Sun, sand and the best bar ever

I love Saturdays. Except when the Saturday is my last day in Croatia. Then, I despise it.

Chopper and I had a grand plan for my last full day of traveling: lounge at the beach and then head out to a nice birthday dinner for myself.

And we did just that.Continue reading “Sun, sand and the best bar ever”

The City of Stairs

I looked up at the stairs that seemed to rise to the sky. Panting. We had made it up the first few sets of stairs, me trying to balance the very unsteady bag I had on my back. I had specifically taken this piece of luggage for  my trip because it had wheels (!) and straps to turn into one massive backpack. But, it really wasn’t made to be balanced on a back. I could barely stand up straight, and when I was upright, it felt like the weight of the bag would have me topple over, down the stairs and back to Square One.

“Nope. No way,” I said, turning to Chopper, who was taking in the monstrosity of stairs beside me. “There is NO WAY I can carry my bag up those thousand stairs to the hostel. Let’s just go to your hostel instead. I don’t need to stay in the old city of Dubrovnik.”

“Come on, D,” he said. “You can do it.”

I had tried. Sweat was beading up on my forehead, my frustration with my ability to master those stairs with bag in tow was building to massive proportions.

“Chopper,” I said, trying not to seem whiny, “I really can’t do this.”

Instead of agreeing with me to turn back, he grabbed my bag and carried it up the rest of the stairs. I had been thankful for his company the entire time I had known him, but that moment, damn, the gratitude was  overwhelming. I knew if I had been by myself, there was no way I could have done that. There were A LOT of stairs. More than the cathedral towers I had climbed. More than the stairs up the mountain I had climbed in Israel.

Dubrovnik, this beautiful walled city in Croatia, was essentially a town of stairs. Restaurants had outdoor seating on the stairs; bars opened to them; stores lined them. All of these places were situated like they were on a normal walking path, except they were growing up the stairs.

And, even though I was in pretty decent shape, it kicked my glutes into high-gear. And my legs.Continue reading “The City of Stairs”

It’s not “goodbye,” it’s “see you soon,” the Atlanta edition

I could barely hide the tears when I hugged my co-worker goodbye yesterday.

And tonight, embracing people who have made my time in Atlanta so marvelous and memorable and wonderful, it was hard not to have the mascara run down my face.

I am used to “goodbyes.” This is the second time in roughly one year I have traded everything familiar for the unknown. It is not easy. No matter how many times you change out those “goodbyes” for “see you soons,” truth be told —  it really just sucks.Continue reading “It’s not “goodbye,” it’s “see you soon,” the Atlanta edition”

It’s not “goodbye,” it’s “see you soon”

 

Friday morning I had intended to get my massage. But, as I lugged my bag up the rolling coastal hills in Hvar to the spa, the crystal water called to me. Just one last swim in Hvar. You know you want to.

Instead of just gazing at the sun dancing in the water my last morning on the island, I decided to do a 180, and head back to the pebble beach where Shaun was.

Of course, being the impatient person I am, I ducked into a restroom at a restaurant to do a quick change into my suit, not paying a lick of  attention to the fact there was a door in the room where I changed. So, mid-change, a man walked through the door, looked at me strangely as I stood there, half in a bathing suit, half in a dress, and exited. Classy? You bet.

I did my best not to make eye contact with my bathroom buddy as I clumsily hauled my bag out of the restaurant, dodging chairs and tables and looks.

When I met Shaun down at the beach, she gave me a confused look.

“I just couldn’t do it,” I explained. “I would rather stay here with you and enjoy the last morning on the island then get a massage.”

She and I took in the late morning rays for about an hour. Then, as we were sitting there, laughing and exchanging stories of our last night out in Hvar — the topless woman from Hula Hula had made an appearance  (clothed) much to the boys pleasure, and Chopper had decided he was coming with me to Dubrovnik — when a girl wandering along the path just above us caught my eye.

Her brown hair and sunglasses looked familiar. Could it be …Continue reading “It’s not “goodbye,” it’s “see you soon””

A BRIEF intermission: I quit

For months, since laying on the beach in Croatia, I have dreamt of quitting my job. Of fulfilling my dreams of traveling and documenting my experiences.

Now, it is O-F-F-I-C-I-A-L. I handed in my letter of resignation today. And, it went remarkably well.

Wednesday, Feb. 3 is my last day of work.

The wave of relief, the smile on my face, ahhhhh. I wouldn’t trade it.

Look out World, D is coming for ya.

There’s WHAT in the water?!?

When we awoke Thursday morning, it was a beautiful and bright blue day in Hvar. After enjoying the refreshing views of the sea from Green Lizard’s outdoor kitchen/terrace, the six of us — Mel, Shaun, Chopper, Lauren, Emma and I — headed to grocery in town to pick up food and drink for our beach picnic.

Chopper negotiated the boat rental — a small boat decked with an awning and motor — for around $350 KN (not a bad deal for a full day rental, split among six), and then we all piled into the tiny thing.

I don’t like boats.

I was in one of those teeny tiny things when it almost flipped over in the middle of the St. Lawrence River during a storm. I can clearly recall the white-knuckle-death-grip I had on my friend’s leg as the boat dangled precariously in the air, nearly parallel with the choppy white-capped water; the massive tears of relief that spilled from my eyes when we made it safely to the shore; the hour it took for me to catch my breath and calm down. So yeah, I don’t like little boats where your fingers can touch the rushing water below.

