37 FramesThere was a time before blogs, before Instagram grids and drone footage.
A simpler, stickier time.
Back when the height of creativity was a well-placed paper flower, a glitter pen, and a questionable font called Papyrus.
We’re talking about the golden age of scrapbooking.
The early 2000s. When you’d walk into a craft store and swear you were just getting one more roll of ribbon … and leave four hours later with half a stationery aisle and a hot glue burn that would outlast most relationships. Our living room looked like a cross between a travel agency and a kindergarten craft table. And honestly? It was fabulous.
And so, the A–Z of Our Travels was born. A handmade travelogue of places we’d fallen in love with, adventures we’d survived, and terrible haircuts we’d documented along the way.
Now, twenty years later, we’ve found it again. Slightly warped from humidity, a little sticky with time, and still holding all the energy of who we were back then. Adventurous. Ridiculous. Wide-eyed and ready to get lost.
So, we’re bringing it back. Digitally this time (less glue, more coffee).
Welcome to our new old series … The A–Z of Our Travels… (Again. Updated.). A is for Adventure. And for Arches. Abashiri. Aomori. Angkor Wat. Area 51. Akan National Park. (And, of course, for absolutely unhinged weather choices.)
A nostalgic alphabet of places, people, and moments that built the story of us.
A is for Adventure
Before algorithms and analytics, there were atlases.
And ours was always open at A.
Arizona, USA
From Phoenix to Tucson to Flagstaff … and yes, that famous corner in Winslow, Arizona (because of course we stood there, humming the song, and yes, we did see flatbed Ford!).
Arizona was a road trip in technicolor.
Desert air thick with possibility, radio static turning into Tom Petty, and a horizon that never stayed still.
Phoenix shimmered with heat and hubris. Carefree gave us the world’s largest sundial.
Tucson gave us one of the wildest thunderstorms we’ve ever seen. Lightning cracking open the desert sky (and smashing open cactuses!) like someone flipping a switch on the universe.
Flagstaff smelled like pine and altitude and beginnings. And funnily enough… old Hollywood.
Everywhere between was pure Americana. Red dust, neon signs, and sunsets that made silence feel like applause.
We drove through landscapes that looked like movie sets and gas stations that sold hope in the form of iced tea and rattlesnake souvenirs.
We hiked where the ground cracked open into canyons and found beauty in the in-betweens. The empty roads, the lost motels, the diner jukeboxes still stuck on Hotel California.
Arizona was one of those adventures that reminded us why we travel. Not just to arrive, but to move through.
To chase light. To sing along badly.
To find ourselves standing on the corner of a song, smiling like we finally understood the lyrics.
Airlie Beach, Australia
Gateway to the Whitsundays. Where every day feels like it’s been dipped in turquoise.
We came for the islands and stayed for the energy. Backpackers, billionaires, and everyone in between sharing the same stretch of salt air. The days smelled like sunscreen and sea spray; the nights alive with dive bars, live music, and that carefree “we’ll sleep when we get home” kind of mood.
Mornings were our favorite though. Quiet, golden, the ocean flat as glass. Coffee in hand, feet in the sand, and plans that could wait until tomorrow.
Airlie’s the kind of place that reminds you how good it feels to stop rushing. Even if it’s only for a sunrise.
Angel Glacier, Canada
Jasper National Park. The air gets colder, cleaner, quieter the higher you drive.
We still remember rounding the bend and seeing it for the first time … Angel Glacier, clinging to the shoulder of Mount Edith Cavell. Massive, fractured, impossibly blue. You can hear it before you see it, the slow creak and groan of ice that’s been here far longer than any of us.
The meltwater pooled in that pale green lake below. Icy, perfect, impossible to forget. We stayed longer than planned, just watching the clouds move across the peaks, feeling small in the best way.
We hiked in to see it. Pondered the whole way in… “why does a Belgian nurse have a mountain named after her in Canada?“
The kind of place that reminds you the world remembers kindness in its own way.
Arches National Park, USA
Utah … the kind of red rock cathedral that makes you feel very small and very alive.
The beauty of Delicate Arch is that it doesn’t care if you’re underprepared. It stands there, dazzling in the Utah light, as if to say: “Good luck with your 4 liters of water and mild sense of direction.”
We had terrible weather … on brand … but we hiked anyway. Because that’s what you do when you’ve flown halfway around the world for a view. You climb. You curse. You nearly lose a boot. And then, when the rain clears for thirty seconds and the light hits just right, you remember why you came.
This was the first time we realized that “challenging” is travel code for “you’ll question your life choices halfway through, but the view is worth it.”
Abashiri, Japan
It’s hard to describe Abashiri without shivering. Imagine wind so cold it feels personal. We came in the middle of winter, because apparently, we love suffering. But we got what we came for … drift ice, frozen seas, and Japanese cranes dancing like ghosts against a white horizon.
