Escape of the Week: Madrid Metro

Hi, my name is D and I am in LOVE with Madrid.

Sure, there have been plenty of nay-sayers, people who warned me against visiting Madrid, people who said the city wasn’t a place to tour. But, you know what?

I LOVE Madrid.

Every inch.

The city pulses. It sings to me. It is one of the most magnificent cities I have ever visited in my entire life.

Yes, some people don’t like it. And, that’s fine.

But me? I was lucky. I had the fortune of meeting locals and having them take me under their wings and showing me the beauty, the excitement, the enchantment … of Madrid.

This is just one photo of many. It speaks for itself. Stay tuned for more images of the city that took my heart.

 

 

>

Escape of the Week: Notting Hill Blues

In my first few days on my Adventure, I hit up the infamous Notting Hill neighborhood in London. The entire neighborhood presents people with Pictures Waiting to Happen, so needless to say I snapped heaps during my NH walk about. I wandered for hours, bundled (of course), camera nearly always in my hands.

I took this photo during my walkabout.

Escape of the Week: Poplar Flowers

I awoke early on my second morning in London.

The first day of London, I did a walking tour of Tower of London, St. Paul’s and Oxford Circus. The second day of my travels, I was left to explore on my own.

So, I did what any bright-eyed, bushy-tailed traveler on the start of their trip (or any first experience in a city) would do: I bundled up (it was March in a rain-soaked, cloud-encrusted London), laced my hiking boots, placed my cap tight on my head and pushed my hands into my mittens, and ventured out into the day.

My first stop? Poplar, the neighborhood where I was staying for the week.

The neighborhood isn’t the city’s shining glory, but it has its own charm. Nearby the house I was staying was a large market, compete with stalls hawking everything from blankets and luggage to clothing, food stalls and bakeries.

I snapped this photo during my Poplar walkabout.

 

Dude, Don’t be a Hostel Dick

Dude Don't Be A Hostel Dick | The Ultimate Guide to the Dos and Dont's of Hostel Life via www.dtravelsround.com
Photo via Flickr Creative Commons: via Grumbler

I’ve spent more than 200 nights in hostels. The good hostels. The bad hostels. The awesome hostels. If you are planning to stay in a hostel, or sometimes get confused about hostel etiquette, the following post is for you. Consider this your do’s and don’ts should you decide to be a roommate.

The Check-In

1. Smile. Even if you have just had the most hellish time finding the place, a smile will go along way at reception.

2. Be nice. No one wants to see you throw a tantrum because you have to pay for sheets. Or because the Internet is down. (Well, you can get a little cranky on that one.)

Your Room

1. Don’t let your backpack throw up all over the room. If you need to take stuff out, take it out, but don’t have things sprawled everywhere. Unless you don’t mind it getting stepped on. Or lost. Many hostels have limited floor space, and you’re not the only one in the room who needs to unpack a little bit.

2. If you are on the bottom bunk and want some privacy, hang your towel down from the bed above you.

3. Nowadays, it is hard not to stay connected. However, many hostels seem to only have one or two power sources per room. Don’t hog all of them. And, if your stuff is finished charging, kindly unplug it so others can use the outlets.

4. Bring a lock. A good lock.

5. Lock up your stuff. Seriously. If there aren’t  lockers, still lock your bag. Especially if you are leaving anything of value.

6. If you are leaving early in the morning, pack the night before. No one wants to get woken up by your inconsiderate zipping and unzipping and rustling of plastic bags. No one can get it all done the night before, but keeping the noise down to a minimum and only having to pack a little is one of the most considerate things you can do for other travelers.

7. If you think you may be in late, do everyone else in the room a favor and get the stuff out of your bag that you need for the  night before you head out.

8. When you get in late at night, try not to turn on the light. Use a flashlight, or your phone, or your iPod, or whatever. If you have to turn the light in, do it quickly, and then turn it off. Don’t leave it on while you go to the bathroom/kitchen/etc.

