The tradition continues! For my 29th birthday I’m sharing 29 photos that I took over the last year for you to choose from for your phone background!
Browse the photos below and feel free to download one for your smartphone background by tapping on it and downloading the image from the new window that opens.
In 2023 I’m documenting each month by capturing images from my day to day experiences.
In 2023 I’m documenting each month by capturing images from my day to day experiences.
In 2023 I’m documenting each month by capturing images from my day to day experiences.
In 2023 I’m documenting each month by capturing images from my day to day experiences.
The tradition continues! For my 28th birthday I’m sharing 28 photos that I took over the last year for you to choose from for your phone background!
Browse the photos below and feel free to download one for your smartphone background by tapping on it and downloading the image from the new window that opens.
In 2023 I’m documenting each month by capturing images from my day to day experiences.
In 2023 I’m documenting each month by capturing images from my day to day experiences.
In 2023 I’m documenting each month by capturing images from my day to day experiences.
In 2023 I’m documenting each month by capturing images from my day to day experiences.
In 2023 I’m documenting each month by capturing images from my day to day experiences.
In 2023 I’m documenting each month by capturing images from my day to day experiences.
In 2023 I’m documenting each month by capturing images from my day to day experiences.
In 2023 I’m documenting each month by capturing images from my day to day experiences.
I’m getting to the end of my mid-twenties, which might be daunting for me but it’s good news for all of you! Turning 27 means there are 27 photos that I took over the last year for you to choose from for your phone background!
Browse the photos below and feel free to download one for your smartphone background by tapping on it and downloading the image from the new window that opens.
Gale force winds buffeted the windows of the apartment. Outside, tree branches littered Berlin’s parks and miniature dogs were getting blown down the sidewalk. It was a chihuahua, if you’re curious. A genuinely powerful storm was blowing it’s way across Germany, and it didn’t care about trees, dogs, or vacation plans. Lena and I were set to leave for Bavaria by train that day, but all train service in northern Germany was disrupted by the storm. Our trip was off to a great start.
The next morning train service resumed and we fought our way onto the ICE, elbowing along the aisle in an effort to find two unreserved seats. Otherwise we’d be stuck standing for 5 hours on our way to Munich. After a quick stopover for a family dinner, we hopped on the last train of the night to Kiefersfelden, our getaway for the week.
Our goal for the trip was to hit the slopes for a few days, but without a car our options were limited. The local ski resort operates a ski bus but you have to call the day before to reserve your spot, so everything was pushed back a day after our arrival. For our free day we enjoyed the fresh mountain air on a 10 kilometer loop from Kiefersfelden over the Austrian border, and back again. There wasn’t much snow on the ground, but we didn’t mind the warmer temperatures for walking around.
We awoke early the next morning and walked downstairs for the ski bus to meet us. A decalled VW bus rolled up, I handed the driver €10 for the both of us, and we were off to Sudelfeld. At the resort, we told the young woman behind the counter we wanted to rent for three days and she shook her head no. I didn’t understand. What do you mean, no? I asked. There were three big groups coming the next day and she couldn’t guarantee us equipment past today. I hadn’t even considered the possiblity of the resort running out of skis to rent. There was no use arguing it, though, so we took what we could get and rented for the day.
We had an awesome day of skiing, exploring a new mountain and getting our snow-legs back after a few years off the slopes. The bang-for-buck ratio felt just about right, and great Bavarian food on the slopes never hurts. The forced one-day limit at Sudelfeld was a blessing in disguise, though. Sudelfeld is a fun local resort for low-key turns or teaching younglings, but it doesn’t boast the epic views that can be found further south. With those epic views in mind we had some planning to do.
My classmates Stephen, Paul, and Leo arrived that evening and we got them up to speed on the situation over food and beers. There was a lot of back and forth but we decided to go for the full Austrian mission despite the hurdles we’d have to jump through. At 6 a.m. the next morning the adventure began.
Our trek started with a short train ride one stop over the border to Kufstein. From there we hopped on a bus that took us to Wörgl — with 27 stops in between. There, we took the S-Bahn regional train to the famed ski town of Kitzbühel. Only, we took it to the center of town, not the stop before that’s right at the gondola. 20 minutes later after walking back to the ski resort we were at our destination. We dipped into a ski rental shop and frantically started the check-in process when an employee told us there was no need to rush because the resort was closed because of high winds. It seemed our fairytale Austrian ski adventure wasn’t meant to be.
We walked up the street to the gondola to look at the live resort map to confirm the bad news. It wasn’t entirely true, but only one gondola and two small lifts were open. Compared to the 57 lifts on the mountain only having access to three felt like a massive defeat. After a brief powwow (without gulasch or beer, sadly), we decided that we’d made it this far so we might as well commit, regardless of conditions. We had also heard that the winds were expected to die down by mid-morning. What felt like hours but was really only 30 minutes later we were on the gondola with rental skis in hand and hope in our hearts. After two runs they shut the entire mountain down.
