As someone who craves travel, with all its trip planning and adventures in discovering new places, being grounded for the last 18 months due to the COVID-19 pandemic has been difficult, to say the least. With all the uncertainty surrounding the new variants and rising case counts, I had pretty much written off any chance of a real vacation in 2021. But it’s been a long year, personally and professionally, and I was in need of a break to just get away and decompress.

When I was living in Chicago, I’d had an honest-to-goodness dining room, which was the site of many a dinner party and lively gathering, and I’ve sorely missed having a space to really host and entertain since being in Toronto. As such, one of the big selling features of this condo was finally having an actual dining space.

I knew from the get-go that the room that would need the most transformative work was the kitchen. Much like the bathroom, things were a little on the dated side—rickety cabinets, laminate countertop, all in variations on a beige-y theme. The little pass-through window, while somewhat charming, meant that the kitchen felt very boxed-in and closed-off from the rest of the space.

As mentioned in an earlier post, when I’d first walked into what would become my bedroom, it was staged as a living room. It seemed perfectly lovely as a living room at the time, and I didn’t give it much of a second thought until I moved in and started inhabiting the space. The decision primarily came from my not wanting the adjacent room to be the bedroom.

When I started looking at condos online, I think I had it in my mind that I wanted my pick to be all shiny and finished when I bought it. Why would I want to take on that kind of work to renovate? However, when I first toured my eventual condo, I was struck not only by what was there but also by what it could be. I loved the bones of the place, a rare and spacious layout, and quickly realized that I’d be willing to take on renovating just to get those bones.

The first room I wanted to feature was one of the first rooms I actually “finished” in the condo, as it didn’t require any renovations: my den of productivity (a.k.a. the office). I’m sure the space will evolve over the years, as my needs change–but right now, I need an office space to hunker down in for the majority of my weekdays.

My homeownership story begins in a somewhat unlikely place: a hot tub. I had traveled to B.C. to see my family, and we’d holed up in a rented home in Revelstoke to have an early Christmas. Whilst sitting in the hot tub, my folks and I started talking about investments and the future, what my plans were and what I was hoping for. Many conversations later and I was back in Toronto, searching in earnest on condo websites for a new home.

The current global COVID-19 pandemic has necessitated drastic but necessary self-isolation measures for everyone, which means that we're all now spending an inordinate amount of time in our homes. While we may start to feel like the walls are closing in (or that we're ready to start climbing them), I'm trying to use this opportunity to "get to know" my own home--to be grateful for it, appreciate what it is, and also think about ways to improve it.

One of the highlights of my adventures in Patagonia was an ever-so-brief jaunt to Argentina. While the majority of my time in South America was spent in Chile, I couldn’t help but take a bit of a detour into Argentina, inspired by photos of epic, jagged peaks and turquoise lakes. Now I could have hopped a bus from Puerto Natales, Chile, to take me across the border, which certainly would’ve been logistically simpler, not to mention monetarily preferable, but I’m a sucker for a good road trip.

I certainly lucked out on the weather on this hike, as I awoke bright and early the next day to clear, blue skies. I fueled up with a hot breakfast (eggs, bacon, muffins, the works) and packed a ham and cheese sandwich, Rice Krispies square, and a juice box in an adorable brown paper bag. My legs were feeling the wear from the previous day’s exertions, but I determinedly strapped on my pack, armed myself with poles, and set off on the remaining 25 km of the Skyline Trail.

Over the last few years, I’ve challenged myself to a big solo hike when I travel. I’m not sure as to the genesis of this desire. Perhaps it was my own way of testing my limits—how far I could push myself—or a way of reminding myself that I am a strong, independent woman. Last year, it was the W-Trek in Chile and before that it was Schiehallion in Scotland. When I decided to visit Banff and Jasper, I knew there had to be an epic hike that would fit the bill: Enter Skyline Trail, with its 46 km and sweeping mountain views.

Until last year, I had never been much of a hiker, unless you count traipsing across urban landscapes. After tackling a few modest day hikes, including the Cares Trail in Spain and Schiehallion in Scotland, I wanted to challenge myself to a multi-day hike and also witness a few spectacular vistas along the way. Enter: Torres del Paine.