Discover the Transformative Adventures Awaiting in Coastal Mississippi

It was a sunny November morning, and I had just returned from the vast coastline of the Mississippi Gulf, my skin still fresh from the humidity. I settled at my local café in Charleston to compose this very essay, borrowing a charger from a gentleman sipping an Americano. In exchange, I lent him my pen. You might call it just another typical day. 

But moments later, my world as I recognized it shattered. A sound ricocheted inside my head, and before I could place my hand where I sensed the rumble, the floor and walls were overhead. Everything spun: the charger, the pen, my coffee, and my laptop. The sunlight pierced my eyes, and suddenly even the blue light of my screen felt impossibly harsh. I attempted to turn away, yet my neck was immobilized. I shut my eyes. In a quest for my phone, muscle memory enabled me to send a distress text to my husband. Four hours after, at the emergency room, he was informed that I’d suffered a brain aneurysm. Hospital personnel urged him to compose himself, gather our belongings, and our daughter, then follow the ambulance to a larger facility’s neurological intensive care unit.

Today, one year later, I’ve battled to reclaim my strength, my capacity to write, and my identity. I now live with short-term memory impairment. I sit here reflecting on the text I began crafting on that pivotal day, realizing that many statements lack coherence as they were being written while my brain was being inundated with blood. 

Yet this is what coastal Mississippi has imparted to me: that being creative equates to hoping. Those four days spent covering the roughly 30 shimmering miles from Bay St. Louis to Biloxi and Ocean Springs and back again are my final long-term memory. This experience would support my recovery process. Here are the elements I shall never forget.

Upon my arrival at Gulfport-Biloxi International Airport, when Michelle, my Lyft driver, appeared, she welcomed me as if I were an old acquaintance and eagerly took my suitcases to stow them in her trunk. “Allow me to assist you,” she said, then quipped, “What do you have in there? Millions for the casino?” 

“If I strike it rich, I’ll share with you,” I remarked to her. 

“No you won’t,” she chuckled, as though we had grown up together. 

For the 40-minute ride to my first destination in Bay St. Louis, we exchanged playful banter. Michelle had an encyclopedic understanding of the transformations that occurred along the coast following each hurricane—most notably Katrina, which devastated this area of Mississippi in 2005. She highlighted new boardwalks connecting dazzling resorts with small businesses, narrating the ongoing cycles of devastation and reconstruction. 

In every direction I looked, I witnessed creation, re-creation, and a heart-centered, go-all-in lifestyle philosophy about moving forward. I began to believe that, despite efforts to reduce coastal Mississippi to a survival narrative, this location was characterized not by the disasters it endured but by the openness it possesses, regardless of the tempests.

Michelle dropped me at the Pearl Hotel, a charming establishment located near the marina in Bay St. Louis. After having a late lunch, I strolled around town searching for a souvenir store. Many shops were in the process of closing when I arrived, the owners either sweeping or rolling up rugs. And yet—there it was again, that openness—most vendors greeted me with “Come in, it’s fine.” 

Morning emerged, bringing with it the sounds of seabirds calling and boats cleaving through the water outside. From my balcony, I observed nautical flags and banners for charity events fluttering in the breeze. It was November, and most residences had yet to pack away their Halloween ornaments. Celebrations are significant in Bay St. Louis, I learned as I sat down with Ashley Planchard, a manager of the Mockingbird Café, for a conversation over their house-special chai and a cinnamon loaf. The café had transformed into the town’s communal space following Katrina, Planchard informed me. She possesses a profound affection for her hometown and its festivities – she participates in the Dolly Should Festival (honoring Ms. Parton) and Frida (Kahlo) Fest, which the café also supports, and she is an annual attendee of the “Witches Walk” on the Saturday precedingly Halloween. I lamented having arrived a week too late, without my daughter—a mini-witch in her own right. However, Planchard reassured me that next year’s walk would arrive before we realized it. 

While she kept sharing details about the town’s traditions, I engaged in several tasks (one of the last moments my mind would manage such a thing), taking notes while contemplating a potential visit with my partner. It was then that I realized I had established a bond with the area, which essentially meant its inhabitants. Isn’t that the essence of a fulfilling destination? A locale you wish to return to with a cherished individual in your life — someone whose perspective you’re influencing?

The perspective in Bay St. Louis was evident: devastation is bound to visit us in this existence, regardless of our identity or residence, and the sole means to endure it is to maintain an open hand and seek assistance from our neighbors. To reconstruct life countless times, if necessary.

Following that, I journeyed east to the city of Biloxi not to find anything specific, but to see what might connect with me. Upon my arrival for lunch at McElroy’s Harbor House, a seafood restaurant positioned right on the Gulf, my attention fell upon a fleet of nearby shrimp boats.

I was born in the Philippines and relocated to South Carolina in my early twenties, and when I embarked on this journey, I had expressed to the winds my desire to encounter fellow Asian Southerners. Once again, Mississippi rewarded me. I wandered over to the docks, where I encountered Kim Pham, a shrimp fisherman from Vietnam, who was delighted to discover where I had originated. Pham had been a refugee in the Philippines during the late 1970s, following the conflict in her homeland.

We conversed about her journey from Vietnam to the Philippines, then to Atlanta, and ultimately to Mississippi. She had been employed at a factory in Biloxi until it moved operations to Mexico, and then transitioned to shrimping. She confided that the past couple of years had been the most challenging in her two decades within the sector. Now, she mentioned, her children were grown, and she intended to follow them wherever they moved, learning a new skill in yet another vocation if necessary, continuously reinventing herself. As I stepped off the boat, Pham practiced the French pronunciation of my name and flashed me a thumbs-up.