Everyone on the slopes was forced to ski down to the base of the gondola along a slushy, mogol ravaged, disaster of a run to await further updates. When we got to the bottom the gondola was running (with massives lines) and a few lifts had opened up again so our hope had returned. Over the next hour every lift on the mountain came to life and our Austrian fairytale was back on.
We explored all over the huge resort, testing out every lift we could see. We found the best groomed snow, some leftover powder in need of fresh tracks, and a couple of off-piste kickers for a few successful starfishes and unsuccessful backflips. Over a hearty alpine lunch the clouds cleared and our afternoon was blessed with bluebird skies. The fairytale wasn’t just back on, it was better than our dreams.
We were having too much fun to worry about the time until suddenly time was of the essence. With four lifts and a confusing string of runs between us and the rental shop we suddenly had a daunting task ahead of us. One wrong turn and we’d end up stranded on the mountain or in a different town. As the sun slid below the peaks around us we raced down the slopes, making our way ever closer to the final run. At the bottom of one lift I noticed that the “last chair” time and the “current time” were the same.
When we finally made it to the top of the final run we let out a sigh of relief and pulled out our cameras to capture the immense Kaiser mountains bathed in the last light of the day. Grinning ear-to-ear we pushed off one last time and, not wanting it to end, adopted the most leisurely pace of the day for the final run. Lena and I took it slowly, so by the time we made it to the bottom the boys were already enjoying cold beers and classic Austrian aprés ski pop hits (read: terrible, terrible music). Even our commute home contributed to the fairy tale. The train-bus-train became train-train-train and was 40 minutes shorter. I was in love with Austria.
We all yearned for another amazing day of skiing in Austria, but travel plans and work schedules were unfriendly to our continued fairy tail dreaming. Instead, we hiked up into the foothills of the Kaisergebirge from the other side. Along the way we found a slot canyon with snowmelt gushing down.
Running out of time before Stephen had to return for his train we had to decide between an epic view of the Kaiser mountains and some classic Austrian food and drinks. The food won in the end, but we still snagged a glance of the mountains out the window of the hut.
For our final day Lena and I took the train to Salzburg, a town I’ve visited many times but a first for her. I showed her all of my family’s favorites. Meaning we tasted all of the classic Salzburg foods we could get our hands on: Mozart kugel, Salzburger nockerl, and leberknödelsuppe. (Pro tip: the “original” Mozart kugel from Fürst isn’t as good as the copy from Reber). We also chanced upon an organ performance in the Salzburg Cathedral. An organist played a piece on each of the cathedral’s five organs, filling the chamber with resonant music. The fortress on top of the hill was our final destination before we made our way back to the train station for our ride back to Kiefersfelden.
The next morning as we packed our bags and hopped on the train, excited to remember the trip before it was even over, our phones began to buzz with push notifications. What we’d been talking about in the background for weeks had become a reality: Russia invaded Ukraine. Except for her sister, Lena’s entire immediate and extended family were suddenly living in a warzone and all of our attention went to finding ways to get them to safety. If you’re able to support those affected in any way, please find resources here.
I heaved my duffle bag onto my back, and my backpack onto my front before striding out of the Corfu airport. Dressed like a turtle, and feeling just as slow, I trudged along the streets, many of which were missing sidewalks, towards the scooter rental shop. My hope was to snag a scooter to make the 40km trip from Corfu town to our Airbnb. An island-ride with the wind in my face seemed more fun than a 1.5 hour bus ride. Sadly, after arriving at the shop I learned that Greece has different license requirements and my California driver’s license wasn’t valid without an additional international license—which I didn’t have.
I still had an hour to wait before my classmates arrived from Berlin so I thought I’d try the bike rental shop, even though a 30km bike ride with luggage would be miserable. I trudged another few kilometers like a turtle to the bike rental shop only to learn that it was closed for the season. I was secretly relieved that I didn’t have to bike. With my figurative tail tucked between my legs I made my way to the bus station where I met up with my classmates. We bought our tickets and then settled in to wait a few hours for the bus. Over beers I learned that our classmate Paul had successfully rented a scooter from a sketchy shop outside of town and called them up. Five hours later after making it to the Airbnb we were overwhelmed with the sweet rattling sound of 50cc scooters in the driveway. Our special delivery had arrived. We scrounged in our pockets to collect 600€ cash and handed it over for the week-long rental of four scooters.
With our island-chariots secured we hopped on, fired them up and scooted off to the grocery store for supplies. Max speed: 45km/h. For the next six days we explored all over the northern half of the island. We did our best to avoid the rain with varying success while we hunted for the best beaches and food that Corfu has to offer.
