rooted in community and reverence for the Earth, we gather to travel with intention—learning from local cultures, practicing ancestral skills, moving our bodies, and giving back more than we take. these are journeys of connection, where adventure meets responsibility, and some places remain sacred, shared only with those who honor their protection.
bruhh ion even kno how 2 say this but like…
we goin 2 zanZIbarr !!! 🌴 June 2026***
u only gotta drop like $100 dollas 2 hold ur spot
(yes they got them payment playns or whatever) 💀
but LIKE… u gotta do it b4 decemder 17th or iss wraps sooo…
idk… jus click da ting n come on da trip cuz we finna have ah tymezZXzzZ
link in bio xx
¡ gearing up !
born n raised by Caribbean waters~~~ where the wild tropics taught me freedom and rhythm. when you’re born of the Atlantic, its salt runs in your veins forever.
📜 captain’s log – Dry Tortugas 🏴☠️🌊
latitude unknown, heart unmoored.
day 9 of the voyage.
the sea carried me 70 miles west of Key West to a ring of seven small islands—no fresh water, only endless turquoise. Las Tortugas for the turtles—so many that early sailors could fill their decks in a single night. “Dry” came later, a warning of no fresh water, only endless blue. here stands Fort Jefferson, the largest brick structure in the Americas, built from sixteen million bricks and never once fired a shot in battle.
they say Spanish galleons wrecked near these reefs, spilling gold, silver, and emeralds across the sea floor. wreckers once prowled these channels, salvaging treasure and hiding their gold in cisterns and secret chambers. rangers whisper of a paymaster’s chest bricked into a wall after yellow fever swept the garrison.
I dove the Avanti wreck, a 1907 ship now a coral garden. parrotfish spark like jewels. Sharks glide the channel between Garden and Bush Keys ~ locals call it the Shark Freeway. but it’s the turtles that rule these waters ~ green giants rising like ancient spirits, eyes older than every brick in this fort. they surface beside you, unbothered by time or treasure, carrying the calm of a thousand migrations.
at night the fort breathes: wind howls through powder rooms, and Dr. Mudd’s old cell (Lincoln’s doctor turned prisoner) keeps its own cold silence. rangers whisper of footsteps in Dr. Mudd’s cell and lantern lights that glow when no one’s inside.
prohibition rum bottles hide in brick crevices. Birds by the thousands ~ sooty terns, frigates, painted buntings ~ drop anchor here each spring. no Wi-Fi, no fresh water, just salt, stars, and the slow echo of every story that came before.
no gold for my pockets, only sand in my boots.
the treasure is the mystery itself ~ how the ocean keeps her secrets and lets you touch them only for a breath.
end of entry. wind steady, soul restless ~
#drytortugas #drytortugasnationalpark
inca surf !!!
en la costa del sol y del susurro marino,
los ancient riders montaban caballitos de totora,
tejiendo olas como cuentos al viento.
todavía flotan en Huanchaco,
como whispers de un tiempo donde el surf era pesca,
y el mar, un viejo amigo.
~~~~~~~~
caballitos de totora —
“little reed horses” that danced with the tide.
Along the Peruvian coast,
fisherfolk rode the waves,
straddling handwoven vessels made of sun-dried reeds.
not for sport, but for survival —
and yet, the ocean always invites play.
to this day in Huanchaco,
you’ll see them — ancient surfers,
gliding like echoes of a water’s past.
