send off evening, sleep on the boat one last night and then the trip officially ends on the morning of Day 8.

This will take us through Arrábida Marine Park, where we might see the famous Setúbal dolphins (see photos of them here)!!! This woman wrote a travel blog about the area—every sail boat you see in the background will be us, chilling in the bay and avoiding the chaos of coming in by road! Also those Portuguese beach donuts?! Say less.

The Sado estuary is also home to the Portuguese oyster, a variety of oyster that was once the most sought-after in France. Local conservation efforts have brought this variety back from the brink of extinction and we’ll be able to taste them on our trip! YUM.

Meet the co-host, Austin!

Austin is a Portuguese-Canadian, PhD-toting academic smarty pants who loves food beyond one I have ever met before in my entire life. His big brain (he speaks…11 languages?) combines with his big appetite to make him the most perfect human on earth to help lead this trip. He’s fun, he’s oh-so-knowledgeable and he’ll be cooking up some mean meals on the boat.

While we may look like the cutest couple on earth, we are indeed just the best of friends—and were born to lead this trip together.

Itinerary

Day 1 - Welcome to Lisbon

We’ll meet in Lisbon in the afternoon and drop our bags on the boat before heading to a local grocery store to stock up on supplies for the adventure ahead.

That evening, we’ll head into town for our welcome dinner—our first chance to get to know each other over classic Portuguese dishes and settle into the rhythm of the trip.

Day 2 to 7 - Sailing

We’ll set off in the morning to begin our sailing adventure. The plan will depend on the weather—we could be going from Cascais to Sesimbra, Tróia, Sines, Setúbal and back to Lisbon. You can view a map of these locations here.

Life on board will be a mix of sailing, swimming, exploring small coastal towns, and long, slow meals. Some days will feel easy and sun-soaked, others a little more adventurous—that’s part of it.

On Day 7, we’ll return to Lisbon for a farewell dinner and our final night on the boat.

Day 8 - Goodbye to Lisbon

We’ll have one last breakfast together before saying our goodbyes and heading off in our separate directions.

Where will we sleep?

On the boat, there is one bunk-bed room and 3 x doubles. As you can see in the photo, the doubles are two mattresses next to each other. This is where the “glamping” of it all comes into play: it’s very similar to sleeping next to someone in a tent. We can sleep head-to-toe, everyone will be provided with their own blanket, you could also bring a sleeping bag/sack (a summer one, it will be warm!)—whatever you want to feel comfortable.

One of these cabins will go to our skipper—which one depends on how we decide as a group to split up the cabins. If two people would prefer the bunk bed set up, the skipper will take a double, etc.

There are two bathrooms on the boat, both with handheld shower capabilities—the sink faucet is also your shower head! There’s also an outdoor handheld shower available on the back of the boat.

Some meals are included in the price (the Welcome Dinner and Farewell Dinner) and I’ll make it clear when food is included and when it isn’t. We will go grocery shopping together to stock the boat with supplies and then decide as a group whether we eat lunch/dinner on the boat or go out as the days unfold.

Simply reply to this email to save your spot—or with any questions!

See you in Portugal?

Monet

Wondering what a sailing trip actually looks like? Here are photos from my previous trips in Greece:

For five generations, Silvia’s family has lived in Caltanissetta, producing olive oil from over 2,000 trees. Her farm is surrounded by small villages, each with their own traditions and local artisans.

For one week, we’ll base ourselves at Silvia’s farm, spending our days exploring the surrounding area. We’ll raise a glass with local vintners, spend the day making (and eating!) all sorts of delicious carbs with a baking team of father and sons, and get arm deep into some fresh ricotta.

Back at the farm, nap in the shade or read by the pool. This trip is about eating well, relaxing hard and taking things as they come, on Sicilian time.

Dates: Sept 5-12, 2026

Price: 3500 USD per traveler

How to book your spot

Reply to this email or send me a message and I’ll take care of the rest.

Why previous travelers loved it:

"So personal and intimate. It's really special."

"Silvia's farm is the most relaxing place on earth."

"I feel like I once had this feeling as a kid, but it's been gone for 30 years."

"This trip is just as much about the wonderful people you meet along the way."

Itinerary

Day 1: Arrival & Welcome
Your Sicilian journey begins with a drive from Palermo to Silvia’s peaceful olive farm, tucked among rolling hills and ancient trees. Settle into your home for the week with a drink in hand, and ease into the rhythm of the countryside over a light Sicilian dinner.

Day 2: Farm Life & Sunday Feast
Start slow with a morning wander through the farm, guided by Silvia herself, followed by a tasting of her olive oil. The afternoon invites you to lounge by the pool and soak in the quiet. We’ll gather for a traditional Sunday meal — a leisurely feast shared with neighbors who may just drop by, Sicilian style.

Day 3: Sweet Traditions & Sicilian Evenings
This morning, dive into Sicily’s sweeter side with a hands-on biscotti-making class at the famed Torroneficio Giraci. After a casual bakery lunch, the afternoon is yours to rest and roam the farm. In the evening, Silvia welcomes us back to her kitchen for another home-cooked Sicilian dinner.

Day 4: Crafting Cheese & Sunset Temples
We spend the morning learning the art of cheesemaking from Salvatore, a former construction worker turned master artisan who revived ancient methods in his village. After a tasting of local specialties, rest up — because tonight we walk among the Valley of the Temples at sunset, before dining at a Slow Food restaurant blending Sicilian and Senegalese flavors.

Day 5: A Village of Twelve & the Heart of Bread
Today is a rare treat: a full day at Forno Santa Rita, a family-run bakery in a village of just 12 people. Maurizio, the town’s spirited baker, shares his passion for reviving small-town life through bread. We return to the farm in the evening for a light supper under the Sicilian sky.

Day 6: Wine Country & Sicilian Pizza
Sip your way through the Sicilian countryside with a visit to Tenute Lombardo for a winery tour and a leisurely tasting lunch. After a restful afternoon, we head out for dinner at a local legend — a pizzeria many call the best in all of Sicily.

Day 7: Sea, Sun, & Farewell Flavors
Our final day takes us to the coast for a catamaran sail and a beachside seafood lunch. After a gelato stop on the way home, we’ll gather one last time for an arancine-making lesson — sending you home with full hearts and full stomachs.

Day 8: Heading Home
After a leisurely breakfast, you’ll head back to Palermo.

**This itinerary is subject to change**

Accommodations on the Farm

Silvia’s farm has three apartments with their own kitchens and bathrooms. We’ll have all your food covered, but it’s there if you need it!

And if you’re looking for more, there’s potential for a 3-4 day add-on hiking along the Via dei Frati, one of Sicily’s gorgeous pilgrimage routes.