9. When you get in late at night, hush. No one wants to hear recaps of the night in your normal voice. Or a whisper. Go outside of the room to talk. And, remember: whispers are loud when there’s no other noise in the room.

10. Don’t get it on in the dorm room. No one wants to hear moans and fluids and such. Well, at least most people don’t. If you want to hook-up, go somewhere else. Like the common room. Or outside.

11. If other people are sleeping in the morning, don’t be loud.

12. If it is after lunch and people are still sleeping, it’s OK to go about your business in the room … and not worry too much about needing to do whatever it is you need to do. Chances are the people who are still sleeping are the ones who woke you up at 4 a.m. when they stumbled in, turned on the light and chattted drunkenly.

The Kitchen

1. Buy your own food. And lable it with the dates you are going to be staying at the hostel. If you see someone else’s food, don’t take it. It’s not yours. Backpacker karma exists.

2. Clean up. This is a group environment. No one wants to wash your egg-covered pans or the sauce remnants from the pasta you cooked last night. Wash. Dry. Wipe down. Got it?

3. If the hostel provides meals or snacks, enjoy them. But don’t go nuts. You aren’t the only person who wants to enjoy the chocolate cereal or hardboiled eggs. Just because its complimentary doesn’t give you permission to take it all.

4. If you’ve made extra food and aren’t going to save it, offer it to another backpacker or the staff. Don’t waste.

The Common Room

1. Backpackers are a friendly bunch. If there is a solo packer in the common room and you are there, start up a friendly little conversation. You never know, that person could turn out to be a great friend.

2. Don’t hog the TV/DVD/stereo. Ask around if there are other people in the room. Don’t assume someone wants to watch/listen to the same thing you do.

3. Clean up after you’re done. Just like in the kitchen.

Want more hostel rules? Check out Michael Hodson’s Hostel and Dorm Rules. Ah, great minds think alike.

Got more tips? Add ’em below.

From DC to Kiwi … #Blog4NZ

The following is a guest post by Kevin Hutchens and part of the #Blog4NZ awareness.

It was almost a year ago that I had to say goodbye to New Zealand and continue on my journey around the planet — but not before I vowed to come back again, sooner than later. 

I had spent the first three decades of my life living in Washington, DC and decided it was time for a change. 

I have been fortunate enough to have many travel experiences in my lifetime but this journey was going to be my most ambitious yet: to circumnavigate the planet!

Although I was excited about all of the countries I was going to visit on this trip, I was most looking forward to New Zealand.  Something, which I couldn’t quite identify, had me longing to visit this country and I was not disappointed when I arrived.  My only regret was that I was limited to a short four weeks in which I was going to attempt to do “everything” New Zealand has to offer!  I did manage to do a good bit of it before having to move on but some things just fell off my itinerary, which is why I am back there now.
I am an outdoors person, I love lakes and mountains and hiking and adventure sports.  New Zealand combines this with the friendliest people I have come across in my travels.  Kiwis are laid back and always helpful, which throws you off a bit, especially if you come from a hectic place like DC.  Everyone you meet is willing to do whatever they can to help you enjoy this incredible place they get to call home, now I hope to make it my new home.

Although the earthquakes in Christchurch have devastated the city, the way the Kiwis pull together to get through tragedy is what makes you appreciate their approach to life.  I am a different (better) person here just by being around them and I much enjoy my simpler and calmer life here compared to the USA.  The expatriate community here is wonderful as well.  So many people arrive from all over the world and, after experiencing the culture here, decide to make it their new home as well.

For those of you who want to visit New Zealand, all I can say is DO IT; you will not regret the experiences you have here!  The scenery is as beautiful from 15,000 feet at 200 km/h on your first skydive in Taupo (or one of the other 100 places you can throw yourself out of an airplane) as it is from sea level along the stunning coast line or deep in the forest whilst on any one of multiple multi-day treks such as the Able Tasman National Park or the Tongariro Crossing (home of the famous Mt. Doom from “The Lord of the Rings”).

