The International Writers Magazine: Travel The World with Vancouver Girl Tabytha Towe

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Europe 2007 • Tabytha Towe Traveling is - like a fleeting butterfly, a schizophrenic chameleon, For it imitates art and life. It's trial and trivia, struggle and strife, It’s vulnerability, freedom, opening, challenging, lonesome, wholesome, It’s lurking, finding, error, learning, It’s an escapist, a realist, spontaneous, careless, It’s colorful, blinding, shocking, wary, It’s unforgettable, tiresome, ironic, and unfathomable It’s special, giving, taking, surviving and... It's goddamned beautiful. It captures your soul and consumes your entire being, You experience every emotion possible. It’s not meant to be taken for granted

© Kit Thomas London 2007

I haven't really traveled in a while besides New York, road trips to the local islands and down to the States over the years, but never far enough and always with friends. Last time I went solo over seas I was a naive 20 year old. Boy did I ever love every minute of it. I thought that after seeing some of South Africa and England back in 2002 I was destined to see the world. I haven't felt complete since my return from that trip, eager to explore more. I therefore still feel like I have unfinished business, (especially with Africa which I know I will return to again one day for much longer).

I had become a little too comfortable with my life here in Vancouver over time, filled with great times, hard times, routine, growth, an uncountable amount of bullshit and yet blessings. I had become too accustomed and rather bored of my daily life. I have the most amazing friends and family over here not to mention some great opportunities, but I was starting to become mundane and tired of it all regardless, needing something to stimulate me more
.
I've worked my bloody ass off the last while trying to get away again, but at every turn, for some extreme, interruptive reason or other  (bad luck, timing maybe?) I couldn't escape. I realized though that my wanting to get away was simply that, just to be out of here. I should have instead realised where it was I wanted to go and why.
Vancouver is incredible and it's my home, but I was desperate to leave myself behind, to be able to move forward, to discover new things about myself out of my comfort zone, or even for that matter, out of my guilt conscience. Travel is the most educational aspect you can gain about yourself, culture and people...

So finally after all of this waiting, wanting and working, my goal was no longer just a dream. It was literally pick up and go. Blessed my mother, she sold her house and knew how badly I was aching to go overseas that she bought my itinerary - Thank you mother. I worked seven days a week for months on end to pay off a debt before I left and to save up a bit of spending cash, (however, you need more than pocket change in Europe, but at the time I didn't care, I was ready to leave already).
 
It was difficult to choose where to go because I want to go everywhere, back to Africa of course, India, South America…my desires stretched across the world. I’d live on the moon if I could! Naturally there was one condition for my plane tickets (in which alleviated my negotiable decisions anyhow,) that I visit distant family.

Fair enough; done. So England it is to see my grandmother and uncle. From there, Europe is so goddamned huge and expensive you literally have to go where the tickets are cheapest at the time and where places are of a closer proximity within each other, I had a few toss ups. It was between Ireland (Dublin) and Scotland (Glasgow)? Italy, Germany, Eastern Europe (like Czech and Hungary)? This was tough. God knows I truly, madly, deeply wanted to do it ALL, but a bit too much of a reach and I was being greedy. UK airports would be my headquarters to and fro so the choice had to be wise. Hence, Canada - England – Ireland – France - Spain - and then….

First stop, Petersfield, UK:
My I nearly forgot how much I hated flying, if it weren’t so friggin’ uncomfortable then it would almost be stimulating. Sitting on your butt for that long with no circulation or fresh air, inhaling recycled, air-conditioned germs contaminating your lungs, not my idea of fun. I'm also an antsy person; I need to move about, damnit! My poor skin was miserable when I arrived and I was still brutally hungover from the night prior to boarding from a late send off and I was overwhelmingly dehydrated,  (I do not recommend drinking the tap water in a plane, despite how thirsty, felt a bit nauseated from it, eeeww!) but at least when I set foot outside I was breathing in a familiar, yet foreign air, at last.

