This is the beginning of a blog. Technically, ^^^^ that was. But this is the Real Beginning of the Blog. Le Snak Deli Tomato and Basil dipper things are gross. Don’t buy them.
That is all.
But not really!
I am humbly returning. Slowly. And humblyly. But it is happenin’. Don’t wet yourself. We’re all excited, but there’s no need to publically shame yourself.
Begin the bloggering!
NOW, as you all know, I have been overseas and yada yada yada.
One thing of which you will be quite aware, young readers, if you have travelled in your days, is that upon your happy return, there are a few questions that you will be asked.
You have ever or will ever meet.
*pops out of bowl of cookies* FOREVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
I am now going to answer some of these, giving both my answers, and general rules and advice for people approaching this topic - either as an asker or an askee.
We'll start with the question I was asked by my younger step-brother upon my return.
"So ... what did you do?"
Well, Sunny Sunny Sunny Bear. A freaking darn lot. A lot. I was away for a while, and I didn't spend it sittin' around doin' nothin'. A'ight? Apostrophe.
If you ask this, you've not travelled enough. Travel stories are not the kind of things that just pop out on demand *keeps away from the potentially awesome 'That's what she said'*. They are the kind of thing that pop up while someone is talking about something that happened in their life, which will inevitably be kind of boring, and something they say reminds you of the hilarious and undeniably fascinating time that blah did blah blah on the top of the blah, whereupon you'll rudely interrupt your fellow conversationalist and delight them in the wonders of your fantastic story. That is how travel stories work.
If you ask me for a story, don't get pissy when I interrupt you half an hour later. You're boring and you asked for it. :D
"Where did you go?"
Obviously there's no unequivocal answer for this for everybody, unless you just want to stick with "Somewhere much better than standing here talking to you." If you're considering saying this, I might suggest staying away from the additional statement of "Of course, falling into the sun or existing for the rest of my life in a pig's trough would be preferable than standing here talking to you." People tend to take it badly.
Someone may stick a 'kick me' sign on your back; or worse, a 'throw me off a cliff onto some particularly dangerous looking rocks' sign. If you're superbly offensive (say, if you manage to insult their mother at the same time) KEEP AN EYE out for the horror of horrors - the 'lock me in a room playing nothing but a Justin Bieber/Rebecca Black/Nyan Cat remix for the rest of my life' sign.
Aaaaaanyway the places I went will be listed below:
-- Just kidding. I'm not a bebo page.
Republic of Ireland
OK. I think that's everywhere. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!
What I lucky ducky mucky Kentucky I am, amirite?
Don’t do that. Don’t bring your amirites here. Because you know what? Urnotrite. You might be right, but you are sure as heckfire notrite.
“How long were you away for?”
Again, vary this answer to fit you. Unless you just want to outright lie because you were dodging a job or a psychopathic fish or something. If you’re a pathological liar, see how long you can get away with saying you were away for, before people start asking their party-pooping questions like “But … if you were away for 23 years, why have you not aged? Why have I not aged? What is this miracle wrinkle cream I have been unknowingly using on myself and everyone in my whole life to prevent the cruel passage of time?”
Pour moi, I was away for nearly 5 months. 4 months and three weekaloonies. Or summat like that.
“Wow, that’s not a long time considering how many places you went! You must have been really exhausted by the end!” says enthusiastic conversation partner enthusiastically and conversationally. And partnerly (oo-er).
“Oh really? I hadn’t realised that. I especially didn’t realise when, in the last three weekaloonies, my body sort of started dying and I was almost unceasingly sick for the rest of the trip. That was when I really didn’t notice.”
“What was your favourite place?”
Ah, this. The most frustrating of all travel questions. This is fine if you go to Fiji for a week. You can come back and say “Yes. On my Fiji trip, I’d probably have to place Figi as the number on place I went, just topping out above Sydney airport and a right sight higher than the car ride to the airport.”
This is not. At all. A simple question. When you have been travelling constantly for (nearly) 5 months.
My advice to travellers faced with this question would just be to either
aa) Randomly pick one place, even if it wasn’t actually your favourite, and tell everyone that one. At least you don’t have to think about. But make sure you also make up a reason why, because that’s always the equally annoying follow up question (THERE IS NO REASON WHY IT WAS JUST COOL SHUT UP)
bb) Tell everyone who asks a different place. When you run out of places either go back to the start, or just start making up new places. Who are they to know? If they wanted to know, they should have COME ON YOUR trip. Dickheads.
were mine. In no particularly order. Edinburgh had the Fringe, N’awlins was just a mad fun vibe, DC was beautiful, Barcelona was fun and exciting, Lucerne was slice-my-eyes-out-and-serve-them-for-tea-because-they’ll-never-again-see-anything-this-beautiful beautiful, Venice was intricate and fascinating and Prague was just really good and stuff. That clock, right?
Everywhere else was good, except Rome. I am not a Rome fan. Rome is bad. I plan on not going back to Rome. Stupid Rome.
The “If you could live anywhere you went, where would it be?” question is tied in with this, and I’d have to say Edinburgh number one, because beautiful and English-speaking, and close to all the other European places. But I’d live in any of them. Fo’ realz, shiznit.
And there you go. Adrienne’s polite, over-whelmingly kind, tolerant and patient answers to YOUR questions.
That’s the end of the blog. It’s over. Go home.
*waves you away*