Five stations on Athens Metro Line 3 (to//from Athens Airport) will close earlier from Sunday, October 25 to Thursday, October 29, 2026. Metro stations: Ethniki Amyna, Holargos, Nomismatokopio, Aghia Paraskevi and Halandri will close at 21:40 that is two and a half hours earlier than the scheduled end of service, due to rail replacement works. […]

The post Five Metro stations of Line 3 (to/from Athens Airport) to close earlier Oct 25-29 appeared first on Keep Talking Greece.

• Leslie Hodgin and her husband had dreamed of moving abroad.
• They finally took the leap in January, deciding not to waste time in their 50s.
• Hodgin said the move was expensive and time-consuming, but she's been happy with their relocation.

This story is based on an interview with Leslie Hodgin, a 55-year-old marketing consultant who moved from the US to the Netherlands with her husband, John Lyman, 52. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Until 2026, I was living in Richmond, Virginia, with my husband and our cat.

My dad was in the Army, so I grew up all over the world, but Richmond is my adopted home. I lived there for about 10 years.

During that time, I got an offer to move to Seoul, South Korea, for my marketing job. My husband, John, and I were dating at the time. We got married one week before moving to Seoul for two years.

After the contract ended, we returned to the States. I love Richmond, but it did feel small after I had been in Korea.

Some events happened in both of our families that made us want to move abroad again sooner rather than later. My dad died. My husband's mom died. We had a couple of dear friends pass away. It was all very quick. And it made me think, "What are we waiting for? We don't have promises for tomorrow. Now is the time."

We don't have kids, so that wasn't holding us back. We had some money in the bank to move, which I know is a privilege. It was like, "Let's just go and live our lives. We shouldn't just keep hoping for someday because there may not be someday."

Moving to the Netherlands

John had gone to graduate school in the Netherlands, so we'd visited before. Through my work in advertising, I also had a fairly large network of people living there.

There's a visa for Americans called the Dutch-American Friendship Treaty (DAFT) that allows freelancers and entrepreneurs to live in the Netherlands. It made the country seem like a great choice for us.

My husband works for himself, so it was easier for him to pick up and go anywhere. I started my own consulting business and left my agency. I knew there was an advertising community in the Netherlands, and I planned to freelance if my consulting business wasn't doing well.

My husband's dad is in his 90s, and my mom just turned 80. Moving far from them was probably the hardest part of the decision. I have a little guilt for that, but they're excited for us. I've promised my mom that I'll be home for any big family and important events.

That's a hard thing to do, but we felt it was right for us not to put our lives on hold.

Downsizing our lives

We moved in January. We did it in six months. We'd sold our house about a year before moving and were living in an apartment.

We decided to sell almost everything we owned to keep costs as low as possible. We shipped a half-crate over, which is quite small, so we had to get rid of a lot of stuff. We made close to $12,000 selling everything and used it to pay for the visas and help with some of the moving costs.

When we moved, we had nine suitcases, including a large piece of art. It was the largest oversize item that would fit on an airplane, and we had a special museum-packing company pack it. And our cat, of course, came on the plane with us.

We live in a two-bedroom apartment. It's an old, old building, but the apartment is newly renovated and has a patio.

We do feel lucky that we found a place because there is a housing shortage, and it's quite hard to find housing, particularly if you're American or from another country and you don't have Dutch income. We had to pay six months' rent upfront to secure our rental.

Life in Europe

It still feels surreal that we live here. My husband and I will frequently look at each other and say, "Oh my God, I can't believe that we're here." I never want to lose that feeling.

Business seems to be going really well. I also already knew some friends, but I've met so many amazing people through social media and made some great friends with our neighbors.

We love the sense of community. I appreciate the social contract that people afford each other in the Netherlands, from the opportunities the government provides to the respect and trust they show each other in general.

Recently, there was Open Monumentendag, or Open Monuments Day, with over a thousand monuments, churches, houses, farms, and historic places across the Netherlands open to the public for free. They do that every year, and it feels so special. It seems like every other weekend there's a festival.

There are always challenges. I'm very slow to pick up the language. Most people speak English, but I feel like I need to be better.

Moving also costs a lot more than you plan for. Even if you've tried to pad all the numbers, it still costs more than anticipated. Because our work was quite slow earlier in the year, we were like, "Gosh, what have we done?"

Our cost of living is fairly similar to what it was in the US. We don't have a car, so we don't have that expense. We would be paying double the rent in New York City for this same apartment.

A fresh start

I feel alive again. I felt a little stagnant in Richmond after living overseas, and moving has opened a lot of doors for my creativity.

On social media, I've documented trying one new thing a week. It's gotten us out to meet people and have some interesting experiences.

There's a risk in moving abroad. You have to get yourself over the hump, and you have to be brave.

Believe in yourself. If there's something you want to try, like moving overseas, going on a solo trip, or taking a cooking class, take a chance on yourself. You're never going to regret trying it if it doesn't work out. If you don't ever put yourself out there, you're going to look back in 20 years and be like, "That would have been great. Why didn't I give that a shot?"

In the 1940s and '50s, Route 66 was one of America's most popular highways, driving business to small towns from Chicago to Santa Monica. But today, the road and its people have been largely forgotten. Ghost towns, empty motels, and abandoned gas stations line its path. Chief correspondent Abby Narishkin grew up along the road. In celebration of its 100th anniversary, she drove down the old route herself to visit the people and businesses still keeping this Americana legacy alive.

