In the last three years, I’ve been all over the place. Fifteen states and four countries, to be exact. I’m lucky and I know it. Somewhat greedily, I hope to get luckier still. There are so many places I haven’t seen yet.
O and I travel well together. When we first met and I learned he liked to roam as much as I do, I was thrilled. He had just returned from a many-month travel extravaganza; I had come back from four months in Holland at the beginning of the year. It was another thing that seemed to fit, right beside our shared fondness for Scrabble and mutual distaste for fish (eating them). When our first cross-country trip was proposed shortly after we began dating- to Oregon so he could be part of a Hood to Coast relay team- I was happy. I knew it would be a good time. When it looked like our first trip overseas was in the cards a few months after that, I can’t lie: I was a little bit nervous. Excited, of course, absolutely. Thrilled, without question. But nervous, too.
The only other time I had travelled for more than a week with someone other than 1) myself or 2) my family was years earlier with my college boyfriend. While there are things about that trip I’ll always remember fondly, there were also more than a couple of disastrous moments. The bickering sours my memories of that time and oh-so-clearly demonstrates all the things that were wrong in that relationship. Miscommunications. Totally different priorities about what to do and when. Disagreement on the key point of how frequently eating is actually necessary. Anyone else out there get ‘hangry’ without a proper meal schedule? At one point, I cried into the lovely Mediterranean Sea and shouted ‘I HATE IT HERE’. This all could have been prevented with a couple of potato chips.
Fast-forward to nine months after O and I met. We landed in Peru, ready to meet five of his friends and spend two weeks criss-crossing the country. It was so important to me: would our blissed-out relationship remain just as good while we trekked around South America?
It was one of the best times of my life. Since then, we’ve been back and forth across the States as well as to England and Israel. We scheme all the time about where we’ll head next and what we’ll do when we’re there. Surf. Horseback ride. Gather new recipes. Eat. Eat. Eat. We also agree that we’ve become more (ahem) mature: we may have outgrown hostels.
When school started last fall, travel planning suddenly became much more difficult. Over the span of two years, O will only have a handful of breaks, most of which fall during major family-centric holidays. However, that little detail hasn’t managed to dampen our spirits. We’ve cultivated a rather ‘so what?’ attitude about it. So what if it’s only a week? We’ll go anyways. So what if we can’t actually go as soon as we’d hoped? We’ll go soon and have fun talking about it in the meantime. So what if studying renal physiology is required for that test tomorrow? At least we can look through Groupon deals during breaks like little kids perusing the Toys ‘R’ Us catalogue. Today we were contemplating our spring break possibilities. How many almost thirty-year-olds get a bona fide spring break? Lucky us. No parents! No rules! Whoooohooo resort towns! Will we really go to Iceland/Costa Rica/Australia/Mexico this time? Maybe, maybe not. But we’ll go someday. I know it.