Travel Bug Bite

I was bitten by the travel bug long ago, when I was just a lil’ bug myself, experiencing places through the bumps in the journey and the food transmitted via umbilical cord through mama’s belly.

What no one tells you about the travel bug, however, is that it is still a bug. One capable of wreaking havoc on all your pretty plans and best intentions.

For example:

I missed my train to Paris this morning. Turns out that after four months in Europe, I am still unaccustomed to military time. 6:55 is, in fact, 6:55 a.m. Glad I made that observation around 10 a.m.

Now I’m leaving at 20:04. That’s 8:04 p.m. I am not making the same mistake twice, no sirree. Eurostar was kind enough to rebook my (non-refundable) ticket for a bit more money. Hallelujah. I’m leaving an hour-and-a-half early, just in case.

If I’ve learned anything from my European adventures, it’s that if things can get worse and/or more bizarre, they will specifically target me and my relations in that attempt. Like how my friend lost her passport and then we almost got knifed on a train in Germany, or how my London university waited to accept me until December and I almost didn’t get my visa in time, or how my great cousin broke his hip and I almost couldn’t go to Munich, and then a volcano erupted, cancelling my trip to Portugal.

I know I’m lucky to be here, etc. I would just like to request that my bug, which I’ve attempted to placate with chocolate, would please be more positive. Focus on all the good things bugs can do. Like bees kickin’ it with flowers for pollination purposes, like having a stomach bug with all of the weight loss and none of the upchucking.

So, please. No volcanoes or psychotic train passengers or missing documents or broken bones. Respect my wishes, just this once.

Feel free to leave good luck charms below. I’m buggin’.