• This post originally appeared in the BI Today newsletter.
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The great window-shade debate

Airplane question for you: If you're in a window seat, do you keep the shade up or down?

We raised this in our morning news meeting a few days ago, and the room erupted into a fierce debate over flying etiquette. This is up there with whether reclining your seat is appropriate, or society's unwritten rules around airplane armrests or taking off your shoes and socks.

For some travelers, open shades offer a lot of positives. You can watch the clouds, take a photo, or just feel a little less claustrophobic at 35,000 feet. (I'm shades up, for sure!)

For others, leaving the shade open is an act of selfishness. Sunlight pouring into the airplane cabin can keep half the plane awake, or cause glare on laptop or tablet screens. These folks very much want the shades closed. Flyers have been intensely litigating the issue on Reddit in recent days.

So, who's right in the window-seat debate?

The practical answer depends on the moment. Many airlines require the shades to be open during takeoff and landing for safety reasons, so passengers and crew can spot hazards outside and emergency responders can see into the cabin. But once the plane reaches cruising altitude, there are generally few rules governing the shade.

From there, it's all etiquette.

We spoke with a former flight attendant who spent nearly a decade working for an international airline. She has particularly strong feelings about how this debate should be settled.

Where do you stand on the issue? Should airplane window shades be open or shut during flights? Drop me a note at srussolillo@businessinsider.com and let me know what you think.

Today, Strathpeffer, in Ross-shire, is a quiet place, but 100 years ago it was an incredibly popular spa resort that exploded during the late stages of the Victorian period

• My 21-year-old son wanted to visit a lively beach club during our family vacation.
• I never expected my parents, both in their 70s, to get up and dance to ABBA.
• Seeing their joy reminded me that getting older doesn't mean giving up new experiences.

My 75-year-old dad told me he'll feel like he's closer to dying if our annual family vacations stop. He's not ready for that. Neither am I.

It stopped me in my tracks and frankly scared me a little. While I know my parents are aging, I haven't begun thinking about life without them, and I found myself spending the rest of the vacation looking through this new lens.

For the last 12 years, my husband, my parents, my son, and I have traveled all over the world on an annual multigenerational trip. And while the sights have been spectacular, what struck me most on this last vacation is just how much each of us has grown to value these trips.

I'm in the middle between my parents and my son

The dynamic has certainly evolved. My son was 9 when we started, is now 21, and brings his girlfriend along. My parents are now in their mid-70s, with some health challenges that require more patience and care. And I'm in the middle, adjusting the trip so everyone can still participate. I used to plan for adventure. Now I'm thinking about walking distances, downtime, unpacking, and what my parents can comfortably do, while still making it fun for the 21-year-olds.

But what I learned on this trip was that sometimes, when choosing something for the youngest generation, a magical memory is created for the oldest, like when we went to Nikki Beach in St. Tropez at my son's request. We had been there for lunch a few years prior, and we wanted to return, this time when we could see the true Euro summer beach club vibe in action, complete with waving white napkins and ABBA blasting from the DJ booth.

I never would have guessed it, but both of my parents were up and dancing that day. My mom has since declared the whole day one of her favorites. Who knew? Maybe all they need is a "darty" (day party, as my college kid tells me!).

These are not just vacations for my parents

After what my dad had said earlier in the trip, I watched him differently that day. Seeing him dancing with my mom, laughing and completely in the moment, I understood a little more of what he meant. These trips aren't just vacations to him. They are something he still gets to look forward to, proof that there are more places to go, more memories to make, and more life ahead of him.

The thing is, for the first few years of these trips, I just wanted to knock places off my bucket list. Now, I want to figure out how to bottle the time and have lasting pictures in my head because a time will come when they stop, when it is no longer feasible for my parents to travel, and when my son will be busy with work and his own family.

I know the finality of life all too well, as I still struggle with the loss of my son Jake after 15 years. I know firsthand the fragility of life and how it can all change in an instant.

My dad's comment also made me realize that I've been thinking about these trips mostly from my own perspective as planner and caregiver. I worry about how much walking they can do, whether they need an afternoon off, or if I've planned too much. He's thinking about something entirely different. He's thinking about what it means to still be able to go.

The goal is to spend time together

The success of these trips used to be measured by where we went and what we saw. Now they are measured by how much uninterrupted time we have together. As we've shifted from bucket-list places like Africa and the Galápagos, we've begun to choose places where we don't have to pack and unpack every three or four days, where we can settle in and spend time together.

We've all learned that the real moments of these trips do not lie in the over-the-top experiences. They lie in the moments after the excursion, when we are all having cocktails by the pool and sharing time, the most valuable gift we all have. It's in the final glass of wine, listening to music, or playing Flip 7 or Pass the Pigs. It's when we are tired from exploring and stop to have a beer on a random street in a random place that we may never find again.

I don't know how many more years the five, now six, of us will be able to do this together. I hope it's many. But my dad's comment made me realize that counting the years almost misses the point. We got this trip, and while we were there, everyone could still dance.

Perhaps the most important thing is that when my parents started this tradition all those years ago, they started something that won't end with them. I know someday these trips will be for my son and his family. I love knowing my parents gave us that tradition. I'm just in absolutely no hurry to inherit it.

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• After college, my best friend and I committed to going on a trip together every year.
• It's been a great way to stay connected and make new memories, even as our lives change.
• Our trips are more relaxed in our 30s than they were in our 20s, but they've all been wonderful.

