Cassidy Parker
A self-employed writer and insatiable adventurer, I write about the places to which both my feet and mind travel. This blog also showcases my professional work.
Cassidy Parker, blog, writer, Johannesburg, South Africa, travel, copywriter, travel writer
5
home,page-template-default,page,page-id-5,ajax_fade,page_not_loaded,,qode-title-hidden,qode_grid_1300,footer_responsive_adv,hide_top_bar_on_mobile_header,qode-content-sidebar-responsive,qode-child-theme-ver-1.0.0,qode-theme-ver-10.1.1,wpb-js-composer js-comp-ver-5.0.1,vc_responsive

I’m a writer and adventurer with an equal love for experiences that demand expression and those that defy it

I strive to write what I live to read: eclectic and expressive prose with an authentic, unapologetic voice and no small amount of quirk

For close on 10 years I have written print and digital content for clients around the world – please take a look at my portfolio for more

The first incarnation of this blog was born of a broken foot. A bunk-bed mishap in southern Argentina several years ago – I’ll say no more – saw my travel plans dashed, but ultimately led to a second South American adventure and the recounting of said adventures online. Today, these pages continue to document my wanderings around the planet (on two fully working feet) and the musings of my mind as I do so. They also feature a portfolio of my work.

  • Imagine skin stripped from flesh. Imagine only the muscles and tendons and fascia beneath, sinewy and strong, revealing and raw. For a couple of metres from her roots up, that’s what she reminds me of: a body exposed to its essentials...

  • September marks seven months of freelance. Seven months of buying groceries with the pensioners at 11am on a Wednesday, of riding the waves of desperate anxiety and joyous I-got-a-gig relief...

  • “Put this on,” he says. “You’re going to need it.” “What for?” “We’re going out.” “You can’t be serious. It’s snowing.” “Which is why you’re going to need my coat. Put it on.”...

  • When I was living in Toronto, I learnt why the Canadians call it fall. It’s not because of the leaves that descend; instead, it’s the invisible fire in the sky. My sense is that it’s always there, the fire. I imagine it gaining in strength during the summer months...

  • He’s writing about storytelling, about nostalgia, about the passing of time, about families. Personal things edged with poignancy. But it’s not until I read the defining line that I realise the relevance...

  • The road before me was slick with mud and steeply cambered on either side. I turned off the radio, suddenly too loud; tightened my grip on the steering wheel, suddenly too smooth; and licked my lips, suddenly too dry....