My classmate Julia suggested early on that we tackle Corfu’s highest peak for a sunrise hike, so one morning we woke up at 4 am to ensure we’d arrive before the sun crept over the horizon. According to Maps the hiking trail was about 45 minutes away by car. Likely more than an hour by scooter. In the cold dark morning we wiped the dew off of our seats and mounted up, two to a scooter. The extra weight made climbing up the hills a crawl. We pulled the throttles back as far as they would go and still we inched our way up the hill at around 10 km/h.
During the steepest climb I leaned forward and prayed that the scooter would get us up the hill. Over the wail of the engine I heard a scream in the background. I looked in my mirror and watched as one of the scooters drove off the side of the road into a ditch. I wanted to stop to check on whoever had ridden off the road but if I stopped I wasn’t sure the scooter could get going again. So I pushed on.
When the road flattened out around the next bend I stopped so the others could catch up, assuming their scooters still worked. Julia, queen of the sunrise hike, had lost her balance riding so slow on the steep hill and rode into the ditch with her passenger in tow. She twisted her ankle trying to catch the scooter but was otherwise okay. With everyone accounted for, and no serious injuries, we plowed on.
It took us around an hour and a half to get to Julia’s trailhead. But the tardiness wasn’t an issue because there was no trail to be found. Instead we parked the scooters and walked the rest of the way up the steep road to the top. Twenty minutes later we were at the summit, roughly an hour before the sun would be seen that day.
For the next 60 minutes we walked back and forth, did jumping jacks and squats, and huddled like penguins to stay warm. We watched as the sky slowly grew lighter before the sun finally crested the horizon in the distance, bathing Albania and Greece in sunlight. The sky turned orange and the wispy clouds were tinged with purple for what felt like only a minute, but lasted at least 30. We were still cold to the bone even with the sun rising higher in the sky, so we hopped back on the scooters in search of a hot drink and a warm meal.
After shuffling out of the tiny airport we crawled into a tiny Nissan Versa that was delivered by the all-too-friendly Hertz representative who went by Tim (his full name was unpronounceable for us non-Greeks. We pulled up our mapping app and headed out on the tiny roads of Skiathos, swerving around scooters and potholes. Our digital guide took us straight up the mountain, including an 18° rutted incline that made the engine squeal and the whole car shake. We all leaned forward and prayed that the little engine could make it. After that first harrowing drive up the hill nearly everything else went according to plan. (If we don’t count the jellyfish stings I endured on my first swim.) For two weeks we enjoyed ourselves on Skiathos, an island made famous for the scenes of Mama Mia! that were filmed there.
The reason for the extravagant trip was my mom’s 60th birthday, which we celebrated in style on a chartered sailboat adventure around Skiathos’ neighboring islands. Our captain Stefanos, a wisecracking local to Skiathos who hates Mamma Mia!, motored us from his home port of Skiathos Town east to a small cove on the eastern side of Arkos. He outfitted us with snorkeling gear and kicked us off the boat for 45 minutes of underwater exploration. After pulling up the anchor we motored yet again (the wind was blowing towards the west), past the small lighthouse-topped island of Repio on our way east towards Skopolos.
Before anchoring on the coast of Skopolos for lunch we made a snorkeling pitstop around Dasia where we swam through an eerie underwater tunnel and explored caves with thousands of tiny silver fish. Lunch, which was more like a feast for the gods, consisted of no less than four massive courses of Greek breads, spreads, cheeses, veggies, seafood, and pasta; all washed down by tsipouro, a savory take on the famous Greek ouzo. Sadly, I promised our snarky captain that I wouldn’t reveal the details of the banquet to prevent food IP theft by other ambitious captains.
Our midday repast left us stuffed like turduckens and more than a little tipsy from the bottomless tsipouro cups so we didn’t mind a leisurely sail (yes, sail, the wind favored our return) back towards Skiathos. We made one final pitstop on Tsougkrias where we jumped from the bow into the crystal clear Mediterranean waters and drank a celebratory, and thankfully very thin, Gin & Tonic before pulling up our anchor and returning to Skiathos Town. Thoroughly salted and sun-dried we deftly navigated the gangway before setting foot back on solid ground. We claimed it was sea-legs that made us wobble our way through the harbor but I’m not so sure.
For my birthday a little over a week later we went on another boating adventure around Skiathos and its neighboring islands, sans captain. Unless you count my unlicensed sister at the helm of a 12 foot motor boat. Essentially a souped-up dinghy, our transport was small but mighty, and felt like more than enough boat for four inexperienced boaters to handle. But what it lacked in size it made up for in freedom. We weren’t at the mercy of a guided tour so we crafted our own itinerary for the day which began with Lalaria, Skiathos’ most famous destination.
