… an essential component to any adventure worth remembering.

Although the jet was playing a scary game of leap-frog with the clouds in the middle of the night as we lurched across the Atlantic, that’s not necessarily the turbulence I’m referencing. If everything on a trip goes as planned, where are the quirky stories worth telling again and again? Maybe I’m a little odd, but I remember moments of shear terror or just blatant embarrassment more than the usual happy-go-lucky. Since that’s the case, I’d rather be blushing or in a state of shock as much as my travels as possible.

After almost a week overseas, we’ve had our fair share of near-mishaps and accidental pleasures to last quite a while, and then I remember that this has only just begun. I have so much to recount already, and I haven’t given myself the time to record anything; I’ve taken advantage of every moment. Now that I am absolutely exhausted and my feet are slightly numb, red, and begging for a break, it seems like a good time to both let loved ones know that I am in-fact still breathing and start recording my memories before they completely slip away. I at least have my photos to remind me what happened each day. Now, sprawled out on the top bunk bed on the second floor of our Paris hostel, hearing french r&b roll down the hallway, looking out our window into the darkness of the courtyard where French and Spanish conversations and rustling leaves rumble, I relax and write… to post another day.