When I was younger, road trips consisted of my entire family–mom, dad, brother and a couple furry members of the family–piling into a minivan and driving to our new home. I remember shorter trips–ones up to Maine where my brother cried about us eating lobster (he had a stuffed lobster friend whom he was convinced we had eaten one night), Vermont and upstate New York to ski (or in my case–walk down mountains), and to Michigan to visit relatives.

Nowadays road trips are solo. In fact, most traveling I do is by myself. It has it’s advantages and it has it’s disadvantages. I can do whatever I want but I don’t have anyone to bounce ideas off of. Last weekend I drove eight hours–twice–to visit my friend Kira in Wyoming and it got me thinking about the pro’s and con’s of taking these road trips by myself.

So here goes…

Pro: You can listen to as much ridiculous music as you want and sing as badly and as loudly as you want. Say you really like Newsies but feel weird singing along in your hometown where you like, know people. The plains of Wyoming don’t know you! Sing as loud as you want!

Con: There’s no one there to change your cd or grab your iPod off the passenger side floor where it fell during your clumsy attempt to change the song that sent it flying. Going 80 and attempting to maneuver your small self into the next seat while still staying in one lane is next to impossible. Not that I tried that or anything.

Pro: You can stop to pee as often as you want without judgement from one of your passengers. Trust me, if you saw how many times I stopped you’d probably wonder if I had a bladder problem. I justified it as I don’t know when I’ll see another rest stop so I better get any liquid out now!

Con: There’s no one to hold your hand going into some of those sketchy truck stop bathrooms where you are the only woman. And no one to laugh with you at all the mullets.

Pro: When you nearly hit something the size of your car in the middle of nowhere, in the pitch black, going 80 mph, no one has to see the massive freakout you have on the side of the road because HI, YOU NEARLY DIED.

Con: No one is there to rub your back while you freak out and tell you that it’ll all be okay and that you’re still alive. And help steady your hand in the 60 mph winds.

Pro: You can stop on the side of the road to gaze up at the stars or take a picture every five feet of the gorgeous landscape and not have anyone getting annoyed in the passenger seat.

Con: Asking yourself Are we there YET? gets kind of old after a while. And not nearly as effective.

Pro: If you’re a bit more aggressive as a driver than most of your friends, you can drive and control the situation and not get pissed off that they won’t pass the slow ass driver in front of you.

Con: You can’t take naps after driving for two hours while someone else drives. Which I always really want to do but despite the lack of traffic in Wyoming and the fact that even if I did fall asleep, I’d still probably make it to my destination, it’s probably not the brightest idea.

* * *

I sometimes will get the urge to just drive and drive with no particular destination in mind; maybe one day I’ll just do it and see where it leads me. I’m about to head out into the unknown in the job front; it’s scary and it’s unstable and with the economy the way it is, it’s terribly risky but I’m looking forward to this. I’m hoping it will lead to where I want to be, lead to happiness in that area of my life.

1. You’re packing for a week long vacation, do you pack ahead of time or wait until the last possible minute to pack?

I am the worst offender of packing last minute. Don’t get me wrong, starting about four days before I will pull out my suitcase and put it at the foot of my bed and maybe pull out a few things and put it in the suitcase. However, the night before I will pull whatever I have placed in there out, replace it and then in a rush, throw things together and pray that when I arrive at my destination, I have everything I need.

2. Are you a light or heavy packer?

I’m learning how to be a light packer. I’m usually a pretty heavy packer and have been known to bring a large suitcase with me wherever I go. I recently bought a carry on suitcase and have been determined to only travel with this carry on. It has been successful on my last two trips to New York and I’m going to attempt it for my week home to Michigan in December. It’s pretty freeing to only travel with so much and I’ve found I only bring just what I need!

3. What are your favorite road trip snacks?

Chex mix or any kind of mix that has salty and sweet in it. It’s been a while since I’ve taken a road trip but I’m looking forward to my mini road trip up to Wyoming in three weeks!

