Recently, a friend of mine (who runs a blog here on WordPress about her adventures in coding and faith) reminded me that I had never recounted, on my blog, the tales of my adventure in Europe last Spring. Why is that? Well, part of the reason is because I experienced a great deal of heartbreak during that trip. I was in a foggy haze after I got back home and the last thing I felt like doing was reliving my ordeal. One year later and I just may be ready talk about it. I hope my memory doesn’t fail me.
My European trip was crazy. Crazy because I did it with all the right intentions but with all the wrong resources. I was ill equipped for the type of trip I had planned. And I use the word ‘planned’ very loosely because in reality I only booked a flight and not much else.
Now I’m not the type of person to scare people away from travel, not women or otherwise broke folks like myself. No, I believe that everyone should travel. I’m a huge proponent of YOLO which means I’ll seek adventure where I can find it. Everyone warns women against travelling solo but I think it’s the only way to learn what you’re made of. Yes, the world can be a dangerous place for women but that shouldn’t hold you back from living. You should be smart about travel and take extra precaution but travel you must!
Now I have a feeling my adventure won’t fit into one post so this may take a few entries.
Last year I turned 25 in Paris, the city of lights. This sounds remarkable and cinematic but it was anything but. It didn’t start out how I had hoped because I hadn’t planned properly. The events leading up to my trip would make for sitcom gold. At the time, it wasn’t very funny at all. For starters, I hadn’t made the deadline for the original flight I had purchased and was stuck having to shell out $774 from my pocket money to buy my flight the day I was meant to leave. Yes, you read that correctly, I bought my flight mere hours before I was supposed to leave. I could have waited a week but I was stubborn beyond wisdom to the point where I made careless mistakes that a faithful person would call bad omens.
To top it all off my trusty direct deposit had come in inaccurately and late. There was a glitch in the payroll system that caused myself and another co-worker’s check to not hit our account. In a rage induced panic, I sternly called my supervisor demanding my paycheck. And guess what? My boss brought me my paycheck by hand, all the way from Connecticut. I was floored but also impressed with myself because speaking up for what is right hasn’t always been my strong suit.
That same day I met with my doctor for a check up, went to the salon to get a Brazilian and my lashes done. I did this all on the same day I was suppose to be leaving the country. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Never ever plan to do things the day of your flight, no matter what time you’re scheduled for takeoff. While I whizzed around town getting prepped for my European excursion my manually delivered paycheck had somehow walked out of my pocket to God knows where.
My on-again-off-again boyfriend was with me at the time this all transpired, and I can’t remember for the life of me why because I had my French boo waiting for me on the other side of the pond. He tried his best to calm me down as I searched frantically for that check. Defeated I called my supervisor and told him what had happened, needless to say, he was pissed off because now he would have to contact payroll and have my check delivered to me outside the payday window. And as if my day couldn’t get any better than that, the payroll company was penalizing me $200 for the early retrieval of my paycheck.
My lovely financial crisis doesn’t end there. I ended up losing even more money by the time I landed in Russia when I removed my money pouch from around my waist placing it on a chair in Sheremetyevo International Airport by accident. Thankfully my passport wasn’t in that pouch because, unfortunately, all of my money and debit cards were.
I sat in Sheremetyevo feeling grossly and unfairly cursed by the travel gods before my trip had even begun. And my tale of woe doesn’t end there. Oh no, there’s more. Like that night I spent in an illegal artist commune or when I smoked pot in a complete stranger’s apartment or when my heart was shattered into a million pieces in the South of France.
Tune in next time kiddos. It’s only going to get better.