With the support of travel bloggers around the world, Blog4NZ selected these past three days to highlight just how incredible this country is.  There are numerous stories of excitement and adventure in middle-earth floating around the blogsphere right now.  If I haven’t been able to convince you how much fun you will have, maybe one of the many others who are sharing their experiences here will.
Please visit the Blog4NZ Facebook page here: http://www.facebook.com/blog4nz for more stories from other authors and feel free to drop by my blog at: http://kevinandearth.com for more posts and photos from the land of the Kiwis.

Kevin Hutchens was born and raised in the Washington DC area and works in IT consulting which has allowed him a flexible lifestyle which he spends traveling.  After circumnavigating the planet on a six month journey last year, he has decided to return to his favorite country, New Zealand, and make that is new home until wanderlust pulls his elsewhere.  Kevin enjoys photography, especially panoramas and will be launching a new website to showcase his work.  Please visit KevinAndEarth.com to read about the latest adventure he has gotten himself into (like earning a skydiving license in Taupo).



Kiwis — apparently we’re all the same #blog4NZ

This is a guest post by Arlene Brake. Arlene and I bonded over the Fez Bus Tour, hot Turkish men and dancing barefoot ’round the fire. She’s a native Kiwi, originally from Rotorua. I asked her to contribute a post to honor #blog4NZ.

Kiwi.  No, we are not named after the fuzzy brown fruit.

Actually, we are nicknamed after the fluffy brown bird native to New Zealand. However I don’t think it is this fluffy brown bird that makes us Kiwi, I think what makes us Kiwi is our grass roots, up-bringing and open, hospitable culture.

Last week I was hanging out with a German girl — she had known me all of two hours — and, out of the blue she announced: “Kiwi’s, you’re all the same.”

Now, I was stumped as to why me stretching up and reaching for some spices from a cupboard lead her to this revelation!
For days my mind has been pondering this —what do all Kiwi’s have in common?
Well, I’m pretty sure I’m not the only Kiwi kid who spent all summer long challenging each other with who could create the longest, gnarliest, fastest and slipperiest slip and slide, amongst siblings, cousins and all the other kids on the block. Summer afternoons spent cruising up to the dairy to spend ya pocket money on jelly – tip ice-creams. The rumbles of laughter after loosing a jandle …or two to the clutches of the roads melting tar seal?

I remember as a child my favorite pets were wild rabbit or possum babies Dad had ‘come across’ in the bush. Every time Dad went hunting I’d look forward to the possibility of him returning with a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed gift for me.

Then, there were the family outings to the bush to collect firewood for the winter. The whole family piled up in the 4×4, roaring around the dirt roads, me squealing with laughter from the back seat as I became airborne so high my head would hit the roof, whilst my mother clutched the armrest so tight she left nail marks and growled for my father to behave.

Food. Food is a big thing for us Kiwi’s. Seafood is one in particular. As an infant my favorite food was fresh mussels. I was mad about them — I couldn’t get enough. Twenty-five years later nothing has changed!

And, I mustn’t forget the national ritual – The Hangi. This a practice of teamwork, Kiwi hospitality and indulgence. Any excuse will do! The men digging the hole, drinking beer, preparing the heated rocks between sing along or two. And the women peeling the veggies and wrapping the food in muslin cloth in preparation to be stowed away in the earth until ready to eat. Children running barefoot and carefree. After hours of anticipation everybody comes together to celebrate the fruits of their labor by sharing the tender, smoky, melt-in-your mouth goodness we call a Hangi.

Maybe it’s these things that make us Kiwi’s “all the same”  — the pure pleasure in simplicity of life?

I’ve always wanted to travel. Since I was a child, I was aware New Zealand is very far away from the rest of the world. Middle Earth, some might say? For me it was the curiosity of that big, wide, far away world that drove me to venture so far from home.  It is only that far from home when I realized it is these things mentioned here… that is what make us “Kiwi’s” and keep us connected.

