At Last
It’s strange to think I wrote this over three years ago and yet I had the same sentiments then as I do now. Disbelief at how long it has been since I’ve traveled. Excitement that it is finally happening again. Frustration directed at those that cannot seem to grasp the importance and beauty of these adventures. Peace in knowing I am exactly where I am supposed to be.
May 2015
It’s been over a year since I’ve lived the backpackers’ life. It’s almost strange returning to it once again, yet at the same time it feels completely natural—like an MBA player hearing the swish of the net for the millionth time, or a fisherman tasting the salt of the sea on their lips. It is a life I have come to love and admire.
Some might think “admire” is a strange word—Why admire people who waste time and money fooling around in other countries? Allow me to elaborate.
In America the “typical” way of life is very clear: go to school, get a job, buy a house, raise a family. Yet, that is often not the case among other cultures. In many places travel is encouraged and revered. By immersing ourselves in other cultures we not only learn about the world, but also ourselves. We realize the perceptions others have about us and our culture. We learn that propaganda is often wrong and discover hidden beauty in every place we visit. We hear misconceptions about home that make us laugh; others that bring tears to our eyes, and occasionally truths that pierce us to the core.
Traveling is a beautiful and valuable experience that affects us for the REST OF OUR LIVES and aids us in future aspirations. So yes, I admire people who take a leap of faith, who trust that the world is not out to destroy them, and who have the courage to explore and embrace the unknown.
I am often asked what I want to do with my life. Some are genuinely curious while I can sense that others are really asking, “When are you going to stop wasting your life traveling and settle down…do something real?”
Travel is nothing but an expansion of my education, and there is nothing about it that is wasteful. It is unquestionably real and unmistakably valuable. Perhaps I’m writing all this because I’m tired of having to explain myself, tired of feeling judged for doing what makes me truly happy. I’m sorry to say if you don’t understand there is nothing I can do to convince you through a mere explanation. It is something you have to experience for yourself.
Anyways, back to the trip. The wait at LAX passed faster than anticipated, with barely enough time to grab a last minute Starbucks, use the bathroom, and get to the gate before boarding. The flight however seemed to drag on for ages.
It wasn’t real. Even after we landed and got our immigration stamps; it still wasn’t real. It never is. Not until I wake up to strange sounds and smells, do I finally realize I’m in a completely different country. Even then, at times it feels more like a dream.
The day was relatively uneventful other than hustling in Heathrow to avoid missing our connecting flight Having booked the flights separately we had to go through immigration, claim our bags, take a tram to the north end of the airport, check our bags, and walk through a maze of hallways before reaching our new gate.
Upon landing in Napoli we had to take a bus and then a subway to our hostel. A group of German girls was headed the same direction so we managed to combine brain power and figure out exactly how to get there.
After some bumbling about and wrong turns we managed to find a night clerk who directed us to the entrance of our hostel. It was too late to do anything other than fling ourselves into our beds. As I laid there I couldn’t help smiling; I had finally made it to Europe.