I'm a firm believer that there are some people in this world you're simply destined to meet and have in your life forever. For me, one of those people is my sorority-Little-turned-soul-sister, Lisa.

After bonding over many things during recruitment sophomore year — including our shared love for Blink-182 and punk rock — we both unknowingly wrote down on the get-to-know-you quizzes for the committee that we hoped to be paired as Big and Little sisters.

We were, and the rest is history. Our college days were constantly filled with plans together, and by graduation, we couldn't imagine embarking on this next phase of adulthood with over 180 miles between us.

She's from the Boston area, while I'm from Connecticut and moved to New York City right after college. So, we agreed to prioritize our friendship and made a pact to spend time together in person every year.

Since graduating in 2015, we've planned a getaway together every summer.

Our trips haven't always looked the same, but they have some constants

Right out of college, Lisa and I looked forward to a few sun-drenched days spent catching up on Long Beach Island, New Jersey.

From the Victoria Guest House to the Engleside Inn, we'd book a charming yet affordable place steps away from the beach to spend long days working on our tans, cranking up the tunes, and sipping spiked seltzers.

At night, we'd head out for bar hopping and dancing to live music until the wee hours of the morning. The next day, we would rinse and repeat.

We initially chose the Jersey Shore because it's an easy ride to perfect summer weather and beautiful beaches. It became our go-to place, though we now switch up locations every now and then.

Fast-forward to more than a decade after graduating from college, and our summer tradition is still going strong — but it looks quite different.

For this year's getaway, we stayed in a charming room at Greydon House in downtown Nantucket, Massachusetts. (We've always taken the aesthetics of our accommodations seriously and became obsessed with B&Bs and boutique hotels early on.)

We brunched at Lemon Press, popped into all of the boutiques (and shopped for Lisa's little ones), enjoyed early afternoon cocktails at CRU (the restaurant's signature Crucomber cocktail was a must), pedaled our beach cruisers past the hydrangea-lined shingled homes, and relaxed at the beach while we gabbed and reminisced.

Although we're no longer partying like it's 2015, we've come to genuinely enjoy an early dinner reservation at an aesthetically pleasing restaurant, plus after-dinner cocktails. A perfect night usually includes slipping into our PJs and streaming a chick flick.

We're also more organized these days, sticking to a well-planned itinerary to ensure our experience is top-notch.

In fact, we both watched "Five Star Weekend" before heading to Nantucket and knew we absolutely had to grab morning buns from Wicked Island Bakery. (If you know, you know!)

Above all, we don't let life get in the way of our friendship or summer tradition

Our lives look very different now that we're in our 30s. Lisa married her high-school sweetheart and is a mom of two, while my husband and I recently purchased our first home and have been tackling countless renovation projects in between doing lots of travel.

It takes true commitment from Lisa and me to carve out time for our tradition amid this hectic stage of adulthood — and it's always well worth it.

We know the importance of prioritizing our time together and start planning our trip in the early spring so we can block off a time that works for both of us in the summer.

While, like fine wine, our getaways have improved in the best way, one thing has always remained the same: We still talk, let our hair down, and laugh until our sides hurt from start to finish.

There's rarely a moment of silence, and when there is, it feels completely natural.

We can go weeks or even months without gabbing and somehow always pick up where we left off. We listen, give advice, and discuss what we both have planned in the near and distant future. We celebrate each other's successes and offer endless support.

Our friendship has grown with us and is incredibly strong; it's exactly what a best friendship should be. Of course, our summer tradition is here to stay.

• My husband and I lived in NYC for six years before becoming parents.
• We have plenty of memories there, and recently went on a family trip with our two girls.
• We didn't get to do a lot of things on my itinerary, but I'm still grateful for our time.

New York City was home to my husband and me for six years before we had kids and moved to Asheville, and it will forever be a place that holds so much for us. That's why when the timing, cost, and opportunity aligned for our family of four to vacation there for a week recently, I was chomping at the bit to return, enthusiastic at the prospect of sharing this colossal, important place with our 4- and 6-year-old daughters.

It was easy to have high expectations for a trip down memory lane, but the reality is that any trip with kids will be what it will be, and we can only hope that something along the way — a bump in the road, a detour, a singalong — cements into their memories and crystallizes into sentimental gemstones that they turn over and over in their minds with time.

I created a full itinerary for our trip

Leading up to departure, I planned a weeklong itinerary with suggestions for each day on where to go, what to eat, who to see, and what to do. Knowing my kids would need some rest and recovery, I built in plenty of downtime — or so I thought. Still, as with all things parenting, I was rudely reminded that even with my experience and expertise as Mom, I could not foresee every breakdown.

By midweek, my daughters hit a physical, mental, and emotional wall. I had planned to take them to the Met, but instead, I was met with loud, convincing pleas to spend a couple of hours in the hotel room. Crestfallen, I agreed. They didn't know about the daydreams I'd had of walking them through the museum to see the Temple of Dendur, the Medieval Sculpture Hall, and rooms where Degas's ballerinas, Monet's water lilies, or Van Gogh's self-portrait lived. Sigh. I'm an art lover — I enjoy meandering through vast halls and admiring human creativity and intellect. It brings me great peace and joy.

I was disappointed that we didn't go to any museums

A few days later, I found myself in the same situation at the Whitney. My generally agreeable kids protested once again, so we switched gears. We took a stroll on the High Line, grabbed pizza from Chelsea Market, and landed at the Diller — von Furstenberg Sundeck & Water Feature between 14th and 15th Streets. There, they were all smiles — delighting in the sun, in the relief of cool water, barefoot, holding up their dresses, splashing, squealing, happy.

