My Europe trip ended yesterday, and I spent the better portion of today vegetating in my house. It was glorious.
I come home with a few battle scars, like the huge burn on my arm from the frying pan while I was making our gourmet home-cooked last meal in Paris, or the many mosquito bite scars that line my legs and arms from our “open-window” policy in Italy (not smart), or the calluses on my palms from lugging around my 50 lb suitcase across 21 cities in 8 countries over 47 days.
I also come home with 34 postcards, 7 art prints, and 2 paintings. And of course, 27 GB worth of pictures, so that will take some time to sort out.
But most importantly, I come home with knowledge about the history, food, art, music, and people of Europe, and some incredible memories.
I have so many stories to share that I don’t know where to begin. I no longer think writing about my day-to-day in chronological entries is the best way to go, because I want to skip to the exciting parts, like my friends’ accident in Rome that almost landed all of us in hospital, or my one night with a Parisian boy in Budapest, or the Hungarian millionaire’s VIP treatment for us, or the five-floor night club in Prague, or the Singaporean boy who fell in love with me in Paris.
So yes, the stories will come. For now, I am just excited to be back home, chillin’ like a villain, because I desperately need a vacation from my vacation.