4. Do you take any reading material along?

On road trips? I’m usually driving so no I do not. If I did, you all should be scared. I usually fly everywhere so when I’m traveling, I do take a book. I most likely will nap the entire flight but need something to distract me while taking off. I’m a horrible taker offer and if I’m  not distracted, I may start grabbing the hand of the person sitting next to me and well, I travel solo. Makes for a rather uncomfortable rest of the flight if I’m holding onto a stranger’s hand.

5. Do you prefer to drive or fly to your vacation destination?

Despite my fear of taking off, I prefer flying. It’s quick and usually pain free and I can nap. Driving requires attention and takes longer and while I love road trips and hopefully will be able to take a longer one soon, I stick to flying for my traveling

6. What is your favorite time of the year to take your vacation?

There is never a bad time for a vacation. BUT I tend to travel more in the spring and the fall. It’s rarely too hot or too cold then and it always is more comfortable not sweating or freezing your ass off. But weather never stops me from traveling!

7. Where is your favorite place to vacation?

Um. This is like asking a kid what his favorite toy is while in Toys R Us. I haven’t been to as many places as I would like so I feel like I’m chickening out by saying Europe but right now, that’s my favorite since I have been several times. Germany is probably my favorite out of all the places I’ve been in Europe and I’m dying to go back to Spain and Paris. Ireland is also pretty damn awesome.

8. You are vacationing in the mountains, what is your favorite thing to do while there?

Oh hi, I live right near the mountains!! So this is almost like a regular day for me but if I were to really go up to the high country in Colorado (or maybe Switzerland…) I want to go skiing, drink hot chocolate, hike, go to the hot springs…I’m basically pretending we’re going in the winter. Because that’s when it’s most beautiful right? And plus, it’s already snowing up there right now so it’d be silly to pretend it’s still warm out.

9. You are at the beach for your vacation,  do you like to take it easy on the beach or play all day in the water?

It depends on my home life at the moment but I rarely can just lie on a beach. I’m far too high strung to sit still for that long. So I usually will be out playing in the water, or taking a long walk along the beach.

10. While your on vacation do you prefer to eat out every night or cook some of your own meals?

Both. When I did my three months through Europe, I loved to eat out but it was an even bigger luxury when I was able to make my own dinner in a hostel kitchen. I will eat out mostly but it’s nice to save some money and cook a meal or two.

On one hand I’m really looking forward to sleeping, relaxing and not drinking alcoholic beverages for a few weeks. In sticking with my usual habits in the relationship I have with this city, I booked myself so solid that by the time I sat down at the table on Yotel’s rooftop terrace with a strawberry lychee mojito, my body was begging for mercy. I have had lunch, dinner and drink plans every single day since I have arrived in order to see all my friends. While I wouldn’t change anything about this trip and I’m so happy I was able to see everyone, it is still exhausting. I didn’t have a second to myself, the problem with NYC that eventually caused me to burn out and move away.

On the other hand, I have missed this city and these people so much. I love the energy here and how alive I feel walking the streets. I still know the city like the back of my hand and there is something so comforting about that. I love catching up with friends in either a new bar or at a restaurant I’ve been to countless times. Friends with whom no time seems to have passed between now and the last time I saw them. I have been back here three times now since I left two years ago but this is the first time that I’ve felt a longing to be back in this city.

The very first night I went out for dinner at Pio Pio with my Wifey, Shareeza. It was delicious and I totally got tipsy on lychee martinis while laughing a lot and being told she’d been hired as a secret agent to get me to move back. (She’s bad at keeping secrets apparently ) The next night I left the city for dinner with another friend before heading back for drinks that lead to my first hangover in almost two years thanks to a couple tequila shots too many. Lunch with old coworkers in SoHo, drinks with friends in Midtown, Sunday morning brunch in the East Village, lunch in Chelsea, goodbye drinks on a rooftop on the west side…I was all over the place. Not to mention my best friend Ray’s wedding in Long Island City in Queens on Saturday.