It's always nice to catch up with relatives - especially when long distance, (just kidding!) I ran around with my uncle a lot, my favorite I must say, and whom over the years has directed me with good examples in film and wine, accompanied with his kooky and endearing friend Kit, who put him into perspective quite often. I drank a lot of tea with the gran whom, being old and sick I don't relate to as much, but it also puts you in perspective, and as much as she didn't understand me, literally, she's a bit deaf now, I actually appreciated the small chats and card games.

I ruthlessly relaxed and ate healthily for the first leg of my England visits, preparing for my next journeys. Most of my flights were based in, out and about England, so I had yet to be back a few more times.
I have never been so sick of anyones faces as much as I was of Britney Spears and Victoria Beckam...every freaking magazine, wall and news stand in London had their annoying faces spread all over town, haunting you every block, just couldn't get away from them, eck!

The hair "scrunchie" has made a come back it seems, revived from the early 1990's!? As to why, I blame it on celebrity status. They have banned indoor smoking recently. What a shocker for the Brits. A lot of old traditional pubs seemed merely abandoned, having the old regulars around the block feeling spurned for their right to smoke inside over a pint after years of dedication. People were especially grumpy that you could not enjoy a fag at the tube stations any longer.However it made for an otherwise much nicer environment indoors.
 
Next stop, Dublin, Ireland:

(Dub-lihn) – derived from the meaning “Black Pool” in regards to the River Liffey in the center of the capital, where many bridges cross over to throughout Irelands largest city. There is so much history from Vikings, medieval times, political values, gaol hangings, religious virtues and the enduring famine. I soaked in a fair share whilst visiting. What a fan-fucking-tastic place I have to say!

At first I didn’t know what to expect, I certainately had no idea that I would have embraced so much fun and debauchery, especially within six days. If I hadn't pre-booked other flights prior to, I would have either extended my stay or gone back later on and stayed for a longer while, perhaps even pick up a job to earn euros (lets not even talk about how expensive!) My only regret about Dublin was leaving too soon. That is one thing I have learned for future travel plans...not to book itinerary in advance because plans always change. Although on a budget and time limit, it does save you from making possible, random, in the moment decisions…me, I never!? But at least planning ahead of schedule is cheaper than last minute and gives you a little idea.

I obviously drank quite a bit over there, home of glorious, nutritious Guinness and Jameson. It was a grand evening on many occasions! Lots of travelers to meet and cheers, frolicking the city and going to live shows, got to see some great music like. I have learned my lesson in drunken confidence: never leapfrog a pole whilst intoxicated on whisky ever again. Bloody hell I limped for weeks after that stunt, my knee was incredibly sore and swelled like a baseball, my arm couldn't reach over my head without agonizing pinched nerves and my nose endured a tender bump that whenever I laughed or sneezed it hurt the center of my face (in which the injury wasn't from my successful fall jumping over obscure objects, but from my missguided poor aim to a Parisian man's solid forehead).

One day I walked around like the frivolous wanderlust I am for over 8 hours, getting lost about the city and finding new and exciting places and things to do. Stupidly I was the only person wearing shorts, the local Irish knew something I didn't obviously, and so I looked like a blatant tourist with my blinding, white and goose-bumped legs, hoping to persuade the sun to come out. What bizarre weather, sunny and yet freezing. I covered a lot of the map by foot within those few hours, not only in shorts but also in complete solitude. I only talked to someone when I ordered a coffee or beer, or to apologize to the security guard in the museum for taking 'unallowed' photos. I also had to apologize to some uniformed man in the park for attempting to grab Oscar Wildes' balls, (just for fun, it was a statue for crying out loud!)

The museums and churches were magnificent in character; I got stuck staring in awe a few times. Don’t get to see a lot of religious history in young Canada. Every painting I saw from the middle ages were horrific encounters between the condemned and the blessed. There is God on a pedestal and God frowning on others, there is Jesus as a praised baby and then Jesus suffering for our sins. The cherubs were supposed to be “good” but appeared as the most dreadful natured. There was always someone pointing with evil eyes at someone else getting damned. Talk about a damned nation with guilty precautions.
 
