jackie travels

Tag Archives: Humorous Travel

Thoughts: My Apartment’s Cute but It’s Time to Travel

There are very few reasons compelling enough to convince me to leave my spot on the orange velvet couch. These are all three of those reasons.

Israel, September 2012
(or, Baby’s First Press Trip)

No offense to Europe, but I am so excited to actually be going somewhere that isn’t part of it for once. This will be my first international venture that doesn’t involve the European continent and I will be joining a few other journalists and bloggers for a trip around the country. I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to say yet or how much excitement I’m allowed to show, so just picture me jumping up and down on my couch laughing hysterically while no one else is home, and you’ll have a fairly accurate idea of what’s to come. While I’m away I will be abusing all forms of social media and writing a few articles for Vagabundo Magazine and Brendan’s Adventures, and maybe I’ll even save a little something for here? Do we like scraps?

Mexico, November 2012
(or, Baby’s First Yoga Retreat)

This is going to be good.  This is going to be really good. I get to sit in a hut on a beach (the huts are named things like “Wisdom,” “Joy,” “Serenity,” you get the picture) and eat beautifully cooked breakfasts every morning and take yoga classes every day and then, I don’t know, what does one even need to do for the rest of the day after that? I will probably just sit on the beach and think about how much I love everything. Also, I didn’t request a specific hut name because I want Fate to decide which one I am assigned, and I will take whatever name I’m given as a sign from the universe that I need more “Joy” or “Wisdom” (or whichever name I’m assigned to) in my life and I will then try to act accordingly. Lives will change.

Dirty South, USA sometime in Fall
(or, Baby’s First Time Using the Term “Dirty South”)

I have only vaguely looked into train and bus tickets, but the general routing is Memphis, Tennessee; New Orleans, Louisiana; Atlanta, Georgia; and Savannah, Georgia. I am treating this as an international trip because from what I have seen on TV (Top Gear), heard from people (in passing, out of context), and read in John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley (Charley being a poodle), the southern portion of the US is essentially its own country. So far I’m going it alone, but this is an open invitation to anyone who wants to join me. You have to pay for your own tickets, accommodations, and food, but I will buy you a drink. I’m nice and I’m clean and I think I’m generally pretty fun to be around when I’m in a good mood, and this is beginning to sound like a Craigslist ad for a roommate. So if you want to travel through the south with me or live with me at some point, let me know.

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countries in which I have cried [no shame edition]

Somehow, several years ago, I painted a picture of myself in my head as this girl who never cries. I would congratulate myself on my inner strength and confidence, reassured that should I ever feel wronged or otherwise upset, I would at least have the dignity and the courage to get revenge instead of crawling into a corner to cry. I would imagine myself as one of those female protagonists who receives some huge emotional blow in the middle of the movie, but instead of letting it ruin her life she is suddenly thrust into a catchy montage where it shows her reinventing her life and working out and getting a makeover. That is how I imagined myself. “At least there’s that,” I would tell myself, sobbing as I spooned the last of the ice cream into my mouth, “at least there’s that.”

(Portrait of a Crier.)

I have since cried in at least 7 countries. While this number does not seem large, keep in mind that I am not counting individual cities — a task better suited for a novel rather than a blog post. Also, I think I have probably cried in more countries than these, but these are the countries in which I can remember specific occasions.

France: I have cried all over France. I’ve been three times, each time to a different area of the country, but the French Riviera has definitely seen the most of my tears. I had just been dumped, I had just discovered my alcohol threshold, I had just gotten robbed for the first time, and I had just had the worst ear infection of my life.* Riviera: 4, Jackie: 0.

Austria: Did you know that Vienna is home to the hostel that most resembles the set of a horror film? And that I got to stay there for two nights? I was crying because from everything I’d seen of horror movies (admittedly not much), I knew I would be the person who dies first, probably because she looks behind the door.

Scotland: I missed the boyf. Also everything in Scotland was so pretty that I just kept crying at it, to teach it a lesson.

(Lesson learned, Scotland.)

England: I was young and it was my first time being away from home for that long. Also I was staying with a couple who were essentially two giant walking, talking Marlboros, who didn’t believe in heating systems or shower faucets that adhere to logic.

Ireland: Dublin was expensive and loud and I was poor and hungover, and very lonely. Also I was fairly certain that my pastel-cat-drawing roommate was going to murder me while she talked to herself about it. Also I went to go see Going the Distance by myself and related to Drew Barrymore a lot.

The Netherlands: Let’s just say that a boy was involved. And also a “ten shots for ten euros” jaeger deal. Let’s all cry together while we think about that concept.

Germany: Seventeen-ish blisters on my feet within three days. Two more months of traveling to go.

(Gross?)

Hungary: Soul-less Hungarian bus driver suddenly drives away while Boyf is still standing outside. I have the phone, Boyf has the directions. Also it is two in the morning. This was less crying and more hysterical shrieking at the top of my lungs until he finally pulled over — 5 blocks later.

USA: I have cried in several of the states, most recently New Mexico. My fingers are not supposed to freeze together in New Mexico.
Traveling is one of my favorite things, but I would be lying if I said it was never hard, or that I had a blast the entire time I was doing it. I would also be lying if I said I didn’t still picture myself in that montage sometimes — with more awesome hair and shoes that never give me blisters.
*not really an ear infection. It’s too gross to tell you the real story.

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