Cheers to the solo ladies

Day 100 of the project, 
somewhere outside Port Elizabeth, South Africa

There can be many challenges in being a single female traveler. Security and acceptance of your solo status are obvious. Other issues are less obvious--when is the last time you had to figure out the word "tampon" in Hungarian? Or tried to explain the necessity of a 15-euro pedicure to a bewildered male bunk mate?

In spite of the nuisances, being a solo female traveler strengthens you beyond measure and opens your heart in a way you never thought possible. And perhaps the best reflection of that openness can be found in the relationships with other women.

White noise

Day 76 of the project, 
Vis, Croatia

"Your schedule has been very aggressive, Jenn. It makes me tired listening to it."

"It's not so bad. I see the highlights in every city. It is like the tapas version of Eastern Europe."

"You need to slow down."

Much as I hate to admit it, my German friend was right. For almost three full weeks, I had bounced from capital city to capital city without spending more than three full days in any given location. And while I had seen the major sights in six countries, it was starting to become white noise. The tipping point was when I purposefully avoided the art museum in Budapest...something I would never do in my ordinary traveling life. As a lovely Welsh acquaintance said so eloquently, "You need a vacation from your vacation."

So upon the advice from three different people hailing from three different countries, I chose the coastal delights of Croatia to slow down. I arrived in Split on an overnight train from Ljubljana, ready to fill the prescribed dose of tranquility. As the sun rose over the water, I leaned out the train window and allowed the salty air to fill my lungs. I was ready for some sunshine, bikinis, aquamarine water and beach bars. And unofficially, I was ready to face my new personal reality.

Lost and found

Day 4 of the project 
Lima, Peru

One of my unspoken fears was that I had lost my Spanish. The lack of formal study and any semblance of verbal practice over the last few years left me with a scary number of blanks and "yo no se"s when walking through San Francisco's Mission district. Chile and Peru are full of English speakers, but South America and Spain are the only places where I can hope to converse in the local language. And hopefully reinvigorate my Americanized brain.

Researchers have compared the brain to a network of roads. The ones that get the heaviest use are like freeways and information flows quickly. The least used are back roads must be navigated slowly and with care. The metaphor makes sense, though I was terrified that my Spanish was going to be like an Arkansas dirt road: pot-hole-riddled and embarrassingly red.

This is 30

80 days until the project begins

American culture has a distinct perspective on age. As kids, we cannot wait to grow up, wear great clothes, have older boyfriends and be the masters of our own universe. It is a short, rose-colored ideal, to be sure. As adults, we frantically try to reclaim our youth with miracle creams, younger boyfriends and avoiding the responsibility of managing universes. We seek to recreate that (perceived) better past self...ironically the one that couldn't wait for the future.

Prologue

"You must have been planning this for a while." The very patient booking agent for American Airlines had been on the phone with me for two hours. Which was probably a long conversation for someone who, up until 8am that morning, had not heard about my upcoming travels. 

To say I'm traveling is a bit of an understatement. More like taking a page from the explorer Ferdinand Magellan with 21st century upgrades. Mostly this means a compression of time and space. I am still going to circumnavigate the globe. Just by plane/train/automobile instead of boat, in six months instead of two years. Or at least that is how the agenda stands now. 

The concept is hardly new, at least to me. And to my beleaguered friends and family, who have been listening since the seed of an idea took firm root. This wanderlust has deep roots. My mother still laughs about my rather abrupt departure on my first solo flight (I was seven and had a miniature pink suitcase, thankyouverymuch). Since then, a collection of adventures has stoked an inextinguishable fire. This one started after reading about a hacker's successful use of frequent flyer miles and crystallized when, after nearly a bottle of wine and an excel spreadsheet, that I could achieve it too.