NEW BLOG - MY LIFE IN TWO BAGS
NEW BLOG - MY LIFE IN TWO BAGS
Never Overstay Your Welcome
I quickly discovered that “no visa necessary” is a bit of a misnomer. In truth, you purchase your 30-day visa on arrival from Immigration for 35 USD. I admitted to the official processing my visa that my travel would have me in country for 32 days. He rolled his eyes at me before stamping my visa approval and passport.
Green Bag Takes a Powder
Where I faced down an incredibly unhappy gate agent. You see, I opted to use the self-service kiosk for my boarding pass, which means I unwittingly circumvented the ticketing agents checking my proof of vaccination and verifying my ticket out of Colombia. Which means now, annoyed gate agent needs to check these things. I showed her my proof of vaccination, but I hadn’t booked my ticket out of Colombia yet.
Grief and Running
Because I do not sit still long enough to grieve. And I am not talking about the loss of my dog almost a year ago. I mean, I am, but she was only one loss in this myriad shitshow of grief in my head right now. I am talking about my divorce eleven years ago. I am talking about all of the mental and emotional drain my fifteen-year marriage cost me. I am talking about the loss of my children’s love and affection because I have never been willing to reveal what a disaster shitshow that marriage was and how much it broke my spirit, so instead I accepted the “bad guy” role for leaving it.
Tranquila
I want to integrate this into every wrinkle and facet of my existence. It may seem subtle to most, but to me, this response is everything. Not dismissively “don’t worry about it” or “forget about it.” Not forgiveness where forgiveness isn’t necessary.
Tranquila. Be peaceful. Be at ease. You are well. All is well. Tranquila.
Dog In Bali
Love is not taught to animals by people. Hate is. I have now watched feral animals in many countries. Not all. I can’t pretend to have a perfectly worldview grasp on this. But I know in Greece and France and Croatia and Italy, many feral cats roam the streets. And when they see a person, they do not hiss and spit; they come up and beg not for food, but to be touched.
The Bus From Nowhere to Nice
Oh, that bus doesn’t come here. You are looking for BlaBlaBus (yes, the actual name of the transport company). They pick up waaaaaay over here on the outskirts of town.
Taking Time to Calm the Panic
I’m still in cocoon stage with this one. Big parts of me want to crack the cocoon wide open and go back to being a happy, fat caterpillar. Bigger parts of me can’t wait to see how I’ll emerge this time.
Turning Travel Backpacking into an Extreme Sport
Green pack needs a name for when I plant it in the chair across from mine in cafes. At least if it has a name, I won’t feel quite as silly when I order drinks for it. And, no, hiking through the high-noon heat carrying packs that equal just shy of half my own current body weight cannot possibly be the reason for my current slap-happy bag-naming state.
Language Barriers
I was feeling incredibly lonely and disconnected at the time, and I had been recognizing a sad and terrible trend in the minutia of life; that we all move through life with zombie-like repetition and complacency.
Virus Abound…and I Kind of Hate it Here
Somewhere between Croatia and France (and a dozen or so public networks), I managed to pick up a virus for my computer. Because, really, I needed the comradery of an electronic device with the flu for solidarity.
Living up to my Future Self
What in the hell am I doing? I am lost and terrified all the time. I am floundering through things I thought I wanted to do, and now that I am here, I just cringe in a hole and refuse to explore. I feel like I followed my intuition to get here, but where the hell is here, and where the hell is it taking me?
So Paris it is
When I awoke around 5 a.m., I hastily snatched my laundry from the washing machine and laid it out on the patio, urging it to please, please dry fast. And while draping my wet laundry across chairs and tables, I sent up a feeble plea to the universe at large. “I have no idea what I’m doing here. I am so lost, and I don’t know what to do or where to go. Please give me a hint, nudge in the right direction, please, please.”
A Day of Borders + Bridges
In one day I crossed from Croatia into Bosnia and Herzegovina, very gingerly slipped and slid my way across the reconstruction of a circa 16th century bridge in Bosnia and Herzegovina that the Croatian army destroyed during a war that occurred in my lifetime, crossed back into Croatia, and drove across a bridge less than a week old constructed to avoid the Bosnia and Herzegovina border.
Finally Making it
And here we are. And we’re doing it. This is what doing it looks like. Two pretty dicey months into this adventure, I am finally doing it. I am sitting at a restaurant on a dock at the port in Sorrento eating octopus salad and sipping a European-style daiquiri. It’s way more tart and less sweet than the American version. I have to say, I much prefer this version.