While it has been exhausting and I’m so ready to get home and sleep in my own bed, I thrive off of this lifestyle. It was my lifestyle for six years. Maybe not so crazy and what was crammed into six days was usually spread out more over two weeks, but this was my life for so long. It was nice to immerse myself back into it, if only for briefly. I re-discovered my creativity and while I sat across from my old roommate at my favorite sushi place at the end of my old block (where I happened to be staying at my old apartment), I realized that I had stumbled across my new career path. A path I have been stumbling around blindly trying to find for the past few months that after only a few days in the city, illuminated itself.

I was at the wedding, surrounded by architects, designers and former FIT students, everyone talking about what they have been doing and the change in careers they have taken. Not many of us are still in the industry anymore, while sad, just the reality of my field right now. I would love to get back into design but I think I’ve found something I would really enjoy.

This trip has brought up a lot of emotions. I’ve pondered moving back, I’ve discovered the path I will follow and I talked about all this with these friends I miss so much. Yet, even if I did move back, people are moving on. Ray is moving to Shanghai to further his illustrious career on Saturday. Steph is heading to the middle east in a couple months for a job opportunity. Monika spoke of her desire for more space. Michele talked about moving out to Brooklyn. Lynn now lives in Paris. The city feels as if nothing has changed but things are changing, it’s a continuous cycle here. While the energy of the city has been wonderful for me and has helped me figure things out in my life, I have to remember that it also sucked the life out of me just two years ago. I will return to Boulder a little sad but knowing that moving away was the right decision. And knowing that manhattan will always be there.

I will be back.

There’s something about this city that changes the way I walk, how I act and interact with others. People say New Yorkers are unfriendly, cold. I find them the complete opposite (maybe because I’m just as they are). We are a very misunderstood breed. Within minutes of my arrival back in the city, I was hit on by no fewer than three strangers, been offered help with my bag twice in the subway and nearly got hit by a taxi. While I could do without the latter, it is just how New York is: rushed, matter of fact but always willing to help and they won’t actually hit you.

I’m still finding my place in Boulder and am still on my best behavior, I guess you could say. I don’t always know where I’m going and I feel like I offend people on a near daily basis just with how I sometimes can be. But I am more happy, more relaxed, and more laid back than I ever could be in this city.

I made a comment on Twitter about how I feel like Colorado kills my creativity. It drew fighting words from an acquaintance but I’m not sure how to explain this feeling to her. Especially not in 140 characters. You see, I haven’t been inspired to write in months. I outpour my energy in other ways in Colorado: hiking and being outside, cooking, playing with my friends’ dogs. I’ve been taking in the inspiration from the beautiful surroundings but I haven’t been digesting it and spitting out anything creative. I want to but nothing comes out.

Yet, I walk down the streets of New York and words are pouring out of whatever part of my brain creates. I have three posts written in my mind and it is only now, on a Metro North train out of the city to New Rochelle, that I’m committing these thoughts to paper. Or my iPhone. (Details.) The energy–or something–in this city draws the inspiration out of me. The floodgates have been opened and only a lack of time keeps it inside for very long.

I don’t know what it is. I don’t know why my creativity has been frustratingly missing in Colorado where I have more peace to produce and why it abounds in this bustling city where my senses are on constant overload. Writing and blogging never came hard while I lived here but I find myself struggling with it in my new, beautiful home. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel the need to create beauty around me in Colorado because it’s already there, whereas in the concrete jungle I need to create beauty around me.

Either way, New York and I are currently having a passionate love affair. This city will forever own my heart, even if I never live here again. (I think I’d miss my space too much. And my washer dryer set. And my dishwasher.) It’s weird how I can spend months–even years–away from this place, these friends and it’s like I’ve never left. We fall into the same patterns, the same routine. Wine and dine and catch up as if I’d only been gone a weekend.

I’m having dinner with an old friend tonight outside the city and then I’m going to Fashion Night Out with an old coworker. Tomorrow I have lunch, dinner and drink plans as well as a visit to Ground Zero. Saturday I have a wedding and then Sunday there’s talk of brunch, coffee and dinner in my old neighborhood while staying at my old apartment.

