Category Archives: Travel

The upside of Irish locks

I stood at the door of the house in Galway where I was staying, fumbling desperately with the lock I just couldn’t get to open. “It’s an Irish lock,” Abbey explained on the phone, “You just have to mess with it.” And mess with it I did. Only, nothing worked. I put the key in,Continue reading “The upside of Irish locks”

The time my liver hated me

I arrived in Dublin in the early afternoon, Abbey (that’s @ahesser on Twitter and the author behind the fabulous site, A Chick with Baggage) and her friend Brian greeted me at the aiport.

That was the last time in five days there was absolutely no alcohol coursing through my blood (sorry, Mom and Dad).

The following is an excerpt from my liver’s journal …

Sorry, mate

I’m pretty sure I fell in love with Notting Hill and Portobello Market — the winding streets of row homes all painted different colors, the little vintage shops and the pubs made me feel warm and fuzzy. It was easy for me to spend a day just walking around the area.

But it was the last day with Pat, his girlfriend and their friend that was my best day in London.

Backpacker chic

I looked in the mirror before we headed out to celebrate Shaun’s flatmate’s birthday. Messy hair back in a low pony styled by Shaun: hot. Smokey eyes: sexy Graypink vintage shirt, dark jeans: Not too bad. Then, I looked to my feet. Backpacker black flats: Ugh. I’m not the most stylish person, but I don’tContinue reading “Backpacker chic”

A bit of Croatia in London

I nearly peed my pants on the way to Shaun’s flat. No, really, I nearly peed my pants. After having two rather large glasses of Peroni with Tim, I headed back to the tube. I was half way into Bank’s massive station when it hit me how urgently I needed to use the loo. “Sorry,” I saidContinue reading “A bit of Croatia in London”

Naptime interruptus

I closed my eyes on the black leather sofa.
Ahhhh. It felt so good to just lay there. Backpack off. Messenger bag off. Both piled in a heap on the floor next to me.

As soon as I had found the key to Shaun’s, placed under a bench outside her flat, I breathed a sigh of relief and felt a wave of thankfulness sweep over me.

Finally.

The non-stop travel from America and the loss of my night and sleep had started to wear on me and all I wanted to do was close my eyes and just be.

But it didn’t last long.

Wandering the mean streets of Poplar

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.

Baby, I’m a free bird

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”

An interview with customs

“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.