Barbados

Dear Williamson family,

When I think of Thanksgiving, I think of sitting around Aunt Karen's dining room table, catching up after a busy year over carrot ginger soup, turkey, stuffing, corn casserole, vegetables, and delicious desserts. I thought about sharing the traumatizing story of the Thanksgiving where I painstakingly slaved away in the kitchen attempting (and failing) to make the celebrated corn casserole, only to soon discover my Aunt Karen had left "eggs" out of the recipe she'd sent me. But I won't go into that story. It's still too soon.

I missed you all on Thanksgiving! It wasn't quite the same on the ship. In fact, we had class on Thanksgiving - it was a typical day at sea. However, I did have the chance to partake in something really special in Barbados, which is what I consider to be my true Thanksgiving this year.

I am thankful to have met my friend Akilah on Semester at Sea this fall. There aren't words to describe Akilah properly - spunky, maybe, but that doesn't cut it. Her parents and siblings live in Boston, but the rest of her family is from Barbados, and thus she is still very connected to the island. As hungry college students, our first question for Akilah was: 1). Are you going to visit your grandmother in Barbados? and 2). What time should we show up for dinner?

She did not disappoint. Not only did her grandmother invite us over for a meal, but the Armstrong family got together in what was a family reunion of sorts on behalf of Akilah's arrival, allowing us to join as honorary Armstrong's for the day.

The event was held in an open air establishment called "Doorless" Bar, and from our seats we could see aunts, uncles, and cousins emerging from cars with foil-covered trays of food. Each family member had made their own specialty dish, and they all greeted the six of us, Akilah's friends, warmly and enthusiastically as they carried heavy trays of food to the buffet table. Akilah greeted young cousins she'd never even met before and aunts and uncles she'd hadn't seen for years. We watched with a kind of voyeurism reserved for those who are truly homesick, but in truth we were genuinely, sincerely happy to see Akilah so happy.

I'm not ashamed to admit it - I led the buffet line. I dug into fresh rice, spicy curry, macaroni pie, Bajan lasagna, fried fish, shepherd's pie, cole slaw, potato salad, and - to my great surprise and pleasure - corn casserole. This truly was going to be Thanksgiving. We were with friends, our adopted family, and overloaded plates of good home-cooked food.

The best item on my plate was, hands down, the lasagna. It didn't taste like traditional lasagna - it was much sweeter, and saucier, and even had corn in it. Let me just say (with my greatest efforts not to sound pretentious, because that's not how I ever mean to be) I've been to Italy. I've had lasagna in Italy now, thanks to Semester at Sea. This was better.

After this spectacular lunch, the men began a loud, heated game of dominos that somewhat reminded me of games of bid whist back home, except terrifyingly more intense and intimidating. At the kid table (I didn't think I'd ever have to say those words again) the six SAS kids, along with Akilah's younger cousins, played a few rounds of Jenga, the game with stacked blocks. The kids were incredibly sweet, curious, and funny. We eventually began our own game of dominos, but the 7 and 11 year olds beat us so badly that us college students soon admitted defeat. I'd tell you the scores, but I think I'd rather save myself the embarrassment. Apparently an extra 10 years of life means nothing where dominos are concerned. I'll be practicing, though, Armstrong family - next time you see me, I'll be a pro.

I feel lucky to have been an Armstrong for the day. Even though I'd just met them that day, I felt like I'd just had Thanksgiving with family I'd known my whole life. Thank you, Akilah, for allowing me to be a part of that special moment.

I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving, Williamson and Perkins families! I am thankful for all of you.

In case you are wondering, there are KFCs all over Barbados, as well as a local chain called Chefette. I went with local chicken this time, and it was great - everything fried chicken should be. 

Happy Thanksgiving! Next stop Cuba.


Love,


Nicole
 

Brazil

Dear blog readers,

I know, I know, it's been a month or so. I can tell what you're thinking: I've become one of those lazy blog writers who abandons her blog mid-journey. I have given up on you.
That's not the case. After leaving Barcelona, we spent two weeks braving the Atlantic to travel to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. After 7 wonderful, warm days in Brazil, we again boarded the ship for a 7 day sail to Barbados. So here I am 4 weeks later, finally writing to you - I apologize for the break.

