Too many successive days have passed without bearing my soul to a well-dressed woman, politely nodding and smiling, attempting not to bare judgement.
Vacation was a blast. A comical and continuously wild adventure. Off the coast of mainland Croatia the coffee comes with a side of free mountain bike. I spent hours pedaling the winding trails to panoramic peaks in Mljet National Park and bustling with adrenaline rocketing down to turquoise waters. In Split I bought a bus ticket to Sarajevo, Bosnia but hopped on one going in the opposite direction by mistake. Thirty minutes down the road “wrong bus” was barked on repeat in my ear by the only other person aboard that knew english. They dropped me at a gas station gesturing a sprint across the highway – 2 lanes, in each direction, cruising near 130 km an hour – to catch a bus back where it all began. I decided to hitch hike instead of play real life Mario Kart Toads Turnpike and an incredibly genuine man drove me across the border and smoothly onto a bus actually going in the right direction. Hours later I woke up as the sole passenger in a once fully-packed motor coach. After politely asking where we were a hasty uproar of arms and shouting in some foreign language was completely unassuring. They u-turned and shooed me out the door several miles down the road, pointing at my luggage that was left on the street with the rest of the passengers 30 minutes before.
In Turkey I got scrubbed down by a burly half-naked woman in a 700 year old Hamam. She jerked me around and slapped my bare ass while exfoliating and then oiling me back up again. Life across 5 countries in 24 days was the most exciting and unencumbered experience I’ve ever had. The last night, while sitting at dinner, the garbage set on fire. Someone calmly walked over and threw a few buckets of water on it. That was it, no one said a peep about it.
There were a lot of questions concerning my lack of a partner in crime though, or what watershed would cause someone to charge through Europe and Asia alone. But, I never felt that way; I constantly met people. In Istanbul I couldn’t leave my hotel without a local offering to escort me to the next tourist attraction. After dark in Croatia tourists packed themselves into the same few bars dancing into the morning to the beat of early 2000’s pop. In Positano I spent hours with a woman who, 18 years ago, was me, which became eerily obvious after sharing old school italian grub and wine for hours after coincidentally being seated next to each other. It wasn’t until the plane landed in New York that I felt lonesome. As everyones phones pinged with messages, my crappy Croatian android laid lifeless. I had nothing to come home to – just white walls in an over-priced box. And vacation was a great escape to that.
Time to take another trip to the scruffy gray couch and pay someone to fill my emotional bucket back up.