I absolutely could not wait to share this news with you all. Are you ready?
I’ve been hired as a travel writer! I’ll be putting together articles for Points With a Crew, and already some of my stuff has been published!
What does this mean for us?
Well, nothing, of course. Spirits of Adventure is my baby and my blog, so keep up here for all my personal travel stuff, trip reports, etc. But if you’re jonesing for posts a little more often, I’m publishing five times a week on all sorts of different topics.
I’m completely elated for this opportunity. All my life I’ve wanted to be a writer (you know, the kind that makes money), and now I finally am!
It’s been a busy few weeks here in Carissa-town. Joni and I just got back from a week long trip to the UK, I renewed my annual pass to Disneyland, and- oh yeah- I worked at my job.
As always, my life is hectic to the point of chaos, but I’m used to it. Comfortable with it, even. I find peace on long-haul flights with nothing to do but watch movies and blog. It’s my safe zone.
But you know what isn’t my safe zone? Airports. More specifically, the Los Angeles airport. Have any of you ever flown through there? The place is a nightmare, a sprawling mess of dysfunctional security lines and angry customers, sprinkled all over with the dust of its constant construction.
So it was that Joni and I left five hours early for our flight to the UK, laden with luggage and bleary eyed, ready to spend three hours in LA traffic.
To our immense surprise, the drive took only a little over two hours, and we arrived with plenty of time to spare. In fact, we boarded our plane on time (me in peasant class, Joni flying fancy up front) and took off right as we were meant to.
Shortly thereafter, however, the pilot landed again, citing a “small engine issue.” An hour later, they had us deplane and bussed us back to the terminal, telling us to come back in two hours to board again.
At this point, we already knew we’d miss our connection in Amsterdam, so both of us were on the phone with KLM, who insisted that the plane had taken off as scheduled. You know, despite the fact that we were on the phone, talking, from a terminal in Los Angeles. The call ended with them doing a virtual shrug and advising us to call back later.
Ok, sure. So instead we headed back to our deplaning area, where a few harried gate agents were still typing furiously at their computers.
Why were they typing furiously? Well, it turns out that our entire flight was canceled, and rather than updating the system, they were instead rebooking every single person on the flight right then.
So it was that we were booked on a flight- not to Inverness- which was our original city, but to Edinburgh. And Joni? She was bumped from business to the back with Brit and I.
Ah well, at least we were going to make it? *foreshadowing intensifies*
By the time we made it out to the British Airways check in desk, which was our new airline, the entire airport was jammed full of angry re-accommodated passengers, all jostling each other for elbow room. Not to be deterred, Joni and I entered the special assistance line, which we were quickly dragged out of as British Airways informed me they ‘don’t accept dogs.’
Long story short, I ended up in a massive argument with the British Airways people, we nearly canceled our trip, and at the end of it all I ended up on an Air France flight connecting via Paris in premium economy, and Joni routed through London Heathrow on British Airways in sad regular economy. (Ok, she did purchase an upgrade to economy plus).
We met up in Edinburgh, our entire trip in disarray and zero plans left with what to do.
Annoying? Also yes.
But the redeeming factor? Since we were flying to the EU, our canceled flight fell under European flight delay jurisdiction, which meant that they owed Joni and I $682 each.
Considering I paid under $400 for my round-trip flight, how mad can I be?
Harrison and I travel differently. Oftentimes I enjoy the pure luxury of travel, sunbathing, swimming, free food, excellent drinks, etc. Harrison, on the other hand, judges the value of a trip by the level of discomfort he experiences while on it. And that’s a pretty cool measurement, I’ll agree. But it also leads to me doing things with which I am vastly uncomfortable.
Like going to a random stranger’s house and eating a dinner that they’ve prepared. Both in theory and in actuality it was really cool. But would I have ever done it on my own?
Not a chance.
He and I are good for each other, in that way. He drags me out of my comfort zone, and I make sure that we can afford to be there. It’s a win-win for both of us.
