Before we left for Europe, I told my sister she was obligated to write a guest post. The entire time we were there, I asked her at every destination – “so… what are you going to write about?”
She said she needed to think about it. And similar to how she must feel about the box of her left behind clothing I promised to ship her, I hoped for the best, but kind of thought I’d never get it. Since that trip, a lot has changed.
Tonight, I came home after my roommate’s last kickball game, sad and a bit disheartened. The four of us – myself, Tess, Emily and Kate – are going our separate ways, Tess being the first, with a move to Asheville. I went to bed being a bit pessimistic about how life usually turns out – the struggle, the loss, the change.
Life kind of always gives you blue balls.
(That last line will probably only be understood by my roommates, and that’s kind of poetic.)
At some point during our last evening out, I glanced down at my phone and saw I had an email. It was from Erica – I briefly saw it had an attachment.
“Oh, cool.” I thought, and went back to listening to Kate retell the story about how my co-worker/kickball teammate Jordan barfed behind home plate last summer during a game.
(I’m comfortable disclosing that because I know he will never read this. And because we’ve already told everyone about it.)
When the night was over – after I had taken a pickleback with our friends Neda and Corey, after Tess and I drove home and we excitedly talked about her new life in Asheville with Matt, after I had poorly decided to drink another glass of wine (which resulted in sitting on Emily’s bed and talking her ear off for a half an hour), I finally went to bed.
To of course, wake up at 4 AM (per my usual), unable to fall back asleep.
This wasn’t one of those moments where I thought – oh, time to pray and talk to God. Instead I grumbled, tossed and turned, drank lots of water, and wondered why there were three unopened packages of string cheese on my nightstand. I thought about how much I was going to miss Tess, and how it seemed unfair that I didn’t have more time with her and Matt.
Then I remembered the email.
The subject line read, “better late than never”. The body, just a short sentence –
“thank you… for everything.”
I opened it, read it, and now sit here, a bit awe-struck and admittedly, a little choked up. So much, that I decided to prolong my insomnia to get it up on here as soon as I possibly could.
After reading this, posting it, I realized that I had forgotten one of my best one-liners – remember the experience. Good things end, people move on, but it’s the adventures we share, the trips we go on, and the ridiculous stories of barfing co-workers that keep us together. Despite how far apart we are.
So without further rambling from me… Erica.
It’s been almost three months since I sat in the Dulles airport and awaited a flight to Iceland. Which means I’m almost three months behind in my guest post. This is in most part due to the time it has taken me to process what happened. In short, we had a great time and it truly was a trip of a lifetime. Aside from having to adjust to my life of grad school, internships, and assignments, the biggest challenge that remains is trying to accurately describe our experience.
I found when I returned people asked two questions…
First, of course, “How was your trip?!” quickly followed in a more serious tone with, “How was Missy?”
I realized a lot about myself in those three weeks, but I learned even more about my relationship with my sister. Usually I responded to these questions by saying, “my sister and I are very different,” and then reassured people, “we had fun and only fought once”.
Growing up, my sister was my idol. She was the cool, older role model who got to experience everything first – drinking, boyfriends, bras. Being the third girl, I wanted to be just like her and Beth, our eldest sister. I distinctively remember being in third grade and sitting with them in our dining room while they did homework, pretending I too I was working on something. I remember feeling like a failure every time she struggled. And I remember being absolutely heartbroken when she left for college.
As I’ve aged, it’s become harder to come to terms with the fact that we are not the same person. My sister marches to the beat of her own drummer and flies by the seat of her pants. She is incredibly positive and carefree. She sees the best in everyone and in many ways, I still aspire to be like her. This trip solidified the idea that we are different and that’s okay.
My favorite moments that don’t fit in pretty little categories outlined here…
- Dancing with my sister on a Paris train to a man playing his fiddle..
- Taking pictures of a Rubix Cube at every tourist attraction..
- Melissa giving money to another American who didn’t have fare for the train…
“A is for adventure.”
I try to recall when my sister first said this to me. It was early in our trip and as to be expected, I was feeling nervous about something. She looked over at me and said this statement without a second thought.
So, with that I give you, the “ABCs” of our trip.
(hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.)
B is for beer wheel. We met a friend in Iceland who paid $20 to spin a beer wheel in The Big Lebowski themed bar. He won 10 beers. It was amazing.
C is for conditioner. Many don’t know the water at Iceland’s the Blue Lagoon is NOT good for your hair. Missy and I pre-gamed by lathering our hair in conditioner before entering.
D is for dessert. Flan. Crepes. Crème brulee. It was completely worth the five pounds I gained.
E is for elevators. Small elevators. Small like Missy, me, and our backpacks barely fit.
F is for family – the one I brought with me, the one I gained and the one I left behind.
G is for the Chuck Norris Grill. We did not get the chance to eat there but it remains on my bucket list.
H is for humility. The amount of poverty and homeless in Europe is astonishing. Nothing breaks your heart more than someone begging for money in another language and not being able to understand them. I am incredibly blessed for this opportunity.
I is for the Icelandic Phallological Museum. We only stayed long enough to take a picture next to a Sperm Whale penis.
J is for Jack Daniels… lots of Jack Daniels.
K is for Three Kings Days. Melissa and I were so lucky to celebrate this holiday with our family in France. This included cutting a delicious cake and with me being the young participant, having to hide under the table.
L is for full lederhosen and the man wearing it in a Berlin Bar.
M is for Missy, of course. My push to step outside my comfort zone. I hate you and love you and thank you for pushing me to be my best version of myself and for teaching me that even if I don’t travel anymore for as long as I live, I am enough just the way I am.
N is for New Years. Fireworks. Hilltop. Dozens of locals. 365 degree view of surrounding towns. (See Melissa’s other blog post about it).
O is for open containers in Berlin and double fisting while checking into our four star hotel. Enough said.
P is for the Paella in Barcelona, which I still dream about.
Q is for Quasimodo. Being in Notre Dame was incredibly surreal. Both Melissa and I lit candles in memory of our grandmother (without realizing it). It was hard not to think of how much my mom and brother would have loved to be there. (Disclaimer: Quadismodo was my brother’s name in French class).
R is for Robin. I love kids, but some of my fondest memories are chasing Robin around my host sister’s house and tickling him. His sister and him speak little to no English but it was amazing to see how much we connected without verbal language.
S is for street art. Every city we went to had amazing art.
T is for trains and getting lost for hours at a time.
U is for underwear. Turns out backpacking through Europe is hard to do when you want to pack your whole wardrobe. Shout out to Marion and Laurent for letting us use their washer/dryer.
V is for very small water cups. My one complaint, which Missy finds hilarious, is that (since water is so expensive to filter) it is costly and limited. I joke that I was dehydrated for the entire trip.
W is for waffles, wilinki (German piergoies), and wine. Laurent actually brought us home seven bottles of wine on our first night there. We stayed for three days.
Y is for YOLO (“You only live once”). I tried to keep this mindset the entire time. I agreed to everything Melissa asked me to do and refused to put limits on myself even if it was uncomfortable.
Z is for the Berlin Zoo. We never made it there because my sister woke up sick on our last day, but this is definitely on my Bucket List.
So it might have taken me three months to come up with an answer to everyone’s questions.
Europe was amazing and Missy?
She was to be expected… fucking epic.
The author of the blog is currently crying and simultaneously eating previously mentioned string cheese.