Farewell, Reno

Today, our Reno chapter has officially concluded. GTT. Gone to Texas. When we left Seattle and pointed the car toward the high desert, we were not entirely sure what we were stepping into. Reno was a question mark on the map, a place we expected to like but did not yet understand.

Fourteen months later, we understand it well. Reno surprised us in ways both quiet and beautiful. It grew on us slowly, then all at once, the way certain places do when they match the season of life you are in. What began as a temporary stop became a place we learned to appreciate, enjoy, and eventually love.

So this feels like the right moment to give Reno its own tribute. Not a travel brochure or a sales pitch, but a simple acknowledgment of the city that welcomed us, changed us, and sent us on our way a little different than we arrived.

Reno celebrates everything. Hot rods. Balloons. Art. Rodeos. Italian food. Music. River floats. If there is a theme, someone will build a festival around it, complete with street closures that appear overnight, color-coordinated banners that match the season, and an army of vendors who vanish just as efficiently when the last food truck pulls away. There is always something happening here, even when you think the calendar should finally be empty. It became one of the city's most endearing qualities, this relentless enthusiasm for gathering.

Reno lives under a bright, generous sky. Endless sun, clear mountain air, low humidity, and cooler temperatures that make summer evenings feel like a gift. The four seasons arrive on schedule, but never announce themselves with violence. Nevada is the most mountainous state in the Lower 48, and you feel that truth every day. The foothills wrap around the city like a loose embrace, familiar and constant. High-desert sunsets carry a clarity to them, the kind that makes the whole horizon glow. Even winter mornings carry a quiet optimism, the kind that makes you believe the day might surprise you.

Reno is large enough to hold interesting corners, small enough to understand, and easy enough to navigate that you quickly form mental shortcuts. Everything is ten to fifteen minutes away. Twenty is the exception. You can explore without getting lost, and still stumble across something new on a quiet afternoon because you took a different route.

The nickname is earned. Reno gives you a bit of everything. Not endless options, but good ones. You will not find fifty pizza restaurants, but the handful you have are worth returning to. Midtown, Riverwalk, and Fourth Street pulse with craft coffee that tastes like someone cares, breweries where the bartenders know their beers, small shops that sell things you did not know you wanted, and chef-driven food that respects both ingredient and diner. Reno is not a glitzy resort city or a forgotten town scraping by. It is a place with its own rhythm, comfortable in its skin, unbothered by what it is not.

That balance is reinforced by the steady presence of the University of Nevada, Reno. The campus sits close enough to downtown to matter. Students, faculty, and campus life flow naturally into the city. UNR adds intellectual and cultural density without diluting the familiarity that defines the “biggest little city” idea.

Renoans are friendly in a way that feels natural rather than performative. People hold doors, say hello, and mean it. Even the DMV feels less intimidating here, which may be the highest compliment a government office can receive. The city is big enough to meet new people and small enough that you recognize faces again.

Our church, Living Stones, became an unexpected gift during our time here, offering friendship, grounding, and a sense of belonging.

The barista who welcomes you back, the neighbor who waves from the porch, the postal worker who asks how your week is going, the front desk team at the gym who tells you to have a beautiful day on your way out. It all feels personal, which is harder to find these days.

If you enjoy fresh air and movement, Reno is a gift. Hiking, skiing, kayaking, backpacking, biking, and camping are all within easy reach, often within the same weekend if you are ambitious. The sun shows up most days, the mountains wait nearby with the patience of something ancient, and you always feel like you should probably be outside. Reno made it easy to be outside. The weather, the nearby trails, and the mountains called us out the door often.

Nevada likes to keep things simple. No state income tax. A politically balanced environment that swings rather than settles. A sense of civic steadiness without unnecessary drama. Enough said.

Reno rewrote our mental map. Suddenly new places were within reach of a single tank of gas, and weekends stretched into small adventures.

A world-class alpine lake less than an hour away. The largest alpine lake in North America and the second deepest in the country. Water so clear it looks impossible, shifting from deep cobalt to turquoise depending on the light. Granite boulders that seem sculpted rather than eroded. Beaches tucked between tall pines. Small towns with distinct personalities. Ski resorts that collect storms like gifts.

Tahoe is one of those rare places that never loses its astonishment factor. You can see it a hundred times and still feel compelled to pull over for a photograph you have already taken. We circumnavigated the lake more times than we can count, and every trip offered a new angle, a new color, a new reason to slow down. It was the crown jewel of our Reno season, the place that reminded us, again and again, why we chose to live here.

Crossing Donner Pass became routine, which still feels strange to write. San Francisco, Napa, Sonoma, Sacramento, Monterey, Carmel-by-the-Sea, Big Sur. Some of the best parts of California suddenly accessible without needing to live there, which felt like getting away with something.

