By the time I got to Shaun’s flat in London, my backpack and messenger bag were brutally weighing me down.
Like I knew they would.
I just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.
I had wondered through the Poplar area of town for nearly two hours before I successfully found Shaun’s home. It wasn’t her directions that were poor, it was the person following them had a serious case of travel brain.Continue reading “Wandering the mean streets of Poplar”
The first time I tried on the little silver Fossil necklace adorned with 3-dimensional dove, the chain broke in my hand.
I wanted it so badly. I had been given a $25 gift card to Macy’s and was browsing the inexpensive jewelry, looking for something to symbolize the wanderlust I was feeling (cause, you know, a cheap piece of jewelry can so do that).
And there it was, attached to the flimsy plastic/cardboard holder with one word written all pretty on it:
“freedom”
Marketed by the marketing gods so perfectly to me.Continue reading “Baby, I’m a free bird”
“Where are you going? How long are you here? Where are you staying? How do you know the person you are staying with? How did you meet? How long have you known each other? What does your friend do? What do you do? Where do you live?” The immigrations officer fired question after question at me.
I stood at the counter, silently praying she would stop asking questions and stamp my passport.
Fortunately, she did.
I had spent my entire flight across the Atlantic paranoid. When I went to check in online earlier in the day, I was informed I had to call the airline — that my trip was beyond the limit for travel and a visa was required.
My heart nearly jumped into my chest.
How could I have missed this? I thought I was good to go. Continue reading “An interview with customs”
I think I have the ugliest backpack known to man.
It’s two shades of dog-poo brown. But, I think it’s because of it’s lack of exterior good looks, it was such a steal. The 65CL REI pack was mine of the takin’ at a cool $180. That’s $100 less than it’s prettier counterparts, although color aside, they are exactly the same.
One thing’s for sure — the inside of that bag sho’ is good lookin’.
That’s because it is packed for my adventure.
But D, what does one pack in their bag, you ask?Continue reading “Preparing for my RTW travel: the backpacking packing (a list)”
A little more than 10 years ago I made a decision that would unexpectedly set the universe’s plans in motion for me.
If you asked me then, the decision held little importance in the scheme of what I expected from my life. I was a junior in college and needed money, therefore a job.
I answered an ad in Towson University’s student paper for a server. It was nothing great — two shifts a week to start at a local (and popular) crab restaurant.
I know I’ve said before I don’t like to plan. And, I don’t. The beauty of travel is going with the flow … seeing what comes and then just doing.
However, when someone makes a suggestion that could make your trip even more awesome than originally thought, you DO IT.
So, I did.
Continue reading “Preparing for my RTW travel: maybe I like to plan a little”
Hi. My name is D and I am a Hair Snob.
Really. I am.
I religiously trim my split-ends. I retouch my roots regularly. Whoever gets me in their chair is one hell of a lucky stylist because, when it comes to my hair, I have been known to spare no expense.
And now I’m going backpacking. And not spending money.
Right.
I can see this working real well. Continue reading “Preparing for my RTW trip: bye bye blonde”
January 12, 2010
It aint easy being responsible.
Sort of.
Being responsible is something we are taught from childhood. You take your toys out of their bin? You put them back when you are done. You sneak out of the house with your gaggle of girlfriends in the middle of the night? You get caught. And grounded. You miss the due date for your rent? You pay that, plus some. Yeah … you get it.
But, for some reason, when preparing for this adventure for which I am about to embark, suddenly I have even more responsibilities. Not only do I have work, bills, the norm, but now it is my responsibility to prepare for what I am leaving behind.
I have to make sure there is enough money in my account to cover the cost of my storage unit (I am opting not to sell my belongings simply because I could never afford to re-buy them upon my return to the US); find a responsible and wonderful animal-lover to foster my cats (because there is no way I would give them up, they’re my children); cancel utilities; break my lease; find a reputable mover; confirm my air reservations; change insurance policies; purchase travel/health insurance; and more.
Sometimes it seems as if the list of what I have to get done is never-ending.
An example of supreme responsible-ness was today.Continue reading “Preparing for my RTW trip: it aint easy being responsible”
January 19, 2010
Tonight I am packing boxes. Big, monster wardrobe boxes. I don’t like packing. At all.
And this time, its gross.
My apartment is one of four units in a house from the 1920s. It’s charming. It’s unique. It’s got some serious character. Including the basement storage unit, which is basically six wooden pallets wide guarded by some fierce rusty chicken wire — likely installed just after the house was built. The rest of the basement is a mishmash of secret rooms, dirt floors and one humidifier which, for some reason, sits nearly immovable directly in front of my shoddily secure storage door. Argh.
Back in September 2009, there was the Great Atlanta Flood. Luckily, I was living it up in Croatia at the time (I was actually in Split when I saw the status updates on Facebook) when I caught wind of the rising water closing I-75/85.
The dirty, dark old basement in my cute little house was not spared.
And, tonight I got to experience the leftovers of the flood firsthand when I dragged these giant boxes out of my “storage unit.”
MOLD.
Lots and lots of mold. Taking over most of the boxes. Ruining their re-usability.