The Irish stick to their values and can they hold it. It’s nice to see friends and family burst out in cheers with their flourishing drinks and all have their arms around each other in an affectionate embrace. I witnessed a lively, 70 year old woman get up and perform us a tune still swaying her scotch happily and I was impressed. I want to be like her in my senior years, old soul with a young spirit.

I made wonderful friends in Dublin needless to say, even if it was momentous in person, you never know when you shall meet again. I really love the Irish fortitude. The locals were friendly and fun and other fellow travelers kind of formed a union, you know, we are all on different soil and it’s exhilarating for us. That’s one of the ups and downs about traveling, you meet awesome people, share intimate and whacky times together for a short amount of time, then you have to say good-bye. Parting is such sweet sorrow, but you look on to your troops and think, fuck I wish I were going where they are venturing to also. But good on them. We shall meet again one day. Damn. I forgot to eat an Irish stew and potatoes there, now I simply MUST return to Dublin.

Back to London, UK:
Another bloody airport, a different one of course. Caught up with good friend in London I actually met years ago on last travels, beside me on the plane no less. I'm happy we have remained close from afar. Just what I’m talking about, worlds apart and still run into one another. Between his place, another friends, grandmothers and frolicking about rendezvous points in the city, I easily spent at least 15+ pounds a day in transport. In fact I probably spent most of my time on tubes, trains, over land rail, buses…even under, underground stations. I kept forgetting it was that massive. I'd complain about taking an hour to get from one place to the other was far too long, whereas Londoners considered it fairly short. The routing system is so advanced, it only takes a few trips -or days rather- to figure it out, but all you need is the A-Z guide really then you’re sorted, but make sure you carry extra fare and don't get too pissed off your skull that you pass out and miss your stop. That happened to me in the past and it cost big bucks to get back. A well-learned, valuable lesson that was.

An epiphany whilst on a long train ride: that time is money; it is also a gift, depends on how we use it, and patience really is a virtue, so I should not have worried about wasting time just because I was waiting so long, it was for a purpose, and money wasn't so much wasted but earned and appreciated.

For fucks sakes if I could figure out transport destinations and changeovers, you'd think I have adjusted to pedestrian crossing. I still looked right regardless of the sign saying on the road "look left". Conditioned from my upbringing as a habitual child crossing the roads, right first.
 
Next stop, Bordeaux, France:

Tres beau! But think the Photo is of Notre Dame when I was in Paris. Wow, absolutely exquisite. Got off the plane once more hungover from my Dublin farewell, arrived to a gorgeous house that belonged to the parents of an old roommate of mine from Vancouver and jumped in a man made pool with natural water. How refreshing and necessary, *note, planes make me feel dirty and lethargic. The parents were lovely and drove me up to Anglet (by Biarritz) a few hours away to visit their daughter and friend. Stayed in a cute, seaside flat and peacefully relaxed.

Ate some of the most delicious food that was utterly naked, like gigantic, fresh and organic figs and oysters, mmm mmm! No additives man. One lunch I was invited to I wanted to be a polite guest and clear the plates away, but the host shouted “non, non! We haven’t finished.” So I put them back again, innocent and embarrassed. I had thought the appetizers were lunch! We eat again, a feast of goods, I’m pleasantly full and giddy, so this time I think it’s safe to clear the table…“but what about 3rd course?” Seriously? I’ll need more wine now, sil vous plait. No meal amongst the French goes without a finale, which always is a grand exit of chocolate and a variety of smelly cheeses, I’m salivating now reminiscing.
 
A girlfriend took me to San Sebastian for the day. It took only an hour or so, we actually drove to Spain it was so close to the border. Whereas for me to fly from Bordeaux to Barcelona I had to catch 3 different flights in 3 different countries in one, tedious day to get the better value for my dollar!? I am a pro at airports by now, except for when I miss a flight – oops!

San Sebastian was a charming old place rich in tradition. The churches, the alleys, and oh the tapas! I believe the Spanish have it all figured with their siestas, every store, business and restaurant were adamantly closed at 3’0 clock sharp. Who doesn’t want a break or a nap between work and a social event? Sleep in the day, work then play, siesta, fiesta!