My kids are still young — 4 and 6 — and have only experienced small art museums. They don't even know what they're missing! So, naturally, when it was clear that we weren't going to visit any art museums, reality stung. This is one of the painful aspects of parenting: accepting that the things you really want to do just don't happen for one reason or another. Of course, you could force your child to do what you'd like to, but what memory does that create? What good does that serve?

However, I realized that there would be other trips and was grateful for the time we had

I let out another deep sigh and told myself, It's OK. There's always next time — hopefully. I smiled, thinking about the next time, and I began to daydream once again. All was well. What mattered most to me on this trip was visiting the place we once called home and introducing it to our girls — acquainting them with the place their mother and father made countless memories, befriended incredible people, grew stronger in their marriage, became parents during a pandemic, and tearfully bid adieu.

Parenting continues to be one wide and winding journey, where I'm constantly toeing the line between curating memories and allowing memories to make themselves in the most ordinary of places: on the 32nd floor of a hotel room, on a playground in Central Park, on a Subway train, on a city bus, on an airplane in the clouds.

In addition, I'm still learning that parenting is mostly a selfless act. Yes, there are moments we get to share with our kids that allow them to see what fills us up as human beings, but it's often an unwieldy and imperfect balance.

Many of the decisions we make come at a cost, and, for this trip (and future trips), I'd rather the cost be one that I pay — not them. Their joy is my joy. And, in this chapter of life, it's bigger, grander, more powerful than any selfish indulgence that life has ever afforded me, and, honestly, I'm here for it. I'm grateful.

• I'm an Airbnb Superhost with an average rating of 4.9 stars from 90 guests.
• Everyone is buzzing about the new rules that limit the chores hosts can ask guests to complete.
• I support the change. Guests are paying to use a space, their last memory shouldn't be a checklist.

The internet has been buzzing about Airbnb's latest policy change over restrictions on what a host can — and cannot — ask a guest to do before they check out.

I've been renting my home in the Hudson Valley for five years, and have been a Superhost since 2023. Currently, I have 90 guest reviews with an average rating of 4.97. That's not an accident. It's something I work hard at.

Though the property management company I work with hasn't always loved it, I've never been big on requiring guests to follow a strict cleanup policy. While we did ask for dishes to be done at one time, that hasn't been part of my guest instructions since 2025. For me, the most important tasks are to turn off the lights and return the key to the lockbox before guests leave. Beyond that, I don't expect much else, though I know that hasn't been the norm for some Airbnb users.

Guests are still guests

Somehow, the B&B part of the nomenclature appears to have gotten lost. I've seen users who fear bad reviews if a place isn't meticulously cleaned, voicing their concerns on Reddit and Facebook. For me, that's not something I think someone should have to worry about when they're paying to use a space.

While there are legitimate stories of guests destroying a place or leaving it in shambles, this hasn't been my experience. I believe the majority are good guests.

There is still a cleanliness rating for hosts to fill out about guests, so I imagine that even without imposed rules, most will do the dishes anyway. Leaving a bag of trash inside the house shouldn't result in a host docking a star or two from their review. It should be part of the stay, especially since hosts can set a cleaning fee for their property upfront.

I am glad the company has intervened on behalf of the guests. They are staying at a vacation rental, not a work exchange.

Hosts like me can have little time between bookings

I understand the rationale behind hosts who have lots of rules. There is often a small window between turnovers, and hosts want to make sure they have enough time to wash and dry everything before the next guests arrive.

It's something I worry about, too. That's why I keep extra linens and dishes on hand. They're there to use just in case there isn't enough time to complete everything between the bookings.

At one point, my property manager and I disagreed over what we wanted guests to do. I felt as if he was taking it personally if someone left dirty dishes in the sink or didn't sweep up. With this rule change, we'll no longer be at odds, and I'm glad.

Most guests have been respectful of the space

I am fortunate. I have rarely had a guest be anything less than tidy, and I have also had hardworking cleaners who have taken linens home to wash because turnovers have been so tight.

None of my guests have complained about my rules directly to me or in the comments they've left online about my property. I intend to keep it that way.

I host because I enjoy it

Everyone has their own reasons for getting into this business. For some, it is purely fiscal, but for me, it has been personal. This is my house, and I take tremendous pride in it and the surrounding area. I vet each potential guest personally and hand-pick a welcome gift for them. I want them to have a lovely stay, leave with fond memories, and maybe even a desire to return one day.

The last thing I want a guest to do is worry about a lengthy checklist of tasks before leaving. I don't want that to be their last memory of their stay.

Soon, a mother and daughter will be staying at my property for the third year in a row. In my emails to them, I wished them a safe journey and said we would take care of the rest — and I meant it.

From a tour of the Theatre of Dreams to reliving the 1990s via the Crystal Maze Experience, England’s ‘Second City’ served up a weekend to remember

• Over the past decade, I've traveled solo to all 50 US states and most major US national parks.
• Although I've found beauty in every state, there are some that I want to visit over and over again.
• I love traveling to places like New Mexico, Montana, New Hampshire, and Arizona.

Over the past decade, I've successfully visited all 50 US states solo, and have even made it to most of the major US national parks along the way. Because of this journey, I'm often asked which states I'd recommend to travelers.

Although most international travelers gravitate toward states like Florida and New York, I've found fantastic beauty and history in every state.

