I was recently asked by someone to sum up my time abroad in five words.
And one of those words was Lonely.
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68. That’s my number. Impressive, huh? I was sleeping around like there weren’t enough beds in Europe.
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Iceland, you’ve been the flavour of the month ALL year long. Everyone wants a scoop of your sweet country towns, your natural attractions– the waterfalls, the volcanoes, the geothermal pools – your unique beauty and your otherworldly landscapes.
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Before leaving Australia for my year abroad, I’d booked only two things. The first was my one way ticket to London. The second, was a week’s work opportunity at an Ashram in Glastonbury.
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I’ve come to sit at my computer SO many times to try and piece together a string of sentences that adequately articulate the ways in which I love London. And every single time, I have failed miserably.
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My genetic composition is 100% European. All it takes is one look at my olive skin, hidden behind masses of curly hair and my unruly eyebrows, and it’s physically evident that I’ve been injected with a high dosage of Wog.
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Here’s the thing. Women are freakin’ amazing. Honestly, we are simply sublime.
But here’s the other thing: when it comes to travelling, we full-bosomed creatures face a whole heap of challenges.
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Travel – it’s the stuff dreams are made of. If we aren’t out there doing it ourselves, we're 17 weeks deep into the Instagram account of someone who is. And let’s face it, for the vast majority of us throwing our savings at avocado toast...
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Put your finger over France on a map. Okay, now go down, yep, a bit further, lower, and then right, just a smidge, and STOP! RIGHT THERE.
You’ve got your finger over heaven on earth.
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