By the way, this was in Spain, pre-siesta hour, where everyone was on the street before their wine-infused lunch dates, yelling vale at each other. I ate the pavement, backpack on my back and all (my bag was huge, btw. I lovingly dubbed it ‘The Monster,’ after Cheryl Strayed’s backpack in Wild, but also because it was huge). My whole body fell onto the sidewalk. Two guys had to pick me up off the ground and put me on my feet. I didn’t even say thank you. All I said was that I hadn’t seen the huge pole on the ground.†
So my introduction to the whole solo travel game wasn’t exactly cherries and diet cokes. I walked into my hostel all shaky and crazy-eyed because I’d just experienced un tremendo golpeado.√
A few days later, I slipped on the rainy tiles of Lisbon while looking for my hostel, except this time I laughed it off. Also, there were less people on the street, and I was like a super expert at solo traveler by this point. All it took was a couple of days! Who would have thunk!
So what's the moral of the story? Time heals all wounds? Accept the good with the bad? I don’t really know, dear reader. All I know is that my knees were scabby for a while and then they weren’t.º
Anyway, I’m now a worldly babe, and you’re the coolest for reading this post. I’ll be back with more soon.∞ Namaste, scoobedobedo and all that. BIIIIIIII!
*Who am I? A big money baller? No, I was just that nervous and crazy that I was willing to drop money on an easy ride than deal with the metro.
† To those fine Spaniard dudes, gracias! You helped a sister out. I was understandably a little preoccupied in the moment because there was a giant travelers backpack crushing me a second before our interaction. You understand, right? Of course you do because you’re Spanish and Spanish people are cool. Bless you.
√For you gringos: a major hit to the head
º No, seriously. I think that’s just the moral of the story.
∞Maybe