Unfortunately it was raining miserably so we couldn’t watch the surfers at a la playa (beach) so what were two girls supposed to do but go shopping in one of the most fascinating fashion regions? I was good, only bought a couple of things on sale, but man it was tempting, it wetted my whistle and I didn’t even get foreplay. I had to adapt very quickly in Europe to look at gorgeous outfits as insignificant…I almost went off the wagon and lost my wits.

The Spanish are very graceful, with visually stunning features. The wardrobe emphasizes individual lifestyles. Men and women regardless of age all had unique class. I found that French men were shorter than the Spanish, but in both cultures women often resemble tall and slender physics. This is heresy, I only saw people from popular cities mind.
 
From Bayonne to Cap Ferret, a beautiful sea port town that accompanies 30,000 people during summer with it’s family activities, boats, vacation homes, now held only 6000 in the off season. It was quiet, it was a light shade of grey and it was magical. I would love to be there in sunshine. My girlfriends and I toured around on bicycles, which made me very happy having given my bike away before travel. We watched the cute boys skim board, climbed the stairs of the lighthouse to get a dizzying view of the quaint town below. It felt like I was on a family vacation actually.
 
I was in my glory, baring barefoot footsteps most of the time. There are a lot of photos with my scabbed nail-polished toes walking in water or in the sand.  I’m wearing shoes indoors as I type this now and my feet are still cold.
 
Never knew I was a rugby fan until France, especially because they won (well, that particular game against a severely deserving team which astonished me to tears when they lost.) The rules of the game, once you understand them, makes for an entertaining hour and a half that’s for sure. Watching the game in an over crowded, sweat filled, smoke infested bar with Frenchies’ screaming, flailing, hugging, cheering and excited heartbeats was a thrill in fact. I had to keep my eye on the glassware. Undoubtedly everyone wanted to kill me that night, for I was rooting loud and proud for ‘Nouvelle Zealande’. Afterwards, all of the open public poured out into the city square with joyous pride and glee infinitely chanting “Allez de Blue”. After a few drinks and much convincing, I acquiesced into singing along with “Viva La France!” I felt I had to be a part of it, but NZ still should have got it. But then I wouldn’t have contributed to the riotous celebrations on the streets. Every rugby game I watched in foreign tongue and in another country at another crazy bar filled with anxious fans I decided I would always egg on the opposing team of everyone else. I may have pushed some boundaries in London during the final, laughing when South Africa beat the Brits, for after all, I’ve got English blood in me. For humours sake a traitor for my own amusement. Ha!
 
In France I was at my quietest since my first words as a baby. I left my French translating book in the UK, so all you could get out of me was stupid broken English in a faux French accent, obviously (and naturally jaded) influenced by my peers speech. I tried simple words and hand gestures, but I looked more of a foolish jerk, so I shut up and spaced out often, not apprehending the language. Though most French actually understand English, they are far too obstinate to admit it. It was nice to be silent for once.
 
It’s not queer to see two men double up on a bicycle together or hug each other serenading. North Americans are just too shy, too cool or just plain reserved, personal contact seems violating to an up tight and sensitive society, who knows? Europeans do not hide fondness like we tend to do, which I adored witnessing.
 
Public toilets are tricky to find in Bordeaux.
 
Next stop, Barcelona, Spain:

Incredible place, very lively, however, only a bit over zealous with tourism. I realize that the locals probably rely a lot of their economy on tourists. And why not, millions flock to visit. The roads and alleys are like secrets. Each path leads to another filled with daily life of shops, restaurants, galleries and residences, laundry drying out the windows dripping over passers by, tapas’ in the windows portraying an colorful array of delectable treats. I swear every second vehicle there is a scooter; there are more parking spaces for a moped than a car. How convenient, it made me happy to hear the sound of them zipping past

Gaudi the infamous architect was a geometrical genius and a major aspect why Barcelona is so popular. His architecture is immeasurable. The Sagrada Familia alone took four decades worth of his life to not even complete the project; it’s far too intricate. It will take up to another century for technology and construction until it’s at last finished. His work is ubiquitously spread, from Parc Guell to other buildings and houses, just amazing. A legendary, fundamental artist (my favorite will always be Salvadore Dali though, I’m happy to have witnessed his work there as well.)
 