Which ever random place we may find ourselves, from having “Kia Ora – choice bro!” excitedly proclaimed to you by an Arab amongst the bustling, smoke ridden souks of Marrakesh, to the union of thousands of drunken and disorderly expat Kiwi’s sporting various famous NZ icons, or participating in London’s annual Waitangi Day pub crawl. No matter where you are in the world there will always be something to remind you how special it is to have The Land of the Long White Cloud, our homeland.

‘Round the World Music (The List)

Once traveling has been completed, there are few things more precious than the memories of the experience. I am always giddy when something unexpected triggers a magical moment of Delicious Travel Recall. It can be something as little as sitting outside on a breezy warm night grasping a cup of hot beverage that takes me back to Jose’s front porch in Merida; or the smell of a hookah wafting in the night air that takes me back to Granada; or the meowing of street cats outside my window that takes me back Turkey; or catching a futbol game on television that takes me back to Morocco …

But, more consistently, it is the music.

Within the first few bars, I am whisked away to the moment in time I heard the song … wistfully taken back to the thoughts, the feelings, the warm in the pit of my stomach that quickly takes over my entire body in this brief and amazing bliss.

Now, whenever a song comes on that triggers these fantastical moments of travel joy, I tell my little memory to whomever is in within yelling-at-the-top-of-my-lungs distance.

And, now … a sampling of my RTW soundtrack and little stories to illustrate why each song “rocks” in it’s own little way.  I’ve included links so you can check out the tunes. Enjoy!

1. O.A.R.

This band has longevity with me. It came with me on my first backpacking adventure to Europe in 2002; it returned when I was in Croatia for my 30th; and (so as not to break tradition), they were also loaded onto my iPod for this past Adventure. The band got plenty of play time when I walked about in London.

2. Dropkick Murphys – “I’m Shipping Up to Boston”

This is my Ireland Experience in a song. It takes me back to being driven by Abbey through Ireland’s stunning countryside, dotted with old stone castles and vast expanses of farmland, B-Lee, Emily and I intow, headed to Galway to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day.

3. Milow – “Ayo Technology”

The first time I heard this song was the morning after I fell in love with Madrid. Standing in a little store on the outskirts of Plaza de Mayor. This tune came on and I fell in love with it. After a week in Spain, I downloaded the song and, the version I had clocking in at 8 minutes, was the perfect metro song. I would listen to it on repeat as I walked from Anthony’s to the train, on the train, and then walking to my next destination.

4. Rocky Horror – “Time Warp”

Madrid. With Anthony and Emma. Sitting in her living room and finding videoes on You Tube that took us to other moments in time. We found this, and damnit, we did the Time Warp.

5. Lil Wayne – “Knockout” 

Before I left on my trip, a friend in Atlanta made me a mix for my Walk Abouts. When I took my little walking tour of Berlin (taking the subway to a stop outside the main part of the city and walking back to my hostel in the city), this little ditty came up. I imagine walking down a little side street speckled with naked, spiny-branched trees, and marveling at the Communist-era buildings mixed in with very geometric and artistic, more modern architecture. And eating a pretzel. I was in Germany.

6. Rihanna – “Rude Boy”

I don’t know how Bryan, Nicole and I got on the topic of popular music in the US while in Amsterdam [insert comment here], but somehow this song came up. I had never heard of it so Nicole sang it to me. Later, we heard it while sipping hot chocolate in a coffee shop.

7. Shakira – “Waka Waka”

While attending World Environment Day and gorilla naming ceremony, one of the babies was bestowed with the name “Waka Waka.” I hear this song and close my eyes to remember driving down bumpy, barely paved roads,  Anna at my side, staring out at the huts and shards of glass lining fence walls.

8. Ani DiFranco – “Every State Line“

I had just left Peter in Granada and was on a bus to Tarifa. I was feeling so lonely, so anxious about departing for Morocco in two days time … I leaned my head against the window of the bus with my eyes fixed to the gorgeous green hills and let myself soak into Ani’s lyrics.

