Hi, fellow wanderer.

I moved abroad with three suitcases and a heroic amount of confidence. Finding my way has been less about following a map and more about saying yes to unexpected detours.

Years later, I’m still here. I write about the awkward, wonderful middle ground between tourist and local: learning a language badly, finding queer community slowly, and discovering that “authentic” restaurants also have laminated menus sometimes.

This is a travel blog, yes. But it’s also a record of building a life far from where I started—and becoming more myself with every border crossed.

The name on the postcard

Why “Miles and Less”?

The name is a tally and a promise, in the spirit of “kilometers and less.” Miles and less of them: fewer must-sees, less luggage, no racing the itinerary—and more of whatever actually matters once you stop competing with the guidebook.

The idea earned its keep during a missed flight in Lisbon: twelve accidental hours, a tiny budget, and one pastel de nata that proved the point. The farther I went, the less I needed. More conversations. More lingering. More room for the version of me that wasn’t in such a hurry.

Go slowly

Two good neighborhoods beat twelve rushed landmarks.

Tell it honestly

The missed trains and lonely Tuesdays belong in the story too.

Leave room

The best afternoon is often the one the guidebook forgot.