I found Spanish rather easy to pick up, the basics such as donde esta los aseos? Where are the toilets? Inevitably, otra cerveja por favor senor/ita! Another beer please sir/madam! I did feel like an anomaly speaking it so slow.
 
Unfortunately one thing I discovered much to my dismay was that I did not see any evidence of plastic recycling. Only glass, which is a start, but come on people! Restaurants and bars will not serve you tap water, not only because of the poorer quality, but because they can get a price for ‘cleaner’ bottled water. If you think about it, on average a person has roughly six bottles a day, just to be thrown in the fucking rubbish!? I was outraged, but all I could do was re-use the same water bottle as long as I could and get over the linger of pipes on my pallet from perfectly adequate tap water…so I told myself.

Europeans, perhaps more so than Americans, are the epitome of consumers. Always on the go, get it to go, a fast nation therefore fast food nation, never bothering them selves with taking their own mug to a coffee shop! There are biodegradable cornstarch products these days… I’m sorry I get riled up thinking about how astronomical the waste system is.
 
I stayed in a wicked hostel where I met new and wild friends who became temporary family. People who were ready to go on a search for me when they didn’t see me for two days, (I was having too much fun apparently). People who were not ready to go to sleep at 5 am and still be up for another adventure after sunrise on 4 hours rest. Part of my disappearance was that I had to be inconspicuous. You see, the euro and the pound are a lavish and pricey exchange, having to pay for a place to sleep every night, paying for transport, daily bread and beer, it adds up. I had nearly run out of money and would do so very quickly, without doubt, so I had allocated a few bucks for my transport tickets to the airport and that was about it really. Unbeknownst to myself, soon after I was to discover that my fail-safe, my credit card, would also decline. I couldn’t afford a room key anymore. 

Only choice I had was survival mode. Cleverly I hid my face to certain desk clerks who would recognize I had checked out. I laid low so that I could sneak into rooms with free bunks. I stashed my belongings in others rooms. I was the penniless girl who walked through the ladies washroom naked to lather up the public hand soap to nonchallantly head back to my shower, a dozen confused females staring at me like a voodoo witch. At this point, I just didn’t care any longer. Drying my hair in the air dryer seemed appropriate, not weird. Except hanging washing up over the windowpane is a drag cause if it doesn’t dry before you leave you got to throw it out, otherwise the moisture will stew and stink and mold in your luggage. I showered with a pile of clothes. Many people saw my underwear, ah well.

I was very flattered my friends thought I was dead and were happy to see I was rather alive and in the flesh!  I became a good little gypsy, hanging out at the hostel on a particular schedule, pretending to be a paying guest. It’s all timing. That was all fine with me, there were ways around being broke and I adjusted swiftly. The little change I had left got me a cup of tea a day, in which I’d refill it with hot water throughout so that I could have another bland and stale cup. Walking is free, and it’s fun to explore new grounds. And my favorite was the beach, beautiful and full of people surfing, swimming, tanning, selling beer, massages, lawn chairs, coconuts…

I was elated the weather was hot. I just went there every day till I had to leave.  I didn’t need to spend money in the end. To tell the truth, I actually stole a tomatoe off a cook’s tray, it was enticing me with its healthy juiciness and it was pretty liberating. I suppose he noticed how much I enjoyed it so he even let me have a pepper too. He will never know how much I appreciated that. Beer was cheaper than vegetables (4 euros for a 6 pack, 3 euros for a rotten avocado) and everything had meat in it, so I lived off a poor diet of baked breads mostly, for it was cheap and filled you up. Hostels at least gave you a breakfast, but it was instant coffees and white toast without fail at every one, lucky if there was ever an apple or yogurt. I desperately craved fiber, nutrients, fruit, and essential protein. There came a time I couldn’t remember the last time I had taken a shit!? Or had washed my hair with real shampoo?
 