Thankfully, Chopper seemed to know what he was doing. And, this trip was about pushing my comfort levels. Who was I to skip out on some Croatian island hopping because of a nasty boat ride I had nearly nine years ago to the day?

As we motored out of the harbor and towards the break in the islands, nude beaches greeted us. Well, really the nude beaches were large rocks, jutting out into the water, with naked bodies spread atop. We were far enough away where all that could be seen were tan bodies. Luckily.

“OK, get ready,” announced Chopper as we passed between two islands and out into more open water. “We’re heading into the high seas.”

My hear rate quickened momentarily, my grip grew a little tighter on the side of the boat, and my feet planted more firmly to the floor, and we kept on motoring. Nothing bad happened. After a moment, and noticing everyone else on the boat was simply delighted to bump over the wake created from the other crafts on the water, I calmed. Chopper was a great captain. And, even if we were to flip into the water, I could see straight to the bottom and knew there was almost nothing in this crystal clear Adriatic.

Well, nothing except SEA URCHIN.Continue reading “There’s WHAT in the water?!?”

A BRIEF intermission: My 30 Life Crisis … solved?

What happens when you turn 30, and realize the life you are living isn’t what you expected?

You are single.

You have no children.

You want out of your job.

You don’t own a home.

You don’t have anything tying you to any specific place.

You aren’t sure exactly what you want out of life, but know what you’ve got isn’t what you want?

What do you do?

Well, let’s make this a little more specific.

What do I do when I wake up, realize I am not living the life I ever imagined?

Sure, my future has gone through many different versions: as a child, I dreamt of winning an Emmy for my dramatic performance on a soap opera (preferably “All My Children”); as a teen, it was being a sports reporter covering the NHL; and as a 20-something, I lived to become a power publicist in Las Vegas.

Now, at 30, what do I want for my now, for my future?

What I’m doing isn’t working for me. I have all of this passion, all of this unbridled desire to LIVE, but just haven’t been able to put my finger on exactly how to accomplish this. Until now. 

Since my return from Croatia, I have teetered between sanity and tears (bless you, Mom and Dad and my inner-circle of amazing friends), a career change and a life change. This is what I have lovingly dubbed my 30 Life Crisis. Easily defined, a 30 Life Crisis is the point where one wakes up on their 30th birthday (or close to it) and wonders just what the hell is going on.  A person can clearly recognize where they are in their life and can understand how they got to that point, but also comes to the realization they want like hell to change it. For those who are nodding in agreement and living this moment, embrace it. Enjoy it. Make a change.

After months of research, weighing my options and learning from my travel peers what works and what doesn’t, I have decided to take an oh-so-scary step to infuse my passion with my daily living and quit my job, put my life in storage, foster my cats (shout out to Megan P.), and GET LIVING.

Not to stop the Croatia story in its tracks (promise, it will continue and lead up to this post and beyond) but I am too excited to not make this announcement:

I have booked my flights for my upcoming solo

backpacking adventure through

Europe and North Africa.

Stay tuned, The Adventures of D takes a whole new turn on Sunday, March 7 when I leave for London. My return ticket is for Fall 2010 out of Zagreb, Croatia, but I don’t have to take it …

Ah, 30 Life Crisis, I do love you so.

And, while I don’t expect traveling to solve my crisis, I do expect to learn more about me. About other people. And, most important of all, about life.

In the words of the travel agent who just booked my flight: “Little one, find yourself and tell me about it.”

Booze, boobs and a beach bar

At the dock, about 15 woman, most of them older, stood crowded around the boat ramp, awaiting the boat’s passengers to disembark so they could descend on them. They all clutched laminated one-sheets boasting color photos of their sobes. As soon as people would begin to walk off the boat, they would commence hounding to rent their rooms.

“You need a room?” “I’ll give you a good deal.” “I’m in the city.” “My home is beautiful.” And so it continues until you either tell them you are not interested, have other lodging, or are able to escape unscathed, beyond the fortress of sobe owners.

As a traveler, it is overwhelming to depart a boat, or a bus or a train and be surrounded by people trying to hawk their rooms at you. I get it, but sometimes you just want to get off whatever mode of transportation you are on and not have to dodge, weave or otherwise avoid being chased after.

I planted myself just outside the group of women to avoid the chaos and to survey the passengers for Mel and Shaun.

I waited. And waited. And waited.Continue reading “Booze, boobs and a beach bar”

Rocky, rocky, pebble-y, pebble-y

 

I slowly hauled my belongings from Booze & Snooze down to the port that Wednesday morning, anxious to just get on the catamaran and head to Hvar.

I stood, perched at the ramp to the Jadrolinija catamaran, the country’s main ferry system that weaves through Croatia’s islands and across the Adriatic to Italy,  until after boarding had started with the hope Mel and Shaun would come bounding down from their hostel, bags on their backs, ready to go.

Only, they never did.

I love traveling solo, I really do. I feel like you meet more people when you are by yourself. If you want social interaction traveling solo almost forces you to be a little more outgoing, a little more friendly, than you would in normal life. It also creates a fascinating dynamic — you make friends fast and furious — and then move on and do the same thing, town after town.

I really liked Mel and Shaun, so when the boat pulled away from the dock, it made me sad they were not there, too. I was, once again, solo. But I knew, as my previous travel experiences had dictated, I would meet new and fascinating people as soon as I was ready.

My antics from the night before were starting to catch up with me, along with the throbbing in my ankle. For now, I wanted to zone out and breathe in my trip to that point. Continue reading “Rocky, rocky, pebble-y, pebble-y”