Somewhere between the ice floes and the steaming onsen baths, we learned that the cold has its own beauty. Quiet, humbling, and otherworldly.
Also: never make friends with strangers who say “let’s go ice-fishing” unless you’ve double-checked their car heater works.
Aomori, Japan
We took the ferry from Hokkaido and arrived feeling like early explorers … minus the skills, the language, and the plan. Aomori was wild and untamed, a place that felt older than time. The kind of landscape that stares back at you.
There were bears. There were cliffs. There was, inexplicably, a 7-11 where the locals thought Dee was Madonna. We stayed in a youth hostel that looked haunted, hiked in the dark, and found enlightenment somewhere between fishing towns and hot springs.
Aomori is also where Jesus is buried. Apparently. Yes, an unlikely spot. But local legend is that a town in Aomori is the final resting place of the real Jesus Christ. Soooo many questions.
This was Japan before Google Translate. We survived on hand gestures, luck, and snacks. And somehow, it remains one of our most magical adventures.
We’ve also seen the best cherry blossoms of our lives here in Aomori. Like a dream.
Angkor Wat, Cambodia
We arrived in Siem Reap with backpacks, sunburn, and unrealistic expectations. We left with the same, plus about six temple T-shirts and mild dehydration.
Angkor Wat is the kind of place that makes you believe in civilizations larger than yourself. In the carvings, in the crumbling stone, in the way light bends through the jungle at sunrise.
We rode an elephant named Jackie (now we know we shouldn’t have), climbed ruins barefoot (definitely shouldn’t have), and met kids who taught us that joy can exist even in the cruel shadow of landmines. It was humid, chaotic, unforgettable … and it changed how we saw the world.
Also: we discovered that “temple fatigue” is real, and curable only by iced coffee and mango smoothies.
Area 51, USA
Because obviously we had to.
We drove out into the Nevada desert in a rental car that shouldn’t have survived the heat, convinced we’d spot UFOs.
We didn’t.
We did find dust, barbed wire, and a strange sense of joy in being ridiculous. We played The X-Files theme on repeat, and drove into the desert looking for aliens.
We found signs that said “No Trespassing.” We found dirt roads that went nowhere. And we find the legendary black box (that’s actually white) and signed our names on it… (we’re 90% sure it wasn’t alien tech, but we did name it Gary).
We didn’t find little green men, but we found something better. The thrill of chasing the absurd. Because sometimes travel is about finding yourself halfway between nowhere and ridiculous, laughing so hard you forget to be scared.
It’s still one of our favorite stories to tell.
Proof that adventure doesn’t need to be glamorous. It just needs to make you feel alive (and slightly concerned for your safety).
Akan National Park, Japan
Snow. Silence. Swans. Imagine driving through a blizzard to randomly meet a kind man named Mr. Aota, who insists on taking you to see “the real Japan.”
You say yes, because… obviously. He didn’t speak English. We didn’t speak much Japanese. But somehow, we understood each other perfectly.
He shows you mountains, steaming lakes, cranes flying through snowflakes. All the beauty you’d never have found on your own. He’s patient, kind, and quietly amused by your inability to stand upright in ice cleats.
Travel teaches you a lot about humanity. Sometimes it’s the people you meet for one day who stay with you forever. Mr. Aota, if you’re still out there … thank you. You made Hokkaido feel like home.
That day changed us.
Travel has a way of finding teachers when you’re paying attention.
Antelope Canyon, USA
Arizona. Where the light doesn’t just perform, it directs.
The walls twist and flare like a slow-motion fire, sandstone sculpted by wind. Every curve feels intentional, every shaft of light impossibly precise … as if the desert had a storyboard.
We remember the dust motes suspended midair, the silence thick enough to hear our own heartbeat, the guide whispering “now” just as the beam hit. Click. Click. Awe. We remember my mum’s photographic directorial skills, Dee falling down every few minutes and so many Navajo stories.
It’s not just a canyon. It’s choreography. Centuries of water, wind, and patience rehearsing for a single perfect minute of light.
We spent an hour trying to get that photo. The one that would do it justice. We didn’t. Close perhaps.
But it turns out the canyon doesn’t care for fame. It’s already the star.
Adelaide, Australia
South Australia … the city of churches, shark warnings, and long lunches.
We went for a Great White Shark dive (and chickened out).
Instead, we wandered from wine bars to art galleries to Haigh’s Chocolates, debating whether “too much Barossa Shiraz” was an actual medical condition.
It’s a place that whispers, not roars. All sunshine, slow smiles, and the kind of hospitality that sneaks up on you.
We left sunburnt, spoiled, and slightly in love.
Abu Dhabi, UAE
A stopover that became a quiet awakening.
The Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque … marble so white it glows, silence that feels like prayer.
We learned that faith has many dialects, and light is one of them.
Even the air seemed to bow.
We arrived for a layover. We left humbled.
Auckland, New Zealand
The gateway to Middle Earth… and adventures. And probably one of our first.