However, these are the 10 I always return to.

• After my divorce, I wanted something special for my first mother-daughter trip with my 8-year-old.
• We decided to spend a week at a luxury dude ranch in Colorado.
• The trip helped me show my daughter

Resting by the heated pool in my cowboy hat, breathing the fresh mountain air, I watched my daughter laughing with her new friends and felt something I hadn't in years: a sense of peace.

Earlier that year, my husband and I inked our signatures in separate rooms, ending our 16-year marriage. Our divorce was one that could be labeled "volatile," and not just for us, but for our 8-year-old daughter.

When it came time to plan our first summer vacation with just me and her, I knew it would likely be a splurge, but I needed it to be special. We needed activity. We needed reconnection. We needed a dude ranch.

This was our first big adventure for just the two of us

My research led me to an all-inclusive ranch in Colorado. The website had footage of horses running across a bridge over a winding stream. It looked perfect.

Although I was apprehensive about the two of us traveling from Texas during the week of July 4th, I inevitably found it liberating. Wheeling luggage stuffed with heavy cowboy boots while lugging backpacks through airports, shuttling to the rental car, and navigating unknown mountainous switchbacks could have been disastrous, but we managed it well. It was our first accomplishment in independence.

We encountered some surprises

"You have arrived," the navigation system announced in our rental as we turned onto the dirt drive lined with quintessential log cabins with thick white chinking, set on manicured lawns before the Rocky Mountain backdrop. Each porch had bright pink, purple, and red petunias hanging in baskets above shellacked wooden rocking chairs. It was just like we imagined it.

After parking our red Wrangler, we were greeted by ranch staff in full cowboy gear who guided us past the soft pink peonies nestled between the grayish-white aspen trees to check in.

At check-in, while planning our next seven days, I discovered that children eat dinner most nights with the other children and their counselors and take separate trail rides twice a day. This concept is great for families, giving mom and dad a chance to reconnect over gourmet meals, but I wasn't so sure how our new life would fit into this scenario.

Initially apprehensive about the separation, my daughter and I soon discovered this daily dose of division was liberating, forcing us to foster new friendships.

Our expectations were exceeded

Later, we met the director of equestrian operations, and she asked about our riding experience and personalities to best match us with one of her cherished horses. We were excited to meet our horses the next day.

Meanwhile, our newly renovated western chic room was complete with leather-branded throw pillows, a fireplace, and a welcome basket full of healthy snacks, a red bandana, and a bottle of wine.

We quickly fell into a daily routine, bonding with our horses, riding and grooming them each day, and creating connections with other guests. We also tried out fly fishing (I caught three trout), hiking, archery, and ziplining. I especially enjoyed relaxing at the outdoor spa in luxury tents built over the creek, immersed in nature's music of bird calls and horse neighs.

We danced into the night and our next chapter

The whole trip was exceptional, and our favorite event was an evening barn dance. We dressed in full cowgirl fringe and ended the night with an elaborate fireworks display just for the resort. Sitting on the lush green grass watching red, white, and blue explosions just a few, yet safe, feet away, she and I weren't just celebrating our country's freedom, we were celebrating our own.

I had not realized until that moment I was introducing my authentic self to her — the woman I was before my marriage unraveled — and reminding myself of that version of me. Free. Capable. And full of adventure.

• I swapped homes with a stranger and traded my San Francisco condo for a house in Seattle.
• For a month, I lived in Seattle to figure out if I would want to move there permanently.
• Although Seattle isn't the right city for me, the experience taught me what I want in my next home.

After 18 years of living in San Francisco, I was seriously starting to consider moving.

I loved the life I had built there, but taking the next step — like buying my own house with a yard — felt out of reach for me. However, I was afraid I would regret leaving the place I had called home for so many years.

When thinking of places I'd like to live, Seattle immediately came to mind. I figured the city would offer similar energy and career opportunities as San Francisco, and I loved its proximity to striking natural beauty.

Plus, I'd visited the West Coast city many times and had a good friend who lived there, so it seemed like a logical move. But instead of taking the leap immediately, I decided to test out living in the city for a month to make sure it was the right fit for me.

Through HomeExchange, a platform that allows users to swap homes with people from around the world, I traded my Noe Valley condo for a house with a yard in the Ballard neighborhood of Seattle for the month of July.

I got to experience Seattle as a local instead of a tourist

Although I'd visited Seattle many times over the years, this was my first chance to test everyday life there with my dog, Pepper — not just experience the city as a tourist.

I worked remotely, went grocery shopping, and checked out the Ballard Farmers Market on Sundays. Pepper and I explored different parks on morning walks and went to local breweries in the evenings.

I really prioritized spending time in Ballard, since that was the neighborhood I was most interested in possibly calling home. I loved that the residential parts were filled with single-family homes on tree-lined streets, but the location was also walkable to a historic core filled with shops, restaurants, and bars.

It felt like it could be the perfect combination of having a home with a yard in a residential neighborhood, while still having the city life and walkability I loved in San Francisco.

However, staying for a month also allowed me to experience some of the pain points I'd deal with as a local.

For example, although I found Ballard incredibly walkable, once I left the neighborhood, Seattle as a whole felt much more spread out and suburban than San Francisco. I found myself driving and sitting in traffic more than I'm used to.

One night, I was invited to go to my friend's house for dinner. What I thought would be a quick, 30-minute drive turned into a 55-minute headache in rush-hour traffic. In this moment, I realized moving around the city would require more planning than I initially expected.