Busy. Just how I like it here in the city that never sleeps.

Maybe not that dramatic but I nearly started packing my bags. Instead I slept on it (usually a smart move). The next morning I woke up with that same strong urge to move, to broaden my horizons, to shake things up, do something exciting, HAVE AN ADVENTURE. The same feeling I had two years ago when I quit my job and took off for Europe. I think I left little notes on every form of social media I’m involved in saying how I was longing for adventure (most of which were replied to with a “come to santa barbara!” note from Tabitha and/or her husband ). All day it bubbled away in my cauldron, thoughts rolling over themselves as I thought of places I could go, what I should do. If moving was an option or did I just want long-term travel again.

By the time I got home last night around 9:30 after a busy day of moving furniture around the store and selling as much as I could, my cauldron wasn’t bubbling anymore. I had zeroed in on one location. A location I have no idea how I’m going to save up enough to get to but there it was. And suddenly I felt inspired. I felt passion pouring into my blood stream, that passion that had been missing lately. I felt like I could move mountains and paint paintings and sing songs (even though I know very well I absolutely cannot–I will leave that to Chelsea) and write freaking novels. All because I found a place that I want to go to?

Then it got me thinking. HELLO, Ashley. How come travel can get me so passionate and yet I’m not in the travel industry? I mean, I can talk for hours and hours about my adventures, give tips on travel, I FREAKING LOVE TRAVEL. But would working in the travel industry ruin travel for me? We all saw what has happened to my love of Interior Design. Ok maybe no one but me has seen what has happened there but still. My passion has seriously fizzled in that department. I’m afraid that would just happen to this.

YET.

I feel that travel really is my true calling. Just what I would do for a career in travel is uncertain. I’ve felt this for a while but my brain throws things at it like “you went to school for seven and a half fucking YEARS for Interior Design, you need to stick with that.” Then I look at what happens when I set my sights on traveling to a new country, or what happens when I get in a conversation with someone about traveling, and I say, well hey, I know a lot about this stuff and I LOVE IT. But what can I do?

All I know is that I’ve been feeling a little lost lately. A little uninspired. And this is the first time probably this year that I feel energized, like I could take on the world. What my next steps will be, I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve got a destination in mind, I have a goal and somehow, I will figure out all the rest. This is the first step and I can guarantee you all will be hearing a lot more about this. The destination is a secret now but all will be revealed once I solidify things.

Oh, and VEDA starts tomorrow. You know, that month where I vlog every single day? Get excited. Or get scared. Either way it’s going to be a BLAST.

It hits you as soon as you enter the city–even before maybe. That vast skyline that seems to go on forever, the shining lights, the glow that emanates from the buildings. Some call that light pollution. I call it New York’s way of making sure those who retire to the suburbs remember it’s there. It’s the smells of street cart food, a waft of perfume on Madison Ave, and the stench of urine on concrete in midtown, horse shit by central park and unclean bodies on the subway. It’s the sounds of people talking, constantly talking, the shriek of a siren behind the music playing, constantly playing, on your ipod plugged into your ear, the train conductor telling you to stand clear of the closing doors, please. Your constant inner voice going on about how slow the damn tourists are. It’s the feel of the rain on your skin when your umbrella folds inside out for the very last time before hitting the trash can, the wind whipping around buildings, the unknown drops of something you don’t want to know coming from above on a sunny day, the sun warming your skin after winter ends.

I didn’t realize just how quickly I’d adjust to being back in the city. To say it was weird to be back would be an understatement. The bus pulled in through Lincoln Tunnel on 42nd Street and aside from the first five minutes where I exclaimed that the pigeon population had gotten out of control (it was normal), and that NYC had changed so much because I saw landmarks gone and new ones popping up, nothing had changed. New York changed in the way it always changes. Things come and go, the pigeons keep mating too much and I had been gone a year and a half. Of course there were going to be little things that changed.

