That’s when I saw Him on the street below. He caught my eye immediately. Perfect height (I’d probably recon around 5’9 or so). Perfect weight (the right blend between athletic and non-athletic). And completely different from the typical guy.
He wore plaid shorts, a dark shirt and shiny gold-framed sunglasses. He had a healthy serving of tattoos on his arms and legs, and a lip ring hooped through the middle of his bottom lip. His brown hair was cropped close to his head.
There was no way he was staying at Fulir. He just didn’t fit the mold of a typical backpack-hostel-goer. But, he walked up the ancient, red colored stairs, pulled a key out of his pocket and walked through the yellow painted door into the room I was staying in. When he walked in I caught a glimpse of a tattoo peaking through his hair on the back of his head and melted just a little bit.
At what point does one become “churched-out?” I think on my first trip to Europe, I was sufficiently churched out. It’s amusing and kind of sad. I was reading one of my last journal entires from my previous trip and I had noted every significant place I had been. In the entry I hadContinue reading “The unconventional tourist”
The last time I had traveled alone I ended up in Venice twice. I had met two Aussies and clicked with them, and they were going there and invited me. It sounded like a good plan, so I tagged along with them there and to Verona. One split from us at that point and headed skiing in the Alps. The other and I ventured to a little chalet in Gryon, nestled in the majestic Swiss Alps, on the suggestion of another traveler. Had I been rigid and planned out, I would not have had that experience. So, being plan-free is the best way to be. Traveling is one of the few times I just let myself go with the flow and not stress about where I am or where I am going.
In the world of hostels, you don’t shag in a room with other people sleeping. That is equivalent to shagging in a dorm room when your roommate is in the bottom bunk (something I can attest to completely and utterly sucking). Sure, there was a young, fresh, ambitious 22-year-old Aussie in my bed. And yes, he desperately wanted me to enjoy my evening, but still … the code of hostels could not be broken. Well, it could, but I wasn’t going to be that girl.