The hardest part about moving for me is the fact that I have to do it solo. I’ve said it once and I will say it again — moving is not made for people who are single. I am happily single, but every time I move, I find myself hoping, wishing, praying for an extra pair of hands. Hell, one extra hand would suffice. Tonight, there was no one who felt obliged to help me move (and no one within shouting distance) when I took on the wardrobe boxes.
Last year when I was filling my storage unit, I had the brilliant idea to take two wardrobe boxes and cram them into a third box to save space. I must have had my dad with me (or some momentary superhuman strength) when I did this because there is no way I could have jammed the boxes into the other box solo.
Those pain-in-the-ass boxes were barely maneuverable, ridiculously hard to grip and my arms are unable to even wrap around the width of them.
To make it worse, the mold and thick layer of dust and grime was now rubbed all over me. I can only assume I was a sight to anyone Midtown/Virginia Highlands who may have been strolling to the park: dressed in work clothes, purse still on my arm, keys dangling from my pinky, carrying those massive, spider-crusted boxes out of the basement, outside, up my crooked flight of concrete stairs and (finally, breathlessly) into my apartment.
I’ve only had three big moves in my life: Maryland to Las Vegas; Las Vegas to Atlanta; and now, Atlanta to Maryland. They each have their own distinct place in my heart. This one holds an extra special sweet place, not only for the bright and exciting next steps in my life, but also for the mold that is now permeating my lungs and my belongings which will live on while I travel in a climate-controlled storage unit.
Ahhh … moving is grand.
1. If you want Zagreb’s Upper Town to yourself for wandering, it is deserted at 2 a.m. There is nothing more magical than having the city in your hands to breathe in. Even if nothing is open, to walk on the old streets, to see the gothic buildings, it is an amazing experience. Bonus points if you have someone with you to share the moment. And even more bonus points if the person is a cutie. A Hollywood ending. Almost.
2. For a trip back in time and an eerily beautiful moment of peace, wander around Zagreb’s Cathedral of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary’s grounds. It is quiet — a great place to do some writing, thinking, or relaxing. The unconventional tourist.
3. Plitvice Lakes National Park is quite possibly one of the most beautiful places on Earth. The bluegreen water, the waterfalls that lightly mist you as you walk by, the winding wooden paths — every turn is something new and more beautiful than the next. It’s about two hours from Zadar and Zagreb and a great day trip. Should you want to stay longer, there are a few hotels in the park. The prettiest day trip ever.
4. Don’t get lost. Or take the wrong bus. And, if you do, hope for the bus driver I had in Zadar. Quite possibly one of the kindest souls I have ever met. Remember — if you’re not sure what bus to take, or if the gate number is the seat number of vice-versa, ask. Croatian’s are remarkably wonderful and helpful. English isn’t a common in Croatia, but the closer you are to the tourist areas, the better chance you have. If someone doesn’t speak English, they will help direct you the best they can. I’ve always relied on the kindness of strangers.
5. Take the time to stop in Zadar. If you are time crunched while traveling Croatia, it is a great starting point to kick of Adriatic coastal adventures. There are a lot of ferries from the city, as well as tours of the surrounding islands. While visiting the old city, be sure to head to the water and swing by the Sea Organ. It’s haunting melodies still play in my mind. Plus, the grilled corn is delicious. A Hollywood ending. Almost.
6. Spend at least two days in Split. Climb to the top of the cathedral in the old city for captivating views of the entire city and Adriatic. Every nook and cranny in the main square has something wonderful. Next to the Lacoste shop is a great little food stop with delicious breakfasts cooked fresh while you wait. The egg sandwich is mouth-watering. This could be heaven.
7. While in Split, make sure you hit the beach. The one with the sand. It’s outside the old city and perfect for swimming, sunning and people watching. Plus, if you have the right company, it will change your life. Instantaneous enlightenment on the Adriatic.
8. If you want to bare it all in Croatia, you can. There are plenty of nudie beaches up and down the coast to run around sans your skivvies. Just mind where you jump. Birthday suits and Split.
9. An hour ferry trip from Split is Hvar, an upscale island covered in lavender. Hvar’s beaches are rocky and pebble-y. It’s not too bad, but if you want smooth sand, venture to a surrounding island. Renting a little motor boat won’t cost too much, and you can negotiate. Rocky, rocky, pebble-y, pebble-y.
10. A bathroom can lead to another bathroom. And, it is possible to shimmy from one bathing suit into another without revealing anything. Well, almost. Booze, boobs and a beach bar.
11. The sea is not free of dangers. Those little black spiky things in the water? They are not your friends. In fact, Sea Urchin are the devil. No, seriously. There’s WHAT in the water?
12. Never say “goodbye” to the travelers you meet. You never know, you may just cross paths with them again. It’s not “goodbye,” it’s “see you soon.”
13. The bus ride from Split to Dubrovnik is a MUST. Yes, you hug the cliffs, but you also see some of the most stunning sights on the Adriatic. The city of stairs.
14. Dubrovnik is a city of stairs. Be prepared. The city of stairs.
15. Opening yourself to new people, new places and new opportunities can change your entire world. A BRIEF intermission: My 30-Life-Crisis … Solved?
Do you have questions about Croatia? Tips you want to share? Be sure to leave a comment.
D Travels 'Round