Friends had gotten new jobs, had gotten laid off, had gone in and out of relationships. Yet they were all the same. There was not one single awkward moment when sharing a hug hello where I wondered what time had done to our friendship. Where I thought something was different between us. Everything was exactly the same. My relationship with my friends, and with my city, had just picked up right where I had left off a year and a half ago.

I still had my sense of direction, still walked fast and still got tourist rage (you know the kind where I want to throw them in front of moving buses? Still going strong.). It made me smile when people consistently approached me asking for directions, even when I had my suitcase with me. I still look like a local, I would say to myself and do a happy dance inside my head.

Certain aspects of myself poured out once I entered the city limits. I stopped relaxing and just started doing, in constant motion like the city itself. I even stopped sleeping three days before my trip anticipating all that was to come. I was short with people, I was blunt, I felt a little meaner. Yet, my personality was shining through in ways it hasn’t recently. A side of me I haven’t seen since I left New York for the last time in November 2009. I was me. Around people who know me inside and out, who I’m comfortable with, who I feel free around. I left my inhibitions on the plane. I had so much fun.

I indulged in all of my favorites–Dunkin Donuts, H&M, Crumbs, black and white cookies and walking endlessly through the streets with music blaring in my ears. I went to my favorite “break-up” restaurant and celebrated the horribly sad music they played, ate thai at my always delicious union square spot, tried new restaurants and bars, drank continuously on Sunday and got caught in a douchebag convention simultaneously happening at the bar I was having my party at.

Walking through the streets, memories rushing past me as the ghosts of NYC came out to play (some good, some bad), I felt inspired. It’s hard not to be when you’re in that great city but I felt the urge to create. To write, to paint, to design. There’s so much of the city I want to share with everyone, of how great it was to be back and how dearly I missed it without even realizing I had been. There’s not enough words, not enough time, not enough space on this blog.

There are more blog posts to come about my travels, about my adventures while there and about my friends ridiculously fun wedding but for now I’m just giving you this tidbit, this morsel, of New York. One thing I have to say is that it’s true about what they say about NYC: it really is the city that never sleeps.

I miss my backpacking trip of 2009. I miss waking up every day and not knowing where I would be sleeping that night, who I would be interacting with, what I would be doing that day. I even miss not understanding the language surrounding me! Bring me back to the days of drinking delicious cappuccinos at a small cafe in Barcelona, sharing stories with fellow travelers around a warm fire on a rainy night in Scotland, blasting Dido on my iPod while walking the streets of Amsterdam, drinking two euro bottles of wine in a hammock on a roof in Seville, eating cotton candy in front of the Eiffel Tower and eating breakfast in the sun overlooking the Atlas Mountains in Morocco.

There are so many things I want to do, so many places I want to see. I want to go back to Ireland, Italy and their amazing food is screaming out my name on a more and more daily basis, I need to continue my love affair with Paris, give London a proper visit, and I MUST hike the Inca trail up to Macchu Picchu before they close it down. I have to see the Pyramids in Egypt and finally head down under to Australia, New Zealand and Fiji to visit my brother. I want to go to the Galapagos Islands and swim with seals, go to Antarctica and hang with penguins and go on a safari with all the big, scary animals in Africa.

That doesn’t even cover half of what I want to do–not even a quarter, really. I just want to take off for another few months and explore even more, forget about life and live simply again. Find adventure again. Instead of flying off to the unknown, I’ve signed a lease on a fantastic new place, am searching for a roommate (hi, do you want to move to Boulder? SEE ME.) and am getting more settled into my Boulder lifestyle. For now I will daydream about this next adventure until I can actually do it.

What’s next on your bucket list?

Prompt: Beautifully Different. Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different – you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful. (Author: Karen Walrond)

These prompts are making me think. Sometimes, like today, I just didn’t want to think. I was planning on skipping it, partly because I’m feeling a little…disappointed that I’m not getting any comments on my posts. It’s hard to post with no feedback but I’m pushing through and actually posting today.

