Travel Pro

I like to act like I’m a traveling big-shot. I’m confident that I’m no Anthony Bourdain, but I view myself as a less nerdy version of Rick Steves. I have been to Europe twice, you know. The first time I backpacked through the Old World I jumped a plane a week after high school graduation and in six weeks visited England, France, Switzerland, Denmark, Sweden, Norway and the Czech Republic. I stayed in hostels, rode trains and practiced my French. Despite my American confidence and supposed travelling acumen, I also cried at a pay phone at the Gare de l’Est in Paris, got scammed $100 on a cup and ball street game in Stockholm and lost my travel partner in Geneva. I was determined to learn from my youthful errors and conquer Europe the next time around, hopefully without crying in a public place.

My next opportunity for adventure came at my honeymoon. I convinced my anxious and, honestly, sheltered bride to go on a trans-Atlantic dream trip with me. “It will be easy,” I said. “I’ve already been to all the places we’re going to go.” We saw lots of London, visited family in St. Ives and lay on the beautiful Basque beaches in France. Once again, despite my familiarity with our destinations, I managed to blow it like Michael Scott in a staff meeting. I ordered sardine pizza, got stuck in the hotel bathtub and, much to Andrea’s chagrin, did not know how to translate ibuprofen en Français.

This time, I’m not too worried about having a “perfect” trip. I’ve wanted to live in a different country since high school and I thought about it every time I turned onto HWY 9 south heading home after baseball practice. After I convinced Andrea to join me at St. Andrews, I thought the trip would be a breeze and that preparing for it would be even easier. But as the day approaches, I feel more and more like I reluctantly signed up for a sky diving lesson. I know that even if I jump, I’ll land safely, but the hardest moment isn’t the choice to sign up for sky diving in the first place, but the choice to jump. I know I’m going to jump; I am anxious to see how I respond to the wind in my face.