9. David Berkley – “Hurricane”

I was really nervous the night before I was taking the ferry over to Tangier. I needed to get some sleep and wanted to listen to something to lull me into dreams. This song was the first one that came to mind. I hear this and I remember being on the bottom bunk, head nestled into my pillow, trying to fall asleep while knowing the other roommates had been downing shots of tequila and were sure to wake me … soon.

10. Cee Lo Green – “What Part of Forever”

When I was “working” at the hostel in Kusadasi, Turkey, I downloaded the “Twilight Saga: Eclipse” soundtrack. This song’s upbeat (and uplifting) everything took me out of the fear I was feeling … and later stood for the relief that encompassed my body when I boarded the Fez Bus and got the hell out of town.

11. Yolanda Be Cool and D-Cup – “We No Speak Americano”

I heard it for the first time while dancing around a fire pit, flips flung into a pile at the outdoor nightclub in Olympos. Then, again it popped up while standing outside another “nightclub” in Goreme. And, again in Bulgaria. And more, and more, and more. I became obsessed and started to crave its infectious little beat.

12. Stromae –  “Alors on Dance” 

This debuted the same time in Turkey, but it wasn’t until hanging with a bunch of backpackers in Budva, Montenegro that this song took over. We sang it on the bus. We listened to it at the hostel. We talked about it always being in our heads.

13. Florence & The Machine – “Kiss With a Fist“

Post-iPod, I had to download new music. I downloaded this and the first time I heard it, I was sitting on a bus, deep in the mountains of  Serbia, en route to Sarajevo. It instantly took my attention while immigration examined my passport.

14. Glee Cast – “Defying Gravity”

This song is beautiful and bittersweet. When I first really began to accept my grandma was dying, I sat on the decaying Olympic stairs outside Hostel SA in Sarajevo, put in my headphones (thankful for my new iTouch), turned on this song, buried my head in my legs, and cried buckets of tears.

15. Jon Lejoie – “Show Me Your Genitals”

I was lucky to have a travel friend like Katie. She knew I was sad after we left Mostar. While we were on the bus, driving through the Bosnian mountains on the way to Brela, Croatia, she played me this song to cheer me up. It produced the best laugh I had in a while. Note: These lyrics are NSFW or for anyone who is easily offended.

16. MGMT – “Kids“

I’m sitting in Fiesta Siesta’s cavernous stone bar, talking with Simon. This song comes on. I always feel so uplifted and happy when I hear this now.

17. Jonell Mosser – “Stop in the Name of Love“

Towards the end of my trip, Katie, David and I headed to Solta. The first night there, Katie gifted me with some of her music library. For hours, she and I sat outside, drinking red wine and taking in the Adriatic’s light wind, and listened to some of her favorite music, one ear bud each. This was one of the songs she played — a truly beautiful take on the classic.

18. Mumford & Sons – “Little Lion Man”

Zadar was one of my last stops on my trip. I met up with Katie in Trogir and together we traveled up to Zadar. The first night in our dorm, I was laying in bed trying to sleep and this jam perked up my ears. Immediately, I fell in love with the band. Now, any song by them makes me think of Croatia. And summer. And hope.

19. Eminem and Rihanna – “Love the Way You Lie“

After Katie and I parted, I had a few more days until my flight home. I didn’t want to stay in Zadar, so I took the bus back to Trogir to go and explore. On the way, our bus broke down. For an hour, I sat on a hot bench at a bus stop while we waited for a new bus to pick us up. A French girl, with headphones on, sang this. To this day, I remember feeling so gross, dripping sweat, and looking over in disbelief at the girl, bopping around on the side of the road, caught up in the music.

20. Citizen Cope – “Sideways“

I had never heard this song in my life, but Katie had put it on my iTouch. When I found out my grandma was doing worse, I struggled to find a song to allow me to go numb and cathartic. Each song that came on, I quickly skipped. And, then this song came on. And the guitar, the voice, all of it, instantly spoke to me. When Grandma passed away, it became the only song on my playlist. Until I arrived back in America, it was the only song I would listen to.