Growing up I never realized that my life was any different from anyone elses. I moved every three to four years and thought nothing of it. It was an opportunity for me to meet new friends, have a new room and a new house to explore. New backyards to play in and different activities to participate in. This was normal to me.

It wasn’t until I was older that I realized that not everyone moved as often as I had. In fact, most people I went to High School with had been born in that town, or at least had lived there for most of their lives. It never crossed my mind to wish my growing up had been any different. Sure, it caused some problems, like the fact that I developed some OCD tendencies and don’t know what long term friendships are, but it made me who I am today.

It makes me unique. It’s rare to meet someone who has moved as many times as me (It’s well over 20 and still growing at this point) and when I do it’s like I’ve found my soul-twin. Someone who gets who I am. How I work. That in a few months I will start itching to move again (It’s already upon me, but I’m ignoring it. For now.).

I’ve got a case of wanderlust that probably rivals most. I don’t want to just travel somewhere; I want to move there. I want to live there, submerse myself in their culture. What I wouldn’t give for it to be easier to move overseas. I’d be there in a heartbeat.

I have intentions of visiting most every country in the world, and certainly every continent. There are lots of people who love travel, don’t get me wrong. However, you could say I’ve been traveling since I was four. You could even go so far to say I was born with it, since an entire side of my family are constant travelers, my grandmother having been the Matriarch of the Traveling Family. While she lived in the same house her entire life, she traveled the world over several times up until she was 86 and got sick. Sickness was the only thing that kept her from boarding a plane to some exotic location and even then it barely kept her down.

Yes, I love the color turquoise, have a thing for beautiful jewelry, have a flair for design, can paint a mean world map, love to give big bear hugs, think penguins and owls are the cutest things alive, laugh way too hard at animal humor (hi, Simon’s Cat), cry too much, think that there’s nothing better than star gazing in the country, am obsessed with Paris and all things french, can bake anything, spend at least 15 minutes of every day dancing around my room to music even if I don’t have rhythm, still dream of becoming a dancer (see point before), am always down to do anything, love traditions….

But the one thing that makes me stand out the most is my wanderlusting, nomadic self. It’s deeply rooted and one that’s not going to be going anywhere, anytime soon.

This post is part of an online initiative called #Reverb10, a chance to reflect on the past year and manifest for the next. You can read all mine here and join me here.

When trying to think of what I wanted to blog about, I decided that this week was going to be dedicated to things I am thankful for. I think it’s always important to acknowledge all the good things going on in your life and be in gratitude for them but since this week is dedicated to the holiday centering around giving thanks (or some dinner that the pilgrims had with the Indians years ago, same difference), I decided to center this blog around it as well.

Today marks the one year anniversary of my returning home from Europe. Can you believe it? One whole year. It just blows my mind how much has happened in that one year and that the major life changing experience that I had WAS OVER A YEAR AGO. I had spent my last week in Paris, falling in love with everything French and vowing to one day live there. On the evening of November 21st, I boarded an overnight bus to London and watched with tears in my eyes as the lights of Paris drifted off into the black night, my trip officially over.

I landed in London at 5am on November 22nd after a sleepless night spent with border checks on a cramped bus. I almost didn’t make my bus to the airport, almost didn’t make my plane home. It was only because of the generosity of one Londoner who bought my bus ticket with his only seconds before departure so that we could both run full speed after the bus that was just taking off. We made that bus and as was typical throughout my entire trip, I had one last wonderful conversation with another friendly face I encountered in my travels. I landed in New York City in the afternoon of Sunday, November 22nd, after 98 days in Europe.

I look back on that trip and I cannot even tell you how much I miss that period of time in my life. Sometimes I was lonely, most of the time I was insanely happy but most of all, I learned so much about myself and had more fun than I can accurately document here. I am so incredibly grateful for getting the chance to document this experience. For having the courage to take control of my life, to quit my job, to travel the world by myself. I remember how terrified I was at the beginning of my solo travels (which officially started September 11, 2009) and I remember how incredibly freeing it was to be on my own, doing what I wanted.

