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Santa Barbara, Ca

I'm a full-time rambler and contract designer with as many skill sets in my quiver as there are plane tickets in my passbook. I've worked in ornamental iron, jigsaw puzzle design, bookmaking, glass engraving, and a variety of other mediums. I'm currently living out of a backpack as I trek my way around the world.


Copenhagen, Denmark

Zak Erving

Gefion Fountain, Copenhagen

Everyplace has weather, and when traveling one shouldn’t judge a destination by it. But I did, on accident, on Copenhagen’s too-straight streets.

Copenhagen has plenty of people vouching for it, saying wonderful things about it like “It’s so clean” and “It’s so quiet and well-behaved,” as if it were a small-town beauty queen or a perfectly-behaved labrador retriever.

But there’s something in the human spirit that craves friction, or contrast, or even violence—some punctuation in the timeline, like a lone volcano on an empty landscape. And I was having trouble finding it along the edge of Sundet, where beautiful people lived in a beautiful city under a grey cloud canopy, earthbound mist heralding the coming sprinkles of rain. 

The fine line that stood between mundane and misery was a too-thin rain poncho, a blue garbage bag with a hood, a one-sized-fits-all that rattled like a sail whenever the wind picked up. I looked ridiculous, as most tourists do, and compounded my appearance when I splashed-down into a puddle.

I thought of the first time I visited Paris, about how I hated it but have since come to admire. Time and place matter less on a journey—people matter the most. Spend a week in Paris with someone you’d rather not be around, and you will hate Paris. Spend a few days in Copenhagen anticipating a reunion with someone you miss, and you’ll dislike Copenhagen. Or anywhere. Especially if it’s raining.