I'm normally a little bit thrilled when the wheels hit the tarmac in Dublin. Not so yesterday morning. I felt thoroughly wretched, and did not want to be home. I'm sure a lot of it had to do with how tired I was (I hadn't had more than 4 hours sleep on any night of the previous three, and I don't function well without at least 10 hours). Packing before going to the airport had been a truly horrific experience, I was so wrecked leaving the hostel in Krakow that I was close to hallucinating (what had kept me from my bed was absolutely worth it, but that's a tale for another post).
I never ever thought of myself as the backpacker type. I smell better, for one thing. I always bring too many clothes and a bag that I cannot actually lift myself. I snore, embarrassingly, and worry about it when I have to share a room (unless I can atone for it with sexual favours, in which case, my snoring must be considered "charming"). I'm allergic to most forms of public transport. I'm not 19 years old anymore. I could go on, but you get the idea.
After the trip to Belarus I pretty much decided that independent travel was probably not for me, though I fancy the idea. I've always thought that I'm a pretty gregarious individual, but over there I felt myself struggle a bit with the group, and it knocked my social confidence. The last two weeks have restored it tenfold though. I think the difference was in getting to choose the company I kept, rather than traveling with a group. And d'ya know what? I'd talk to the wall, and it'd talk back. A big stupid smile will get you anywhere, and with most other travellers a friendly hello is enough to elicit conversation, sometimes even dinner and a night on the tiles. I've met some fucking headcases over the last few weeks, and I'd love to be able to take them all home and introduce them to the fine array of headcases I've cultivated as friends here. It'd make for messy fun.
My traveling companion, Strawberry Shortcake, was (and is) the best you could ask for (I'm not just writing this because I know she'll read it...) in that she's easygoing, funny, and attracts good looking men like moths to a flame, so it'll be tempting to head off with her again. But I'm itching to go it alone and see what happens. My mam'll worry and my nana will wear her knees out saying novenas for me but I'll make up for it by calling home once in a while and keeping a blog that'd be suitable for them to read. This one won't be, by the time I get around to telling you what I actually got up to on my trip.
I haven't started my Pole hunting yet, by the way. I had just about enough energy to dress myself this morning, but nowhere near enough to dress nice. In fact I now suspect that my pants may well be pyjama bottoms (from the leisurewear section in Penneys... I don't know if that's their code for jammies or not. The local kids all wear their jammies to the shops though, so I'll fit right in). Tomorrow's going to be a scruffy day too, I'm off to see NIN and the Foo Fighters tomorrow eve and it's bound to piss rain.
I never ever thought of myself as the backpacker type. I smell better, for one thing. I always bring too many clothes and a bag that I cannot actually lift myself. I snore, embarrassingly, and worry about it when I have to share a room (unless I can atone for it with sexual favours, in which case, my snoring must be considered "charming"). I'm allergic to most forms of public transport. I'm not 19 years old anymore. I could go on, but you get the idea.
After the trip to Belarus I pretty much decided that independent travel was probably not for me, though I fancy the idea. I've always thought that I'm a pretty gregarious individual, but over there I felt myself struggle a bit with the group, and it knocked my social confidence. The last two weeks have restored it tenfold though. I think the difference was in getting to choose the company I kept, rather than traveling with a group. And d'ya know what? I'd talk to the wall, and it'd talk back. A big stupid smile will get you anywhere, and with most other travellers a friendly hello is enough to elicit conversation, sometimes even dinner and a night on the tiles. I've met some fucking headcases over the last few weeks, and I'd love to be able to take them all home and introduce them to the fine array of headcases I've cultivated as friends here. It'd make for messy fun.
My traveling companion, Strawberry Shortcake, was (and is) the best you could ask for (I'm not just writing this because I know she'll read it...) in that she's easygoing, funny, and attracts good looking men like moths to a flame, so it'll be tempting to head off with her again. But I'm itching to go it alone and see what happens. My mam'll worry and my nana will wear her knees out saying novenas for me but I'll make up for it by calling home once in a while and keeping a blog that'd be suitable for them to read. This one won't be, by the time I get around to telling you what I actually got up to on my trip.
I haven't started my Pole hunting yet, by the way. I had just about enough energy to dress myself this morning, but nowhere near enough to dress nice. In fact I now suspect that my pants may well be pyjama bottoms (from the leisurewear section in Penneys... I don't know if that's their code for jammies or not. The local kids all wear their jammies to the shops though, so I'll fit right in). Tomorrow's going to be a scruffy day too, I'm off to see NIN and the Foo Fighters tomorrow eve and it's bound to piss rain.