I will always remember that gesture. In fact, I echoed it when I awakened after the surgery that saved my life, and my husband uttered the one phrase I needed to hear: Cinelle.

Pham was not the only motivating woman I encountered in Biloxi. I also made time to explore the ceramics center at the Ohr-O’Keefe Museum of Art, where I conversed with a podcast producer and potter named Georgia Sparling. During the pandemic, she, like numerous individuals, returned to her roots in Mississippi and immersed herself in a lifestyle brimming with healthy activities such as kayaking and crafting.

I expressed my interest in witnessing the Pascagoula River. Sparling promptly reached out, contacting her kayaking group, the Pascagoula Paradise Paddlers. By that evening, she had coordinated for me to spend an afternoon on the river with two of her acquaintances, brothers Eric and Brian Richards.

The following day, with them, I learned to say bah’ou instead of bye-you, and that wood treated with brackish water will endure a storm better than anything available at Home Depot. Cans of beer were opened and lifted, and while one of the brothers proposed entertaining us with his bluegrass-inspired vocals, we collectively decided that the sounds of the pluff mud and Spanish moss dancing in the breeze were sufficiently melodious.

Due to my injury, I’ve experienced significant losses: sensory tolerance, physical endurance, mental clarity. However, I will forever treasure those episodic recollections from the journey that almost instinctively deactivate my mind’s “fear mode.” My expedition to Mississippi, enriched by all its fortuitous interactions, distanced me from my domestic and journalistic routine, channeling my cognitive focus onto everything peripheral but vital: my Lyft driver’s humor; the vibrant charisma of Dolly and Frida; the generosity of strangers such as Sparling and Pham. I came to sense that these random social connections are what activate the reward centers of our brains — especially when we’re at our most vulnerable.

After my aneurysm, the medical staff repeated the same inquiry several times daily for weeks: “Can you identify yourself?” My response varied each time, with one exception: “I’m a writer who forges friendships through travel.” After brain surgery, whatever you’re able to remember becomes your new identity. I was in the process of relearning. My therapist articulates it this way: you evolve into what you possess, not what you have lost.

Ocean Springs marked my final destination on the journey. I stayed at Gulf Hills Hotel & Resort, a 57-room waterfront establishment that was initially constructed in 1927 and was being revitalized to restore its past splendor, having suffered damage from Hurricane Camille in 1969 (and was subsequently rebuilt, only to be ravaged again by a fire in 1974). After decades of neglect, it reopened in fall 2023, just weeks before my arrival. 

The new proprietors diligently endeavored to reinvigorate a venue where Marilyn Monroe, Judy Garland, and Jayne Mansfield once swam, waterskied, and enjoyed cocktails at dusk. As part of the renovation, the team contacted past guests to inquire about their memories. Most responded not with architectural specifics, but with anecdotes. There was a teenager, now retired, who reminisced about spending time with a young Elvis, who adored staying in Villa 9 during the early 1950s. Such narratives are what Condrey and his team drew upon to reclaim the legacy of the venue.

At the nearby Bozo’s Too, I met with my cherished friend Rénard’s family for lunch. Although currently living in Charleston, Rénard arranged for me to reconnect with his mother, sister, and niece, who reside locally. We shared a plate of hush puppies and conversed about Rénard’s daughter, who is best friends with mine. We flipped through images of this generation of Southern girls of color, so deeply influenced by the coasts that nurtured them, alongside their mothers’ immigrant backgrounds. 

Similar to the beginning of my journey, I found myself once again planning a return trip to the immaculate white sands and grateful embrace of the Mississippi Gulf. That longing reemerges today. However, traveling is more complex now. There are assistive devices to consider, and logistical planning to undertake. My physicians advise me to establish small objectives and to depend on others for assistance when necessary. By the time this narrative is published, I will have extended an open hand countless times and received abundant kindness in return.

For motivation, I will have researched renowned survivors of brain aneurysms to see their accomplishments. Sharon Stone returned to the Saturday Night Live stage. Emilia Clarke embraced her Targaryen identity in the series finale of Game of Thrones. Joni Mitchell picked up her guitar and continued to create music.

As for myself, I’m present, recalling the lessons from coastal Mississippians. I’m here, on the verge of finishing a sentence. I’m here, writing once more.

Where to Stay

Gulf Hills Hotel & Resort

Popular among celebrities in the 1950s, this 57-room waterfront establishment in Ocean Springs has recently undergone restoration and reopened.

Pearl Hotel

This charming 59-key inn located in Bay St. Louis features a sophisticated seafood dining venue, Thorny Oyster.

Where to Eat

Bozo’s Too

Ideal for a midday meal stop in Pascagoula, this simple establishment offers po’boys, steamers, and a lavish Bloody Mary garnished with oysters, shrimp, and crawfish.

McElroy’s Harbor House

A Biloxi dining spot along the Gulf featuring crab cakes, gumbo, fried clams, and more.

Mockingbird Cafe

This established eatery in Bay St. Louis offers classic Southern brunch dishes like biscuits and gravy, along with sandwiches, salads, and baked goods.

What to Do

Gulf Islands National Seashore 

Spanning 160 miles between Florida and Mississippi, this national park area safeguards barrier islands, marshlands, and diverse wildlife. 

Ohr-O’Keefe Museum of Art

This institution, designed by Frank Gehry, highlights Mississippi ceramist George Ohr and several other regional pottery artists.

Pascagoula River Audubon Center 

Venture out on the water with a kayak or paddleboat rental and search for bird species such as magnolia warblers and brown pelicans at this center.

A version of this piece first appeared in the February 2025 edition of Travel + Leisure under the title “Let It Wash Over You.