We landed here with backpacks and bad haircuts, still figuring out how to use the camera we’d eventually build a career on. Auckland was our starting line … our soft launch into the world.
The coffee was great. The accents better. The sense of freedom? Unmatched.
Volcano views, salt air, and the friendliest coffee culture on the planet.
We spent mornings climbing Mt. Eden, afternoons chasing ferries, and nights eating our way through Ponsonby.
Every conversation started with “Kia ora” and ended with laughter.
We could live here. Easily.
Amsterdam, Netherlands
Bicycles, canals, and the soft rebellion of artists. Amsterdam is an old soul in skinny jeans. It’s where you learn that beauty can be messy, and that leaning buildings are just part of the charm.
There’s something about Amsterdam that feels both chaotic and poetic. We biked badly, got lost daily, and somehow ended up drinking wine with strangers in a houseboat art gallery.
It’s the kind of place that forgives everything. Even your navigation skills.
Amsterdam feels like jazz. A little offbeat, always alive, and best experienced after midnight. It’s the city equivalent of an old vinyl … a little scratched, deeply loved, and best experienced with wine and bad dance moves.
Athens, Greece
Where philosophy meets pigeons.
We climbed the Acropolis at high noon (brilliant choice), muttering about democracy and SPF 50.
By sunset, all was forgiven … golden light melting over white stone, the Parthenon humming quietly with 2,000 years of wisdom.
It’s impossible not to feel small there. And somehow, that’s the point.
We ate tzatziki for breakfast, and got lost in alleyways where cats were clearly in charge. History felt alive here. Less museum, more heartbeat.
And ouzo? Let’s just say the second glass is where you find enlightenment.
Aso, Japan
The earth still breathes here.
Standing at the edge of the Mt Aso crater feels like pressing your ear against the planet’s heartbeat.
Sulphur in the air, wind in your hair. A reminder that nature isn’t here for your itinerary.
It’s here to remind you who’s boss.
Avignon, France
Lavender and rosé afternoons, jazz in the square, and ate cheese like it was an Olympic sport.
We danced on the bridge (because of course we did) and pretended it was spontaneous even though we’d planned it for weeks.
Avignon is a poem that forgot it was supposed to rhyme. All sun, stone, and unapologetic joy. You sit by the Rhône with a baguette, a journal, and the vague hope that you’re secretly in a French film.
We probably were. At least in our minds.
Andorra
We drove through this tiny country on a whim. One moment we were in France, the next … surrounded by mountains and tax-free perfume shops.
My first time ever on skis.
It was spontaneous, stunning, and deeply confusing (why is everything so cheap?). We stayed a night longer than planned, because that’s what happens when you travel without maps and with too much curiosity.
Arlington, USA
Rows of white stones. Silence that hums.
It’s impossible to pass by Arlington Cemetery and not feel the weight of history.
It’s travel at its most humbling. The reminder that presence is a privilege.
Asahikawa, Japan
It was the middle of winter and -20°C. The snowflakes were the size of small children. We took photos until our fingers went numb, then thawed out with ramen so good it probably rewired our souls.
Hokkaido winters are a lesson in resilience. And in finding joy in frostbite.
(But… we’ve also been in summer and LOVED IT!)
Assisi, Italy
Some places whisper history. Assisi sings it from the hills.
We remember the drive … winding roads, vineyards giving way to stone towns, and the sun catching every curve of the Umbrian hills. By the time we reached Assisi, the air felt older, quieter. We wandered narrow streets where frescoes peeked from every corner, monks passed with gentle smiles, and gelato shops outnumbered sins.
It’s impossible not to fall a little in love here … with the light, the rhythm, the calm, the history. The kind that slows you down, makes you look up, and realize that beauty doesn’t need to shout.
Assisi was less a stop on the map and more a pause in the soul.
We loved it so much we took back mum and dad the following year.
A is for Adventure (Still)
Looking back, it’s wild to think how many A’s have shaped our story. From ancient ruins to alien conspiracies, from temples to tidepools, from deserts to dance floors. We didn’t know what was coming … the hundreds of flights, the endless stories, the camera gear we’d haul around the world. We just knew we wanted to go.
We were younger then. Fitter (barely). Braver (probably). But the essence hasn’t changed.
We still chase light. We still get lost. We still believe that the best stories aren’t the ones perfectly planned … they’re the ones you stumble into with open eyes and a messy heart.
The scrapbook glue may have yellowed, but the spirit hasn’t.
We wanted to chase light and laughter and moments that made no sense but meant everything.
And honestly, not much has changed.
The scrapbook glue might have dried, but the memories haven’t.
And if there’s one thing we’ve learned, it’s this:
Adventure isn’t something you find.
It’s something you say yes to.
As the first page says … and still reminds us every day:
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
Here’s to the A’s … and all the alphabets to come.
📍 Next up: B is for… well, you’ll see.
37 Frames
