Yesterday I hauled out my "travel packs" — great stacks of pamphlets and notes and photos collected on my travels. I was looking for some more photos to put up; some of the snaps from my trip to Scotland in August 2003 are up. Not all the photos, and they're mainly of rocks. Consider yourselves warned.
One of the things I discovered was my travel journal. This particular journal was for my first trip overseas, and first trip alone for that matter. (I'd done weekends away on my own, a couple of nights in the Blue Mountains, that sort of thing. But no extended travel in a different country.) This trip would start in Belgium (a friend from Chile was living there at the time), and take me through Paris, Germany, Poland, Hungary, Slovakia, the Czech Republic, Spain, Finland, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Belarus, and Russia before I'd see home again. (I don't think I'm leaving any out there.)
So a snippet of who I was then, oh so long ago:
15/03: I have discovered one very important fact: I am a moron. I couldn't stop saying [at the airport] "I'm an idiot" aloud. And I am. Why didn't someone just hit me? When I said, "I'm going overseas — on my own", why didn't they just slap me on the forehead and say "Don't be silly, Deb"? But the plane's taken off now, and it's too late to turn back. So I'm on my own: 2 pairs of pants, 9 t-shirts, 7 pairs of undies, 4 pairs of socks, and a laundry kit.
You'll be glad to know I did just fine, despite my jitters.