Travel

Travelling for the first time was a life-changing experience for me. Travel as in overseas not as in the next state over.

17 and still in high school, I had been saving to go to Europe for the past 3 summers. Most parents wouldn't even consider letting their children wander over the Atlantic Ocean by themselves and my father was no different. However, I found a loophole. He said I could go if I could snare another person into coming with me. Perhaps he doubted how very motivated I was about leaving the States because I found someone within two weeks (much to his chagrin).

K was a year older than I and had just graduated high school; she was ripe for an adventure. We bought the tickets, reserved hostel rooms, checked out rail cards, and then finally packed our rucksacks as the date loomed closer.

27 June, 2000. Good day. I was new to everything. New to travel, new to love, new to flying, really. Was quite an eager beaver and I wanted to see and do everything. The excitement buzzing and doing star-jumps in my stomach was almost unbearable but I wouldn't have let go of those flippy feelings for the world.

Once in London, K and I made our way to Earl's Court on the Piccadilly line. My experience of climbing up from the depths of London's Underground and stepping out into the bustling fume-filled street was surreal. I needed to pinch myself. Almost got smacked down by a couple of motorbikes racing by me on the left side of the road...tricky that, trying to get my head round traffic on the opposite side of the street.

We finally found our hostel, the Silver Fern, and picked our way carefully through the smoke-stained air and traveler-riddled hall. The dorm room was co-ed and I met a Kiwi for the first time named Kiernan. He gave me a pen. I used it for the next two years.

Walking out into the potent summer air of London I felt invincible. The whole trip through England, Scotland and France laid ahead of me I couldn't wait for my new experiences. I felt the end was far away and perhaps it wouldn't end at all...

The hostellers were a collective mix gathered from around the world: Ozzies, Kiwis, French, Americans, Germans, Brazilians, Saffas, Canadians...we gathered at the Walkabout in Shepard's Bush and I had my very first snakebite. Foul as they are it tasted damn fine that evening. Dancing to Abba's cheesy hit 'Dancing Queen', getting beer spilled on me by drunk mongrels, and being hit on by a sleazy Ozzie was a novel experience and I reveled in it. I was young. It was fun and very, very different to anything of what I knew.

Ah, the first travel bite. It's exponential. Like a surfer who needs larger and larger waves to get the same high, I need to see more and more new places and experience different cultures to fulfill my travel appetite.

But I'll never forget that first experience of walking up and out into a different country for the first time. My whole life I've felt there was something missing within me and travelling helps fill the unknown void.