A treasure map of iconic places. Yosemite, Great Basin, Death Valley, Pinnacles, Crater Lake, Redwood, and Lassen. If you stretch a bit farther and pack lots of snacks, you can even make it to Zion or Bryce. We collected national park stamps and stickers like kids collecting baseball cards.

It is Las Vegas. That is the description. The lights, the noise, the spectacle. You take it in, enjoy the moment, and then remember how peaceful the desert feels when you head home.

A time warp into the mining era. Wooden sidewalks, saloons with swinging doors that actually swing, and a theatrical spirit that somehow avoids feeling overly staged. Perfect for visiting friends on a weekend.

A modest state capital with practical charm. The capitol building, the natural hot springs, and the road south into the Carson Valley make it an easy and worthwhile stop.

A volcanic giant with alpine lakes and waterfalls about four hours away. We passed through the region on our move to Reno, and it is easy to understand why it leaves an impression.

Nevada rewards anyone willing to wander. The Black Rock Desert where the playa stretches out in quiet, endless wilderness. Valley of Fire with sandstone so red it feels almost unreal. The Ruby Mountains, a surprise alpine range tucked into the Great Basin like a secret. Remote basins with night skies so dark they make the Milky Way feel close enough to touch. Pyramid Lake shimmering in the desert, ancient and still. Hot springs scattered in seemingly random corners of the state, warm enough to make you forget how far you are from anything. And the ghost towns along the Loneliest Road, each with its own forgotten stories and leaning wooden beams.

None of these places are loud or flashy. They are the kinds of places you stumble into and remember later, long after you thought you moved on.

The high desert offers something increasingly rare. Space to breathe without someone standing too close. Space to reset without needing permission. Space to live at a human pace instead of an algorithm's. Reno gave us margin, both literal and metaphorical, and we are grateful for that gift.

The casino scene is not for everyone, but it is undeniably part of Reno's personality. Neon signs glowing against the desert sky. Old-school diners tucked beside blackjack tables. Touring musicians, comedians, and tribute acts passing through often enough to keep things interesting. Casinos bring visitors, energy, and stories. You can walk into one on a Tuesday and find a good meal or at least a story. They are a thread in Reno's tapestry, a reminder that this city contains multitudes.

We loved living here. Truly. And every place we have ever called home comes with its quirks. Reno's are simply part of the package.

These are realities to acknowledge. We leave grateful for the chapter Reno became in our story.

Reno gave us more than we expected. It offered a season of clarity, movement, beauty, and margin. It gave us space to breathe and the sense that life did not always need to be hurried. We met good people. We found new rhythms. We watched sunsets that seemed to lean in a little closer, as if inviting us to pause. Reno was never meant to be forever, but it became meaningful. And we leave with deep appreciation for the city that held this chapter of our lives so well.

Leaving a place you have grown to love carries its own quiet ache. We packed, sorted, loaded, and pulled onto the highway with Reno fading in the rearview mirror, the foothills softening behind us as the road stretched toward Texas. Even so, there was a sense of rightness in the movement. The journey that brought us to Nevada was always leading onward, and now we are somewhere in the middle - between what was home and what will be next.

By the time the next newsletter arrives, we’ll have reached Texas, unloaded the last boxes, and settled in with family for Christmas. Next week’s Christmas Day issue will be simple. A moment to say we made it, we are grateful, and we are ready to enjoy the holiday before the next chapter begins. For now, we’re on the road, and that feels exactly right.

As we leave this place and watch Nevada fall behind in the mirrors, we reflect on how this year has unfolded. Reno was never on our map until it was, and it became the setting for so many good days, both ordinary and adventurous. Work at a coffee shop table, a walk along the river, a meal in Midtown, a visit with friends, a hike in the foothills, the steady gym commute, a visit to Tahoe, and the occasional road trip to some great place. It became a fitting training ground for the kind of life we hope to live abroad.

Thank you for reading along as this chapter concluded. Many of you are here because you know us in person. Others found this newsletter along the way and stayed. Either way, we are grateful you are here while the story is still small and close to the ground.

In the coming weeks, these emails will shift from the high desert of Reno to DFW before beginning new stories in Tenerife, Lisbon, Istanbul, and the longer arc of our slow travel plan. The goal remains the same: to pay careful attention to the places we live, to share what it feels like to be there, and to offer something we hope is interesting, sometimes useful, and always steady in your inbox.

For now, we are somewhere between Reno and Texas, watching the miles pass and feeling thankful for both where we have been and what is ahead. If you know someone who might enjoy following along as the road widens, you are always welcome to forward this to them.

Until next week,
S&S

Some Great Place
Living local in a global world