How I miss that freedom.

I’m thankful for the people I met on that trip, for the lessons they taught me, for the experiences they allowed me to have. For the late nights spent chatting about life, about travel. For the bottles of wine drank, the tapas shared and for the random, spur of the moment decisions made. Spain would not have happened if it hadn’t been for a chance meeting in Switzerland. Amsterdam would not have happened had it not been for the guy who played a prank on me in Scotland. Morocco would then never have happened had I not been forced to couch surf by that same guy and hadn’t stayed with my host who allowed me to tag along on her trip. Paris would never have happened if I hadn’t been convinced by…well, it’s that same guy again. My trip would most definitely have not been the same without any of those experiences. Without any of those people.

I’m thankful for the moments of pure happiness that caused me to want to jump up and down with glee. Or the times that I actually did jump up and down with glee, like the time I saw the Eiffel Tower for the first time. Thankful for the overwhelming feeling of discovering another culture, of discovering I can do things on my own in a country I do not know the language and actually getting by. Thankful for learning how strong I was. Like the first night in Spain, trying to find a hostel when no one spoke English at 11 at night or the time my DSLR was stolen in a Barcelona bus station at midnight and I stole it back.

This past year has been an extension of what I learned on that trip, things sparked from that journey. It’s amazing the things that can happen in a year.

I’ve always had this fantasy of wanting to live in a very, very small town in Ireland. You know the ones that have only pubs and maybe a convenience shop–inside that pub. It’s a nice fantasy that I play with everytime life gets a little hectic and I think, wouldn’t it be much more fun if I lived in a little cottage in the middle of all that beautiful green that is Ireland? And have sheep for neighbors? Surrounded by guys with sexy Irish accents?

It all just sounds so romantic.

When I was backpacking through Scotland I ended up in a lot of small towns–no, villages. It was a nice change of pace after living in New York City and it kind of played up to that silly romantic fantasy of mine. Scotland is just as green and pretty except their population is a hell of a lot harder to understand. (No seriously, I once had to ask someone to translate what a guy was saying. That someone looked at me like I’d lost my mind, reminding me that he was speaking English. It didn’t SOUND english to me!) I digress.

In Kyleakin, on the Isle of Skye, I found myself in a little cottage style hostel, complete with a cozy fireplace, hot chocolate in the community kitchen, a community orange tabby cat and some of the nicest people I’d met on my travels at that point. It was perpetually stormy outside, they had a little pub where I had a nice juicy burger and chatted with people at the bar and a dinky little bus that took me up to one of my top five most gorgeous hikes that wound between two mountain ranges–the red and the black cullens.

I took a tour with one of those little van groups which was probably one of the best tours I have been on. I’m usually pretty anti-tour but when you’re on an island where a car is necessary to actually see anything, a tour is needed. This tour was pretty awesome and not just because our driver was barely understandable, wore a kilt and blasted really loud Scottish music that involved a lot of bagpipes. He also tried to get us to stick our faces in this river which signified good luck–something I passed on but wished I hadn’t when my camera lens broke later that day in the “Faery Glen”.

If I had had my way I would have spent a month just hanging out on that island, doing nothing more than play in all the greenness and drying out by the fire telling tales and singing along to really awful music. Which is pretty much what I did for three days straight while I was there. I made a few good friends there and have kept in touch with them since, ironically running into them in a few different towns all over Scotland for the week afterward when I was still in the country.

I don’t know what it is that draws me to wanting to go off the grid in Ireland, Scotland or England. Maybe it’s one too many period movies that I’ve watched, one too many British romantic comedies starring Hugh Grant, or all those movie involving Ireland. Or maybe it definitely is all of those. Either way, I still dream of one day doing it even if it’s just for a little while. It probably won’t be romantic, I’ll probably be very lonely and I’ll probably wonder what the hell was wrong with myself but you never know.

What about you? Any crazy, fantastical ideas? Come on, I can’t be the only one!