This is not out of the ordinary for me, but also out of no fault entirely of my own. I did miss a few flights. The first one I was sobbing like an infant, my connection to Belgium to meet a friend. Despicable! I was very mad at myself for not finding the directions to the airport properly, but it was all in Spanish and I panicked. I then laughed hysterically. It wasn’t so bad after all; I got to stay a little longer in Barcelona!

I also missed my second flight out of the same airport which really made me livid, it’s a long story but know that I had found it this time. I couldn’t believe they wouldn’t give me my boarding pass, (long story, like I said.)
A misunderstanding and miscommunication with another friend cost me (or him rather) a ticket to Paris! Still shedding tears over it, though I was n where near the airport he thought I would just so happen to be heading by? I had no idea what the plan was, it was meant to be a surprise. Nice gesture anyway, but should have found out where I was before booking. Ah well, merci beacoup!

The universe does have a way of letting actions take their paths, putting you out there, then falling into place. I took it as a sign Spain wanted to keep me hostage, but I had other plans after those 10 days. How did I manage to allow myself breathing after these three stunts, I mean who misses three fucking flights? But the universe taught me that it’s really not a big deal, not the end of the world (literally,) that some day I will visit when the time is right. I knew I’d see my friends another day if not in Paris or Belgium – sooner than I had thought.
 
Final ticket out of Girona airport, eleven hours awaited, I was on my way…
 
 Back to London, UK: Plane was late, so my arrival was late. Enduring the agony of a full day at an empty airport, it hurt. It landed a quarter to 1am, where trains stop running. I was in butt fuck nowheresville. Caught the last train for the last 15 minutes, which officially cost me the last of my credit on my card. I made it as far as another butt fuck nowhere. I was sick at this point, cold, tired, distressed, lonely, and angry. I was contemplating sleeping outside. I ended up on the train attendants floor, grateful to at least have a roof over my head. I got out of there fast the next morning, Desperate measures call for poor judgment, but luckily I can also be a fighter, not a lover, in this case.
 
Next stop, Amsterdam, Holland:
I ended up meeting one of my friends from Dublin again, as it happens. People can connect in more ways than one. We wanted to get out of London so we found cheap tickets to Amsterdam, yippee! and thank you…
 
Get there and we are ecstatic to know it’s cool the second we walk off the station. We had a lovely ride passing through Belgium (I got to go there in the end anyhow) and ironically, ran into the friend at a random club the very same evening whom I was supposed to meet in Belgium from the start!? How does that happen now? I’m not going to elaborate my history or relationships with either of these friends, but it was tremendously awkward. It was good to see him again of course, but a shock. I felt terribly guilty, like a child who got caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Being a single, young woman traveling is sometimes complicated. You are free and falling in love with many things, experiences, places and people. It’s romantic to be in a circumstance where it’s all the more fantasy driven and in the moment, knowing it won’t be able to last. It won’t be able to tarnish you and it feels more sacred. I’m not insinuating any of my relationships with anyone were meaningless or superficial, just not too sensible. When a heart is touched you never forget it, despite how far, but there are a lot of touching situations in this life, you can’t allow yourself to be limited. Traveling is fulfilling and heart breaking at once, but ‘carpe diem’ does suitably apply, otherwise feelings conflict. Just allow it to be what it is and enjoy it while you can. Doesn’t necessarily mean it’s not real, perhaps just unrealistic.
Am I sounding bitter-sweet?

Anyhow, enough about me, Amsterdam is definitely a wondrous place. The Dutch are some of the most delightful people I’ve ever encountered. I reckon everyone is so nice and content because marijuana is legal and sex is everywhere.

We were supposed to stay at this dudes place the next few nights, but that’s another weird, long story where the state of affairs involved a lot of weird men sleeping on the floor, (deja vu) so I won’t go there, and we didn’t actually stay there either. Phew! Although I did get busted in the hostel that night for taking a free spot. Someone must have spilled the beans, but the owner accepted my passport and my poor friend had to pay for my consequence in the morning.
 