Having Pepper with me also gave me insights into dog regulations that I never would have noticed on vacation. Although Seattle is a very dog-friendly city, I found there are more restrictions around water access and off-leash areas than I ever would have known about as a tourist.

I'm used to letting Pepper run off-leash in the sand at Fort Funston in San Francisco, but I found that most sandy beaches in Seattle don't allow dogs. Luckily, she was still able to sunbathe and people-watch from the yard of the house we were staying in.

The house swap helped me figure out what I want from a permanent home

Having someone stay in my home gave me insight into what she loved about it, and it made me appreciate what I already had.

The woman I traded homes with mentioned that many of my neighbors greeted her and that people were friendly on her daily dog walks in Noe Valley. I wasn't surprised that she felt this way. After all, the community in my neighborhood is one of my favorite things about San Francisco.

Spending time away gave me clarity on what I value in the home I already have, and some perspective on what I want in my next home.

A month in Seattle made it clear that the city is not my place. It also confirmed that I wanted some things that are out of reach for me in San Francisco because of the cost of housing, like a house with a yard.

Ideally, I'd like to find a place that combines the best parts of both cities: affordability, a walkable neighborhood with a sense of community, and natural beauty. I also realized that avoiding heavy traffic and crowds may mean looking beyond major cities.

Thankfully, trading homes was a relatively low-cost, low-risk way to test a major life decision like moving. Before making an expensive move, I was able to refine my list of what I want in my next home, and what I don't.

For now, I'm still searching for my new city, but my vision of what the next chapter will look like is much clearer.

• I've never been skiing.
• But if I ever decide to learn, I'll do it at the Four Seasons in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
• My 550-square-foot room felt like a luxury cabin on the slopes.

When I arrived at the Four Seasons Jackson Hole on a muggy day in early September, I imagined it covered in snow. This was in 2024, when I visited Jackson Hole, Wyoming, for the first time.

I spent one night at the five-star ski-in, ski-out resort. If I ever take a ski trip, I imagine that my room at this Four Seasons would be a peaceful place to rest after an active day of gliding through powder.

Step inside the 550-square-foot room with a starting rate of nearly $1,000 a night during the winter ski season.

Some places you find on purpose, prompted perhaps by a travel guide or proud Portuguese advisor. Others find you. Curia, halfway between Coimbra and Aveiro, just off the IC2, found

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• Tiffany Tang founded DrinkFolks after a transformative journey across Asia in 2023 and 2024.
• Tang's layoff in 2023 led her to Bali, where she decided to extend her 30-day trip to over a year.
• DrinkFolks, inspired by Tang's travels, supports women-led farms and brings jamu to the US market.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Tiffany Tang, the 30-year-old founder of DrinkFolks. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I'm the founder and CEO of DrinkFolks, which brings jamu, a 1,300-year-old Indonesian herbal remedy, to the US as a prebiotic root tonic.

For the first two years of my career, I was an assistant director at a gallery owned by the first female fine arts dealer in America. From 2017 to 2021, I worked at Christie's International Real Estate in marketing and communications roles.

For the next year, I was a senior communications manager at CSM Sport & Entertainment before taking on a similar role at a fintech company that helped millions of Americans sustainably build their credit scores through rewards.

I felt positively about that job, but I was laid off in May 2023

I was grateful to work there. We were doing big things, and I really learned what it was like to be at a mission-driven company.

The most interesting thing about my layoff was how incredibly calm I felt upon hearing the news. Our CMO told me first, and she was a friend, my college professor, and an executive I admire and respect.

When she told me, I said I didn't blame her, and this was a time for a reset. Turns out, the layoff was the best thing that could've ever happened to me.

A few weeks after my layoff, I booked a one-way ticket to Bali

For a long time, my self-worth was my net worth — my title, my salary, my career trajectory. When the layoff hit, I lost my sense of self. Reflecting afterward, all I could think was: who am I without the high-paying job?

A few weeks earlier, I had watched the movie "Eat, Pray, Love." When the layoff came, something in me said that this was my moment. I opened Kayak, found a one-way ticket to Bali for around $1,000, and booked it. Bali felt approachable and warm.

What was supposed to be a 30-day reset changed the course of my life

I originally planned to travel in Southeast Asia for a month but ended up staying from June 2023 through August 2024.

My awakening happened on day three. One of the first things I did in Bali was a Panchakarma, a full-body Ayurvedic detox at a retreat in Ubud. There was an optional silent day; one of the first times in my life I rooted and looked inward.

Sitting with my journal, I knew I had to stay. I was still negotiating my severance, so I did the math: my savings, my investments, what each month would cost. When my severance came through a few weeks later, it jump-started the journey.

The deeper turning point was Hong Kong

Everyone I met understood me on an indescribable level. It was the only time in my life I was speaking Cantonese to people outside my family, reconnecting with my heritage. By the time I came home for the holidays, I had decided: I was moving to Asia.

The spark for the company was the women I met. Across Indonesia and Southeast Asia, I sat with women quietly building something of their own. I wanted to help these women build generational wealth for their families. I built DrinkFolks as a way to sustainably invest in them — 3% of every sale goes to women-led farms and nonprofits across Southeast Asia through our FolksFund — while supporting health stateside by bringing ancient wisdom into people's homes.

I started the company in January 2024, took every jamu class I could find in Bali, visited the source of jamu in Yogyakarta, and reformulated recipes in my Hong Kong kitchen.