What about you? What songs take you back to memories … and what are those memories?

Dr. Strangetummy or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Naan

Editor’s Note: The following is guest post written by Katie. If you have read my posts about Bosnia and Croatia, you know Katie. She also traveled the world, more extensively than I did in 2010, and shares her story of eating (or not eating) in India. I love Katie. You will, too. Enjoy!

One of the main reasons I travel is to eat. Living in America means that if you want Indian food, you can have it. If you want Ethiopian food, you can have it.  Persian, Indonesian,  Afghani, and Peruvian- it’s all available. And more often than not, the food is made by natives. But, still.

Every food loving traveler is itching to try the “real deal.” Vietnamese Pho in Uptown Chicago, made by a Vietnamese person,  is one thing, but the same dish on tiny plastic chair on a street corner in Saigon is the reason you keep renewing your passport.

I have always considered myself food adventurous. I will try anything- and I mean anything- once.  I have eaten brains and tongue and kidney and shark and pigeon. I have blindly pointed to menu items when I couldn’t decipher the offerings. I have eaten things I still cannot identify.  So imagine my surprise when I arrived in India and was too scared to eat anything.  I felt like such a chicken- which, by the way, I have eaten the feet of.

Travel in India is overwhelming to every sense. The sights are indescribable. The smells are all consuming. The noise is unparalleled. The heat and humidity feel like a cumbersome jacket. But the taste, the food, is one reason you put up with all the other stuff.

It is just assumed that you will get sick in India. You just have to accept that fact and prepare for it before you go. In other words, pack some Pepto Bismol and hope for the best. I thought I had mentally prepared for the case of Delhi Belly I would certainly get but when I saw the bathrooms where I would be spending so much sick time, it weakened my resolve.  Having the trots on the comfort of your own toilet is bad enough, imagine it on a squat toilet in a fly-and-roach-infested bathroom.

But, the high demands of Western travelers spared me. My hostel in Delhi provided free breakfast (cereal, toast, and tea) and dinner (rice and a Kingfisher beer).  I decided I was going to eat these meals and nothing else.  I was adjusting to so many other things in India that I would work on those first and then attempt the food. That’s what I told myself but the truth is I was just scared.

I came to terms with the fact that I would be eating peanut butter toast and vegetable rice for all my meals in the country home to my favorite dishes. No murgh saagwala? Fine by me if it meant no puking. No chicken tikka masala? I’ll eat it when I get home if it means I retain control of my bowels. The ravenous glutton in my heart was devastated, the sometimes realist in my brain was content.

On my second day in India I met some people in my hostel and we headed out for a day of sightseeing. We spent hours wandering the streets of Delhi and no one mentioned food or ate a thing.  My stomach was growling and every street-side vendor made it sound like an angry lion. Luckily, Delhi is a noisy city and the sound of my rumbling tummy was drowned out. I had just survived my first tuk-tuk ride; no way I was taking on more than that.

That night, after a couple of Kingfishers and some free rice, the truth trickled out over our free meal. All six of us, on the first days of our trip, had not eaten a meal outside the safety of those hostel walls.  One by one, I could feel the weight lift off our shoulders. Backpackers are supposed to be brave and full of reckless abandon. Admitting you’re nervous-about anything- is like admitting you aren’t cut out for real adventure. 

Now we had each other. We were going to hold each other’s hands (figuratively) while we had our first real Indian meal and hold each other’s hair (literally) if any of us suffered repercussions.

Enter Francisco.

An unlikely hero in this land of enchantment, Francisco is from Italy and a former musician and breakdancer, but now made a living as the owner of our hostel. Did he mention, he asked, that he also owned a dosa stand? He told us all about his amazing dosas and after he wiped my drool off his leg, agreed to take us the next evening. We were all still skeptical but Francisco assured us that he adhered to the highest standards when it came to cleanliness and promised we would all be fine.

