How I travel but still feed my soul

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“Comfort shouldn’t isolate you from experience. And soul travel doesn’t have to break your budget.”

Let me start by saying: I am a passenger princess… and a queen. I love to travel in style. Always have. But when my six-figure salary became a memory, my six-figure lifestyle had to shift too—and that meant learning to travel differently, more intentionally, and yes, more humbly.

I was a single mother for most of my life. I’ve always chased the road when my soul needed a break. Sometimes I planned, sometimes I didn’t. I’d toss the kids in the car, call up a friend, and just go. Sometimes I spent more than I should have. Sometimes I traveled cheap. But over time, I learned what truly fed me while keeping my bank account intact.

So here it is: my guide to traveling on a budget without starving your spirit.

1. Booking Affordable Flights: Think Like a Local, Not a Tourist

This is where my husband comes in—he’s the king of budget travel. Give that man $300 and he’ll book a hostel, hop a bus across a border, and come back with change.

I’m not quite that minimalist, but I’ve learned a lot. Here are the basics:

Never book direct flights unless it makes sense geographically. Instead:

  • Asia? Fly out of the West Coast (L.A., San Francisco).


  • Europe? Leave from the East Coast (NYC, Boston).


  • South America or Mexico? Book to a major U.S. hub first, then fly down.

  • Avoid peak seasons. Go before or after the rush. Weather’s still good, and prices are lower. Fewer tourists = more peace, more soul.

  • Always cross-check flights on apps like Google Flights, Hopper, or Skyscanner. Set alerts. Be flexible on your dates and fly midweek if you can.

2. Skip the Tourist Traps. Eat Like the People.

Let me say this loud: Fancy restaurants aren’t feeding your spirit. They’re feeding Instagram.

When we’re in Playa del Carmen, I could easily spend $30 a plate at an “authentic” Italian or Mexican place near 5th Ave. But that’s not real Mexico. That’s America with hot sauce and a sunhat.

Instead, we eat at street food carts and small, family-run spots. We can eat as a family of three for $10. Real tacos. Real love. Real flavor. No white tablecloths needed.

And from a spiritual standpoint? Street food is intimate. It’s handmade, it’s ancestral, and it comes from someone’s home kitchen, not a corporate checklist. If you see locals lining up around the block—that’s where you eat.

3. Where to Stay: Comfort Without the Bubble

I’m not a hostel person. I have a family. I don’t need bunk beds and shared bathrooms. That said, I also don’t want to hide in a resort that isolates me from the place I’m visiting.

Airbnbs are my sweet spot. You’re embedded in a neighborhood. You hear the language, see people jogging, shopping, arguing in doorways. You live there—even if it’s just for a week.

Right now, we’re staying at an Airbnb in Playa del Carmen that’s managed by a small local company. There’s a building manager named Fernando—and let me tell you, Fernando is the plug. He’s helped us with everything from maintenance to menu tips. He told us where to find the best menudo and tacos in town—places with no Instagram, no Facebook, no marketing… just a little chalkboard menu that changes every day.

And they only serve menudo on Sundays. You want real? That’s the real.

That’s what I love about staying in Airbnbs with local connection. That’s what gets lost in hotels. A hotel is an escape. But an Airbnb, with the right kind of host, is a doorway into a living, breathing neighborhood.

4. Say Yes to the Journey, But No to Isolation

Resorts are beautiful—but they’re insular. Everything is provided, sure—but everything is also filtered.

If you want to feed your soul, don’t just seek comfort. Seek connection.

Connection to place. To people. To yourself.

Ask yourself:

  • Can I walk around here?

  • Do I hear the local language?

  • Am I learning something, or just relaxing?

  • Is this feeding my ego—or my spirit?

Final Thoughts: You Can Travel Gently, Without Breaking the Bank

Travel doesn’t have to mean luxury—but it also doesn’t have to mean struggle. It’s about finding your balance between peace and perspective. Sometimes, that means a beautiful little Airbnb and a $3 plate of tacos. Sometimes, it means skipping the Uber and taking the colectivo.

I travel on a budget now.

But I don’t travel small.

I travel big—in heart, in curiosity, in connection.

So to all my fellow queens trying to figure out how to travel while still holding onto your coins: you can do this. Just travel smart. Travel soulfully. And travel like you belong.

Because you do.




My Birthplace: My Death Place

I was born in New York.

Six years later, I left New York to live in South Carolina.

I moved back 30 years later.

New York had my heart.

I’ve always had a complex relationship with New York City. When I was younger, I remember walking along dirty streets paved in old, discarded black gum and smelling both new and rotting fruit fermenting in the summer sun as I held my grandmother’s hand and stepped into the corner grocery store.

Back then, kids were still sent on errands to buy cigarettes. Unlike minors buying smokes, stepping on cracks was strictly forbidden—you would break your mother’s back. That was in 1988: the time of scrunched socks, Run DMC, and real New York-style pizza—the kind with an aroma that drifted down the block and told you it was owned by Vinny or his grandfather.

It was the town of true German street pretzels and spicy all-beef hotdogs with every topping imaginable.

It was the town of subways riddled with graffiti and flickering lights that went dark when we entered a tunnel. I have a vivid memory of hugging my grandmother tightly, burrowing my face into her bosom for safety every time the train went black. It was almost fun for me—like we were heading into an unknown horizon that only she and I shared. And I loved her for it.

But now, 30 years later, when I look at these images, I remember different things—because this is New York through the eyes of a 30-years-older me.

Yes, the streets are still paved in old gum. Yes, graffiti still lives on the trains. But something feels lost. It’s like renewing an old relationship and realizing the spark has changed. The corner stores have been replaced by Sephoras. The New York-style pizza is now owned by Rashid or Juan. And my grandmother is no longer alive.

This New York has become my old York—along with the charm.

And although every time I cross the bridge to re-enter my place of birth, my heart swells with longing, it also aches. I miss the dirty, broken New York City that birthed me. These photos are a reflection of myself as a tourist. Though there is excitement in my eyes, there’s also loss that cannot be discounted—despite the undeniable beauty of Chinatown and the grand architecture that once fostered my family for generations.