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:
“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.
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’.
At the job I met T. He was the owner’s nephew and was working at the restaurant, too. I fell in love with him.
The awful, first love kind of way where you never think you will ever in a million years feel the way you feel about the man you are with.
Only, our relationship wasn’t a good one. T was an alcoholic, 10 years my senior, who despised life. While his self-loathing and misery didn’t rub off on me, it was entirely taken out on me. Our relationship was one of cyclical emotional abuse. It was pints of I-love-you’s with double shots of I-hate-you’s and lots and lots (and lots) of tears. And crazy wicked emotional hangovers.
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.
Hi. My name is D and I’m 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.
I can see this working real well.
Tonight I am packing boxes. Big, monster wardrobe boxes. I don’t like packing. At all.
And this time, it’s gross.
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 pointsContinue reading “What I learned in Croatia (The List)”
I woke up on my last morning in Croatia, shaggy blonde Brit by my side.
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.