We motored, slowly but surely, around 1/3rd of the coastline before laying anchor among the giant underwater boulders on the shore. Unable to motor directly to the beach, we jumped off the boat and swam ashore for a painful walk along the picturesque white rocks. The far end of the beach features a beautiful stone arch that’s the backdrop to millions, if not billions of photos. What I discovered, though, is that unbeknownst to 99% of tourists who visit (that’s a wild guesstimate) is a second underwater arch. This secluded arch is home to thousands of fish swimming in schools in the safety of the shade under the rocks. Sadly I had no camera so you’ll just have to trust me on this, or go see it for yourself. I swam through the secret arch a few times before making my way back to shore where the others were admiring the beautiful rocky beach.
Our stomachs started to grumble so we swam back to our boat, pulled up the anchor, fired up our mini-motor, and made our way to Arkos for a beachside taverna. After eating some classic Greek dishes we motored west, to a portion of the island only accessible by boat, where we found an idyllic cove with majestic Cotylorhiza tuberculata, aka fried egg jellyfish, floating in the current. With only an hour or so before we had to return the boat we lazily swam around the rocks in search of fish before drying off and starting up the motor for the short ride home.
After two weeks on Skiathos we decided that we wouldn’t mind another week exploring the island’s beaches and cliffs, but sadly our time was up. I, however, had one more Greek destination on the itinerary: Corfu.
Our flight arrived around 9 p.m. and after climbing into a taxi we made our way along the broad highway towards Athens. While Lena and I sat in stunned silence in the backseat our driver Facetimed his son, letting him know he’d be home soon, while swerving across lanes and speeding around other traffic. Luckily he wrapped up his call before we made it into the city proper, where even at 9 p.m. the streets are filled with cars, trucks, and chaotic scooters. With his eyes more focused on the road he pointed out a few landmarks along the way in broken English. We nodded and pretended like we knew what he was talking about. In truth, we’d researched hardly at all.
At one intersection he pointed out the Acropolis in the distance, lit up by hundreds of floodlights and visible from anywhere in the city that had an unobstructed view. I only had a vague idea of what it was (again, no research) but knew instantly that I wanted to go. I’m a history nerd but Lena isn’t so I made a point of extracting a promise from her that we would go to some of the ruins in the city.
Our stop in Athens wasn’t really our destination, it was a way to get two trips out of one on our way to Skiathos, a small Greek island north of the capital, where we’d be spending two weeks for my mom’s 60th birthday. This was the justification for our lack of research.
In the end I didn’t need to extract any promise from Lena to see historical sites because that’s just about all there is to do in Athens anyway. Punctuated by brief stops for coffee and prolonged Greek feasts we hoofed it from one ancient ruin to another over two days.
For lunch Lena found a famous souvlaki stand that she said was worth the 20 minute walk through Athenian traffic. When we arrived there was a line of ten or so. Nine of which looked like tourists. We couldn’t all fit into the tiny shop so I volunteered to order for us when we got to the front of the line. I stepped through the door and waited for the cook behind the counter to show me he was ready to take my order.
“Two chicken, one veggie, and one beef souvlaki, please,” I said through my mask.
He looked at me with a blank stare. “We don’t have that, only pork,” he said in accented English.
I paused, feeling stupid for having no clue about what food I would be getting. I shrugged.
“Then four pork souvlaki, please!”
I passed the man’s wife 10 euros for the bag of souvlaki and squeezed past the line back outside. Still shocked that each bundle of pork and veggies wrapped in pita was only €2.50 I relayed the story to the others and they laughed, not at all upset that they wouldn’t get what they’d ordered. We walked to a nearby park and dug into what can only be described as heaven. The pita was soft and doughy, the pork tender, the veggies fresh and crisp, topped with fresh tzatziki for both creaminess and some zest. It’s one of the world’s many wonderful flatbread wraps. We enjoyed every moment of our wraps while resting our feet in the park before moving, somewhat reluctantly, on to the next set of ruins.
After a long first day our feet were all sore but over dinner and ouzo I insisted on waking up early to be at the acropolis at 8 a.m. when it opened. There was some pushback but we all agreed in the end that avoiding the heat of the Mediterranean sun and quite a few tourists would be a good idea. It didn’t hurt that the light for photography would be much better.
The next morning, with our bellies full of greek yogurt and caffeine, we made our way across town and up the hill that sits under the acropolis, arriving only a few minutes after 8. It was already bustling with people. I ran around shooting hundreds of photos of the Parthenon and Erechtheum as the sun marched higher into the sky. Before long we all craved a cold drink and some shade so we made our way back down the hill.
Before we knew it our two days were up. But we didn’t have a moment’s thought to spare before boarding a tiny Olympic Air propeller plane on our way to the real vacation: Skiathos.
The phone background tradition is a whopping 5 years old—and I turn 26—which means 26 new photos from the past 12 months for you to choose from.
Browse the photos below and feel free to download one for your smartphone background by tapping on it and downloading the image from the new window that opens.