By October 2024, I was back in the US, working with California food scientists to scale up my home-tested recipe. We launched in NYC in October 2025. Today, we're in 70+ stores across the US.

Living in Southeast Asia made the math work

My salary before the layoff was $160,000 a year, plus equity. When I set off, I had roughly $14,000 between savings and severance — my spreadsheet calculated 4.6 months of runway — and I felt comfortable investing that in myself.

I budgeted like it was my job. I tracked my actual spending obsessively for the first four and a half months and came in at roughly $7,700 total.

All-in, I averaged about $1,300 to $2,300 a month, including flights, lodging, food, everything. My money stretched furthest in Cambodia and least in Hong Kong, which was financially similar to New York City. For comparison: my overhead, including my mortgage, maintenance, electricity, and WiFi in New York today is about $2,500 a month.

In terms of cost of living comparisons, here's my breakdown

Healthcare was the biggest surprise, in the best way. I got into a motorcycle accident on the Pakse Loop in Laos, and seven stitches cost me around seven dollars, including painkillers and a week of antibiotics.

Cambodia was the best value. It's the most adventurous, outdoorsy country I visited, and I didn't want to explore alone, so I stayed in hostels for as little as $6 a night — partly a budget move, mostly a way to meet people. It's also where I met my first fellow Americans of the entire trip.

Hong Kong was the opposite — groceries and eating out gave me real sticker shock. I softened it with a genuine energy exchange: I moved in with a college friend and threw dinner parties several times a week, cooking meals for them in exchange for a place to stay. It was worth every dollar — I met some of my truest friends and future business partners there.

The layoff was honestly the best thing that ever happened to me

It gave me the confidence to build DrinkFolks, a better sense of my heritage, and a version of myself I'm proud of. I've learned to never say never, but right now, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

My advice is to use your layoff as your launchpad. Things happen for you, not in spite of you. If you have even the slightest chance to live in that moment for yourself — for me, that was travel — take it as a gift and a blessing, not a crisis to survive.

Treat budgeting as freedom, not constraint. My money stretched so much further than I imagined. Clear parameters gave me the space to figure out who I am outside my job.

• My husband and I enjoy hiking, but our kids, 7 and 10, often complain along the way.
• On a visit to Finland, we went hiking with a guide, and my kids were engaged the whole time.
• It encouraged me to change a few things about the way I approach and plan family hikes.

It was an hour into our hike through Southern Konnevesi National Park in Finland, and neither of my 7- and 10-year-old daughters was complaining. It was glorious.

Normally, within the first hour, I would have already heard the question "How much longer?" One of them would also declare, "It's boring. We're just walking."

So what was different about this hike? Why weren't they complaining? It's because I took a different approach to this hike than I have with past ones — and it worked. Here's what I did.

A stranger motivated them more than I ever could

For this hike, we had a local guide with us, and my kids hung on her every word. They were asking questions non-stop and following her down the trail without a single complaint.

I almost laughed when I saw them literally stepping in her footprints and mimicking every move she made. This is not what my husband and I were accustomed to.

When she leaned on a rock to hear "the whispers of the forest," my kids did the same. When she found edible berries, my kids rushed there to try them first.

I do my best to make hikes interesting for my kids, but I am also a first-time visitor to most of the places we explore. No matter how much I research beforehand, I usually can't predict what they will find interesting along the trail. By contrast, this local guide knew exactly how to keep them excited, which kept them moving along.

Having a job kept them interested

I also noticed that the guide occasionally gave them "crucial" jobs along the trail. Who could find the next patch of berries, who could spot mushrooms growing on a log, or who could hear a bird singing?

When we are alone, I try to do these things too, but I cannot always answer the questions that ultimately follow: "Are these berries edible?" "What kind of mushroom is that?" or "Which bird is singing?"

I know my kids are naturally curious, but I wondered why my kids seem uninterested when it's just us. I began to realize they stopped asking me questions because they knew I didn't always have answers. Since our guide did this time, they asked her. They were eager to learn.

I tailored the goal to their needs

I also noticed they had not asked the dreaded question, "How much longer?" Not even once on our 2.5-mile hike.

I kept thinking about my usual responses. I say things like, "Look at the beautiful forest. Just enjoy the view and breathe in the fresh air," or, "Come on, we're almost there. It'll be worth it when we arrive."

Kids care about what's happening in the next five minutes in a way that's different from how my husband and I approach things. I was expecting them to hike like adults, getting from one point to the next. If they can discover something new at every step, they will relish the journey and won't feel time passing slowly. That's something I'm planning to incorporate into our future family hikes.

On a different trip, we tried forest bathing with a local guide in Austria, which lasted over three hours. When it ended, my kids frowned and said, "That was so short. Can we keep going?"

We allow time for free play along the way

After these experiences, I became much more careful about which trails I choose when hiking with my kids.

I know now that the best trails for my kids are the ones that offer exciting experiences along the way: a lake where kids can swim with tadpoles, a stream to cross, or rocks to scramble over.

I've also learned not to rush the stops. My daughters love spending time throwing rocks into a lake, sending leaf rafts down a stream, balancing on fallen logs, building hearts from flowers, or watching frogs or insects.

The biggest change for me has been to stop measuring a hike's success by how far we get and start measuring it by how much fun we had.

In Finland, I realized my kids already enjoy hiking. They just enjoy different things during a hike than I do as an adult. I should never forget that sometimes the part they remember most has nothing to do with the trail itself.

