I crave a life of wandering.
A life of cobble stone streets and weathered rucksacks.
Of passports with bursting seams, silently divulging the secrets of my travels. Of waking up to new cities gleaming with new possibilities.
Backpacking across Europe has always been a dream of mine. The thought of mapping the continent on a shoe string budget both excites and intimidates me. The prospect of finding my way around an alien land, meeting new people, discovering, seeing, feeling; the uncertainty of it all is what makes me tick.
My family and I traveled extensively in Europe when I was fourteen, but unfortunately, It was only after we came back home and our suitcases were sent to the far corners of our garage that I realized how unappreciative I had been of an experience that could have potentially changed the way I looked at the world forever.
It was then that I promised myself I would return to Europe when i was a little older and presumably a lot wiser and soak in the sites and culture I had previously brushed off as tedious elements of another family holiday. I owed Europe that much.
I want to close my eyes, trace my fingers along the lengths of a map and buy a one way ticket to a new life.