So it was that on our first day in Georgia, jet-lagged and miserable (me), we found ourselves the only two dinner guests of some Georgian folks out in the suburbs of Tbilisi.
I’ve got a ton of social anxiety, so I spent the entire first half of dinner trying awkwardly to keep conversation flowing. Things I learned? Russia sucks, nearly everyone in Georgia makes their own wine, and it’s customary at a party for (male) guests to drink out of horns.
Today I am writing to you from my economy(+!) seat, heading to Madrid for my very first international trip with Brit, my service dog. She’s currently laying on the floor, exhausted from the sprint to meet our connection in Houston. Kidding, that’s me. She’s exhausted from all the floor licking she’s done.
So, last I left off, we were talking about Harrison’s visit to California to meet my family, which went about as well as possible. He returned home just before Christmas, which was good, because for Christmas my family and I crammed four (and a dog) to a room in the Disneyland hotel.
It was actually super cool going to Disneyland for Christmas, and Brit did an amazing job as my service dog, diligently cleaning up any and all crumbs that I spilled.
A mere four days after Harrison returned home I flew out to Israel for a visit. Sadly, Brit wasn’t able to come with me, as Israel requires a rabies titer test (it takes an entire month to process!) and I hadn’t had one done yet.
As an aside here, I know some of you have probably seen my post about PTSD. There’s obviously no miracle cure, but I severely underestimated the effect Brit has/has had on me. So this trip was really difficult, as being separated from her is just…the worst.
Separation aside, this trip was cool for a couple of reasons, the first being that Harrison and I spent New Year’s in Georgia, which is next door to Azerbaijan and equally as weird.
We spent a total of five nights in Tbilisi, Georgia’s capital, and all of it was wonderful.
Georgians celebrate Christmas on January 7th and we arrived December 30th, which meant I got to celebrate Christmas all over again. Mostly it meant that the Christmas markets were alive and well, and the whole city was dressed up for the holidays.
As you all well know, Christmas is my most favorite thing in the whole world, so it was awesome to rewind myself five days and have more Christmas!
-Carissa, Brit “Floor-Snack”, and Harrison “Please Is Christmas Over Yet?”
I’m writing to you from the depths of economy on a long-haul flight from Copenhagen to Los Angeles. No, it’s not comfortable. Even less comfortable is the fact that I was assigned a middle seat (with no option of changing it!). Fortunately, the woman next to me begged me to change seats with her husband, who was in an aisle seat. I graciously complied.
Now, I’ve already told you about my trip to meet Harrison’s parents. What I haven’t told you about is his trip to meet mine. You see, Harrison may have two parents and a sister, but I’ve got five and three siblings. We’re a bit larger of a family.
So I finally enticed Harrison to fly to California, and I ended up meeting him at my apartment as he landed before I arrived home from Illinois.
I take it you all remember when I faced that gauntlet of his friends? It was a bit similar, as my entire family turned out for the special occasion of Harrison’s visit, including my father, who drove in from work just to (I think) glare disapprovingly at Harrison. That’s what Dads are for, right? We’re just lucky he didn’t whip out the pellet gun.
Day two after his arrival I dragged him to Disneyland, because of course I did.
In total Harrison spent a total of seven days in California, including a road trip of the Pacific Coast Highway.
Those posts are upcoming!
-Carissa, Harrison “This is a Psuedonym,” Diamond and Brit “The Snackiest of Snacks”
You know, we didn’t do all that many tours while we were in Budapest, in stark contrast to our previous vacations. I think it’s because as time has gone on we’ve become more desensitized to the common kind of tours. I mean, I think art is pretty and all, but I can only look at so many different paintings in so many different museums before I run out of energy.
That being said, we spent most of our trip in Budapest relying on rave reviews from others and my old favorite app, “Spotted By Locals,” to get around. Which is how we ended up at Szimpla Kert, one of the immensely popular ruins bars hanging around the Ruins District of Budapest (which, by the way, we were staying in. Yes, I’m great at locations).