• I booked two separate flight itineraries on different airlines for a family trip to Ireland.
• I realized this was a mistake after the first airline diverted, and the second left without us.
• The fix cost my family nearly $3,000 in new tickets and a day's worth of touring.

I'm a veteran traveler who has booked more long-haul flights than I can count. But earlier this year, I made a very expensive rookie mistake.

While planning a trip, I came across a deal I couldn't pass up: a $317 one-way flight on Icelandair to Ireland with a multi-day layover in Reykjavik. It was essentially a way to take a trip within a trip without paying extra airfare.

The catch? The flight departed from New York, not our home airport in Florida. I'd be in New York a few days early, but my family would need to fly up to meet me. Booking separate itineraries was far from ideal, but I figured a five-hour buffer would be enough.

It wasn't.

A storm in New York canceled my family's JetBlue flight from Florida, and their replacement flight then couldn't land and was diverted to Virginia. Their Icelandair flight to Europe was automatically canceled after they were marked as no-shows.

On the night we were supposed to fly together to Iceland, my family was stuck states away, and I was scrambling to find a solution.

With my family's original flight gone, we had to spend nearly $3,000 to get them back on track and navigate the complicated credit card trip insurance process. Here are 4 lessons I learned the hard way.

Booking separate itineraries comes with a pricey risk

Arriving in the city of your next flight at least 24 hours before may feel a bit extreme, but it's the minimum safety net you need.

Being already in the right location for your flight can be a huge weight off your shoulders. It also allows sufficient time for rebooking should something go wrong with your flight.

My last-minute whim to visit a few friends upstate turned out to be key. Those extra two nights in New York meant I was able to make the flight to Iceland. If I had booked my family of three on a flight the day before our long-haul flight, they would have made it too.

My family made it to New York the next morning and ended up taking a replacement flight to Iceland that evening, getting in about 24 hours later than originally planned. I bought two basic economy tickets for $734 each, and one standard economy ticket with extra baggage allowance for $1,105. In total, I spent $2,573 on new tickets.

The costly mistake made me realize that although an extra hotel night is an added expense and may mean using more PTO, it's a cheap investment compared to the cost of new international flights — and the cost of missed events — if things don't go to plan.

This is especially worth it if you have definite plans right after your arrival, such as a cruise or a concert.

Neither airline has to help in my scenario

When you book connecting flights on a single itinerary, the airline is responsible for getting you to your destination. If you miss that connection through no fault of your own, then the airline will put you on another available flight at no additional cost.

When you book flights separately, you're responsible for making each connection — or buying new tickets if you miss one. And generally, regardless of reason, the airline operating your next flight isn't obligated to accommodate you if you miss it because of a problem with your previous airline.

Our tickets to New York and Iceland were separate, so despite numerous calls to each airline, none were responsible for the missed connection. If you do miss a connection on a single booking, look up alternatives yourself and discuss them with the agent. It's not guaranteed, but they may be able to accommodate you on a partner airline at a more convenient time.

And remember, it's not the staff's fault for the disruption. You get more bees with honey.

I should have read the fine print

I didn't book the cheapest fare, but I didn't read the fine print either.

When things started to go wrong, I was shocked to see there was a $250 change fee per person on my original flight and no refunds. Changing the tickets would have cost nearly as much as the original flight, plus the fare difference.

At the time, it was uncertain when my family would actually arrive in New York and feasibly be able to catch the next flight to Iceland, so we didn't change the tickets. Missing the first flight on this stopover itinerary meant my family was marked a no-show and their onward leg to Dublin was canceled, which is standard airline policy.

While there were other ways to get to Iceland, there were few nonstop flights from Iceland to Ireland — a one-stop meant at least four extra hours of travel — so the best option was to book a new stopover ticket with Icelandair.

When I started booking the new tickets, I noticed that almost every fare class had punitive cancellation and change policies — and this time I was sure to be familiar with the terms of my booking.

I need to better understand my credit card's trip protections

Premium credit cards can have your back when flight plans go wrong, but they don't cover everything.

We used the Chase Sapphire Reserve for Business' trip cancellation and interruption protection for the original Icelandair tickets and were reimbursed $952. The coverage typically reimburses covered unused, prepaid expenses — but not the cost of buying new airline tickets.

Trip delay coverage doesn't either, but it can cover other expenses for covered trips. However, credit card policies vary — and this is where I went wrong.

We booked the flights to New York on an American Express Business Platinum Card but used a different card for the return flights. That meant the Amex trip-delay protection did not apply: its terms require the full round-trip fare to be charged to the eligible card.

I had split the flights across cards to preserve Chase's bag-delay protection, but I didn't realize I was giving up the Amex protection in the process, so the $103 spent on dinner after the diversion wasn't covered. For future trips, I'll use only one credit card with good travel protections for all my trip expenses to reduce complications.

Airlines may also provide some compensation for flight disruptions. In our case, my family was reimbursed for a hotel stay ($185) on the night they were diverted. When delayed, I always keep receipts of all my added expenses to submit to the appropriate parties.

Overall, although our vacation had a rocky start and cost more than we planned, we had a great trip and are glad we pushed through it.

Missing a flight always seems avoidable in hindsight, and some things are beyond anyone's control, but with a few precautions, we can travel more confidently. Next time, I'm booking the extra hotel night.

Rede Expressos has launched a new campaign offering 100,000 bus tickets for just €2.50, in a bid to encourage more people to use public transport as fuel and motoring costs

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