We both would have loved to stay longer but time was ticking. On our last day we doubled up on a bike for a quick tour, saluted each other to a shot and bid our adieus to the damn amster.
 
Then back on the bloody bus, a long turmoil of a ride in the night.
 
Back to UK, again, and last:
More good-byes here, kisses.
  
‘Foot in mouth disease’ and ‘Blue Tongue’ epidemic had died down a bit this visit. The poor cows, if they were human then they would be treated with antibiotics, but as they are only considered slaughter, so will be their fate. What is England without Sunday roast beef?
 Monks in Burma were still praying when I left.
 
 During my trip I felt everything, at times my experiences seemed long (ie: waiting at airports, bus stations etc, got a lot of reading in though) and at times far too short (numerous occasions of joy and serenity). If I had more time and money however, I would still be there no doubt. Currently I am couch surfing in my backyard once more, just as I had left it before the start of my travels, with more yet to come. I just had to say so many good byes to so many marvelous people, now I have to do it again to my friends for a year who’ve been around for years. It’s only a year, it’s not good-bye, it’s see you around soon.

Thanks to Sam, Jo, Kit, Mike C, Alex, Christine, Chris, Julian, Hannah, Mike M, Marc, Francesco, Vincent, Catherine, Marion, Claire, Jean Pierre, Jean Michelle, Danielle, Henric, Stephen who likes to party, Simon, Leonie, John, Arna, Mic, and Jonathan, especially Cillan and everyone else I met along the way. It was a divine pleasure and I hope to meet you one day in near future, either in the same place or at another. Keep in touch suckers! And for those who are also continuing on, bon voyage, maybe we’ll bump into each other.
 
I have to say, that was unforgettable, very much so, through the thick and thin. Barcelona was my favorite because I spent more quality time there to adapt, but funny enough I think I’d choose to live in Dublin, I would live there over France or England anyday, though both brilliant and unique, places I’d like to visit. Holland seems great but I only saw Amsterdam, which is great fun but also very touristy, the novelty would run out after a while. The next time I return to Europe I am going with an excessive amount of money, like over my budget. I’m going to settle in one place to work for a month or two and I’m leaving my tickets open for the emancipation of moving on!
 
Obviously I have a lot of other enchanted tales to tell, however all too personal to share and my behavior cannot be excused in a few cases.

I can reveal that I am now a little more prepared as a person for my next adventure which is now in ten days from now…and I have two black holes in two bank accounts!? I’m actually in the minus. Ha ha, so much for prepared, but remember I said the universe has a way of sorting things out? It’s only money. I have realized my independence this trip, but also recognize that I have to accept help and practice undoing some of my stubborn conduct.
 
 Next stop, Asia – Australia, one year:
Hong Kong Dash
Tabytha Towe in Hong Kong
I just laughed to myself hysterically reading a Chinese sign called Chum Hung Kok
Australia - Part Two
Tabytha Towe
Melbourne is a pretty damned phenomenal city! It has everything you need and has well planned transit systems to get around from suburb to centre and back.
Tales of OZ
Tabytha Towe
Leaving Thailand nearly a month ago was extremely surreal and rather hard to let go of. I was still stuck in Thai mode for a few days until I realized, abashed and confused, that ‘shit, I’m in Australia!’
Save Your World
Tabytha Towe
Oh what a day! Hanging out with my girl friends nude on the beach, I can’t think of anything better.
Tabytha Towe takes Europe
Whirlwind adventures for our Vancouver Girl. Never Fly with a hangover
Hong Kong Dash
Tabytha Towe in Hong Kong
Welcome to Chum Hung Kok
Let Sleeping Dogs Thai
Tabytha Towe
Every dog you see here are either lying on the ground dehydrated and too hot to move, or either scavenging for food.
A Long Farewell to Oz 2009
Tabytha Towe
Landing in Australia I knew immediately there was a special voyage ahead of me. I didn't expect myself wanting to be there longer than nine months, maximum. I already had my flight booked for home by a specific date! But that was back then..... 
 
© Tabytha Towe May 2007-May 2009
tabythat at hotmail.com

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