Since Harrison and I are ninety year olds in young people bodies we showed up to this bar at 7pm, to grab some drinks and sit around judging people all night long.
No seriously, I basically spent the whole time making up stories about all the people sitting around us. Does that make us boring?
For those of you who don’t know, the ruins bars are immensely popular old buildings in the Jewish District of Budapest, formerly abandoned and now taken over by various hipsters who sell overpriced beer and host local concerts. In short, they’re super cool.
We spent all night at Szimpla Kert, chilling and hanging out, realizing only when we left how lucky we had been. You see, as old farts, we had showed up long before the crowds. But by the time we left, the line to get in was roughly 50 people long, wrapping around the block and back.
Now it’s been a month or two since I went to Budapest, seeing as how I totally failed to post for the last couple of months. However, I am pleased to tell you all that Hungary was my 40th country visited, 30th for Harrison, my male traveling companion, and we thoroughly enjoyed our time in this Eastern European country.
Hungary was actually my very first visit to Eastern Europe and I had high expectations. I’ve been all over the west, from Spain to Belgium, and have seen the hordes of tourists battling it out over mediocre museums. From what I’d heard, though, Budapest was positively bustling, a very beautiful city, and dirt cheap.
All these things were true. We spent only four nights, as Harrison and I both have limited time (for some reason he keeps running out of vacation time at work), but we Lived. It. Up.
Actually, we did probably one of my most favorite tours ever here, where a local guide took us around with vintage Polaroid cameras to all the best places in the city and let us take some awesome photos.
This served three purposes: one: it gave us the lay of the land, two: it gave us some amazing souvenirs to take home, and three: I mean how cool are vintage Polaroid cameras?!
I like to think of myself as pretty brave. I enjoy my solo travel, I’m always looking for the craziest thing to do wherever I go, and I’ve eaten more dubious food than I can count.
So when Harrison mentioned the CN Tower Edgewalk, I immediately volunteered. For those of you unfamiliar with this Toronto-nian landmark, it looks like this:
The Edgewalk part is up there at the veeeery top. It’s the world’s highest free walk, which means there’s no guard rail and you’re simply strapped to a thick rope as you circle around the tower, trying not to shit your pants.
Here’s the video. I’m the one looking like I want to die. If you scroll to about five minutes in, you can hear me cursing profusely as I attempt to walk backwards off the edge of the tower. No, I’m not kidding.
I mean, when it was finished I felt all victorious and all, but you could literally not pay me to do that again.
As many of you have likely noticed, Harrison tends to be in a lot of my blog posts. That would be because we are dating.
So, to that end, I went to meet his family this past September. Harrison happens to be Canadian, which is how I found myself for the very first time in the city of Toronto. I could talk crap about it, but I know he (and his family!) will read it, so I’ll refrain. Besides, I loved the city anyway. It’s large and metropolitan and really quite nice.
I will tell you that Harrison and I had been putting off meeting his family for over a year, as we both have serious commitment issues and he tends to be an overthinker. Nobody tell him I told you all that.
So the day finally came when I was to be introduced to his family, and it went a little like this: I flew in from one of my best friend’s wedding, where I was a bridesmaid:
And Harrison picked me up at the airport. He and I both poorly played it cool as we rolled my suitcase to the car and got in. It was a half hour ride to his parent’s home, and we made awkward, stilted conversation as we drove.
The atmosphere in the car was morbid- as if we were making our last, trudging steps to the gallows. He white-knuckled the steering wheel as I clutched his hand ferociously, my mind whirling with fear. “What if they don’t like me? What if they think I’m…weird?”
I mean, to be fair, I am weird. But they don’t need to know that!
Luckily, all my (and his) fears were for naught, as his family turned out to be amazing. I was greeted with hugs at the door, prompt bottles of wine, and excellent food. How much better could it be?
I also met all of his friends in a situtation that I-swear-was-not-like-a-gauntlet-of-introductions.
In short, I had an amazing, happy time. Nothing to fear. Nothing at all.