After a day of sightseeing, and still no food,  Francisco took us to Dosa King. It looked no different from any other stand on the busy, noisy, dirty street. It was about six feet by two feet and the walls were made of flimsy plywood. The kitchen consisted of one small grill, five large buckets of ingredients, and a three man staff.

I ordered a masala dosa and stood at one of the tables and waited for the Styrofoam plate of food I had anticipated, but feared, since landing in India. I was determined to eat like a local and in India that means cutlery-free and with your right hand. I grabbed at the end of the dosa, ripped off a chunk, scooped up some of the potato and onion mixture, and dipped into the sambar.

I let that bite sit on my tongue for a pause before I started chewing. I pictured myself standing in the hot, crowded, chaotic room where I got my Indian visa about three months earlier. A Bollywood film blared out of a tiny television with blown speakers in the corner. There seemed to be no rhyme to the reason and there were strange rules that were only occasionally enforced.  I believe that office is designed to prepare you for India. But nothing could prepare me for this bite.

That first bite was maybe the greatest food moment of my life. Yes, the food was good but it was more than that. It wasn’t just about food, of course. I was three days into a trip that was to last 10 months and I had been living scared. It felt like a release. As silly as it sounds, I remember thinking, this is why I’m here. To eat Indian food in India. To be, to really be, in India. Because if you’re going to go places and not really be there, you might as well order takeout from home.

It was as safe as Francisco promised. And, here’s a spoiler alert, I did eventually get sick from the food in India. And I mean sick sick. Like hospital, antibiotics, rehydration sick. And guess what? I would still eat ever dosa, every curry, every masala, every naan, everything.
 

About Katie: Katie doesn’t just get explosive diarrhea in India. She also falls in ditches, teaches Vietnamese women about vibrators, and sits back while her friends get head butted by a cow. You can read all about it on her blog www.calamitykate.com where she promises she won’t speak in the third person.

One year later

365 days. Wow.

A lot can happen in 365 days.

People can lose their job. Can find another job. Can fall in love. Can have a child. Can lose someone they love. Can see the world.

365 days ago, I embarked on a life-changing journey that would take me through Europe and parts of Africa, that would introduce me to new worlds. To new people. To a new way of thinking.

365 days ago I would have never imagined being where I am today. I would never have fathomed the experiences I would find myself a part of.

Yes. It was one year ago, today, when I left America. When I took my career-break. When I began my Adventure. It started in London.

Now, after one year of truly living, I can still vividly recall the moments leading up to leaving America. The moments on the airplane. The thrill of seeing the Atlantic sparkling in the sunrise. The anticipation of grabbing my backpack at Heathrow, getting on the Tube and the DLR and ending up at Sean’s place in Poplar.

I will never forget getting lost in Poplar. Wandering the streets around that part of London for hours, searching for a tiny sidestreet. Walking into bakeries and asking people where I was going. And the excitement I felt when I finally came across Sean’s place and found the little key tucked under a bench in her front yard. I will always remember meeting Tim and being quickly whisked from her house to the city, grabbing beers and then going back to her house and catching up on a lifetime that had happened since we had met in Croatia only months earlier.

It’s days like today, when I find myself sitting, reminiscing about the life I lived in those seven months abroad that make it impossible to do anything but hold tight to those memories. To those instances of life when you realize you are truly doing something so spectacular, so monumental …

Now, one year later, I have many moments, mostly when I am sad, where my mind transports me back to my trip … to a time when the world was my oyster (it still is, just in a very different way). I will be going to sleep at night, and an image of my journey will pop into my head and it fills me with such hope, such inspiration, such happiness.

Am I where I thought I would be a year ago today? Nope. Not even close. I am somewhere different … living a life that took me an adventure to realize I wanted. Is it permanent? No. Nothing is.

There are many moments when I find myself longing for the culture of Spain … for the crystal waters of Croatia … for the amazing friends I have met along the way. And the beauty of the past year is that I know, without a shadow of a doubt, I can capture that again … perhaps in the next 365 days. Or longer. I just know it is there, smiling on my shoulder, rooting for me …