Amsterdam, The Netherlands: I am closing the decade by doing something I never thought I had the guts to do: travelling by myself. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Once upon a time not long ago, a friend and I arranged to meet in Amsterdam, a place where I’ve only spent a couple of hours 5 years ago. We booked the flights, paid for the hostel and soon we were counting down the days to our reunion. But this fairy tale didn’t have a happy ending: one day I received a message from said friend explaining that they never wanted to talk to me again, and then I was blocked.
Dublin, Drogheda and Belfast, Ireland: I turn 27, tarot cards predict my pregnancy and some girls threaten to beat me up.
So here I am again, a bit heartbroken and in need of adventure and the company of a good friend. Two weeks ago I buried my dad, and now it’s my birthday. It feels strange trying to be happy amidst it all. Luckily I have long ago invited myself to the motherland of my other mother, Miss Sharon D, to celebrate me turning 27. I grab my sportsbag and hop on two planes – seriously, why are there no direct flights for such a short trip? – and am greeted with a big, warm hug and a lovely present when I arrive in Dublin. (more…)
Marrakech, Zagora and Ouzoud, Morocco: I bless the rains down in Africa
So it’s finally my turn to visit the land of Argan oil and pretty blue-tiled pools, but unlike everyone else, that’s not the kind of thing you’ll see on my Instagram. Although I am arguably a bit of a flashpacker, dinner and drinks at luxurious roof top restaurants and sleeping in a bed without a ladder isn’t really my thing – neither personally or budget-wise. Terese, Aga and I got together to decide on destination for a little getaway, and I kind of voted against Morocco at first. Being unemployed, I’m running out of funds to spend on lavish things such as flights to Africa. Besides, haven’t I gotten my dose of harem pants and desert in India?