Travel. It’s always been the thread that ties us together. Funny thing is, fate tried to introduce us back in the early 2010s. We were both in Bali—same island, same time—but in different worlds. I was living and working there, and she was one of the countless tourists drifting through that land of gods and magic.
We finally met not long after, as winter was loosening its grip on Canada. I think she reached out first, wanting to swap travel stories. Eleven years later, we’re still telling stories—only now, we’re writing them together. But it took time.
In 2014, I was barely scraping by, trying to get a foothold in life. Disposable income? Non-existent. That made it hard to travel beyond our own backyard. Then, I complicated things even further by starting a master’s degree. And because trouble comes in threes, the third was a pandemic.
Still, before the world slammed shut in 2020, we managed to carve out a few adventures. This blog is our chronicle. We’re Kevin and Josée—K&J—and though Canada is home, the road is where we belong.
New York
Back in 2015, I discovered the Global Citizen Festival—an inspiring grassroots movement raising awareness for social and political injustices around the world. That year, they were throwing a massive concert in Central Park. Josée’s favorite band, Coldplay, and mine, Pearl Jam, were both set to perform. The catch? You had to take action—write to world leaders, amplify causes, raise awareness.
I don’t remember every petition or campaign I supported, but I remember how much emphasis was placed on girls’ education, access to clean water, and ending food scarcity. I clicked, shared, advocated—and earned enough points to be entered into the draw. I’d done similar activism before. Once, I helped organize a fundraiser with kids and adults to buy reusable water bottles for a school in Bali. Not only did we succeed, we raised enough extra to support the family of a beloved security guard who had tragically passed away.
And this time? I got the tickets. Not long after, Josée and I were on a plane to New York City.
We landed, took a shuttle through Manhattan, and were instantly swallowed by the electric pulse of the city. Skyscrapers climbed upwards to the heavens, traffic buzzed like a live wire, and people surged through the streets like a living current. An American friend of mine—whom I met in South Korea—had invited us to stay at her apartment, but before we made our way there, we wandered the city.
We took a boat tour, stood quietly at the 9/11 Memorial, and gawked at a massive warship docked in the harbor. We walked for hours, refueling with hot dogs here and there.
The concert? We missed the opener—sadly, Coldplay—but made it in time for Pearl Jam. The line around the perimeter of Central Park felt like it wrapped around the whole island of Manhattan. Still, once inside, it was worth it. I was in my element, hearing Pearl Jam live for the first time.
The next day, we explored Koreatown. Another friend of mine, a Canadian I met in South Korea, drove in from Pennsylvania to meet us. The four of us devoured Korean food that tasted like it did in streets of Seoul and ended the night in a karaoke bar, laughing, singing, and swilling beer. It brought back sweet memories of our Nori Bong nights in South Korea. If you’ve never tried Korean karaoke, trust me—it’s worth it.
The next day, it was back to real life. And that was the hardest part. I believe we should be traveling always. But realistically, three or four good trips a year can keep my soul fed. Like a snake that only needs to eat once in a while, I can survive—if the meals are unforgettable.
Thanks for reading,
Kevin & Josée