There is so much to say about Brazil. I loved everything about it - the music, the colors, the food, and the people - so many different shades of people. Space is limited, however. So instead, I'll tell you about the two times in Brazil I appealed to a higher power. As an aspiring politician, it makes me cringe to talk about my religious beliefs. I've always been told it's one of two topics (politics and religion) that are not part of polite conversation. Yet I find myself needing to tell this story.

On the third day in Rio de Janeiro, some friends and I took a trip to see Christ the Redeemer. The statue is iconic - the large, grey statue of Jesus Christ sits atop a tall, lush green mountain, overlooking the city of Rio and the ocean beyond. To get to the base of the statue, you can complete a two to three hour uphill hike through the rainforest, or you can take a van or convenient tram through the trees right up to the entrance to the site. You can guess which option I chose.

As the open air train (you guessed it) climbs swiftly up the mountain, you begin to realize you're in the clouds. The mountain is actually so tall that you can look down on the clouds below hanging over the city of Rio. Unfortunately in our case, we chose the only rainy, cloudy day of the 7 days to visit the site. Instead of powderpuff clouds hovering over a strikingly blue ocean, we were climbing up into thick, humid fog. 

The train stops and you climb 300 or so steps to get to the base of the statue. Then you're there - it's you, Christ, and 360 degree views of rainforest and city and ocean. In our case, the view lasted a good ten minutes. Then it was endless views of cloud, cloud, and more cloud - followed by torrential downpours.

At the base of the statue, Semester at Sea's psychologist Melissa asked me to take a photo of her with Christ. I bent down low to get them both in the frame, then snapped five to ten rapid pictures of her and the statue, which in its grayness almost blended in with the clouds. I returned her phone to her, and wandered away.

A minute later Melissa came up to me, phone in hand.
"Do you see this picture?" she asked me. I looked at it. It was one of the ones I just took.
"What about it?" I shrugged.
"Look at this bird in the corner!" she exclaimed. 

In the picture was Melissa, standing in front of Christ. On the left side, over the statue's right shoulder was the perfect silhouette of a bird, perhaps a raven, in flight. Against the grayness of it all, it was striking. It was mysterious. It seemed impossible. I taken the picture myself. No bird had ever flown past. I had taken the pictures on an iPhone in rapid succession, yet none of the other pictures showed any evidence of a bird flying past. It was eerie.

At this stage in my life, I wouldn't describe religion as central to who I am. I'm in my 20s, and I'm content to use this time (my youth) to explore, and to think about what religion means to me. As a natural skeptic, I wanted to believe this picture was a fluke. Honestly, I'm sure this happens to tourists all the time. At the base of Christ the Redeemer, they somehow see God. It sounds like the caption of a vacationer's Facebook photo: "Saw God at Christ the Redeemer this morning!"

I was scared, though. Melissa was scared. We looked at each other, and didn't know what to do. Melissa was convinced it was her late grandmother, speaking to her from afar. I was convinced it was God, telling me to believe. I didn't want to look at the picture anymore.

I'm not telling you to believe it, or to judge me, or to explain it. I do believe it was some kind of tourist miracle that happens to maybe ten out of a hundred tourists, kind of like those people who see Jesus on a piece of toast or an ear of corn. But I want to share it because it impacted me, and I can't get it out of my head.

Now, on to the second time a higher power played games with me in Brazil.

We took a flight from Rio de Janeiro to Salvador, Brazil, where the ship repositioned during our 7 days. The plane was filled with many Semester at Sea kids, who, instead of staying on the ship for the two days while it went from Rio to Salvador, chose to take a two hour flight to maximize on time in-country. It was an average sized plane - I was in row 38, and there were three seats on each side.

The first indication that I should have been worried was the subpar takeoff. Imagine the plane swerving down the runway - I don't know, maybe the pilot saw a squirrel or something, and took a sharp left - and zigzagged down the entire length of the runway. The liftoff was abrupt, as if the pilot forgot he was supposed to be taking off and at the last minute pulled the lever or whatever. This was strike 1.

After a decent twenty minutes or so of flying at cruising altitude, the turbulence began. It felt like driving a beat up car over a never-ending series of speed bumps. Do me a favor: if your sitting down, sway back and forth in your seat a little bit, slowly. That's what it feels like to endure choppy seas on a big ship. Now, pretend someone has grabbed your arms and is shaking you like a rag doll. That's what this flight felt like. This is not a motion sickness I was prepared for. The flight attendant handed me my complimentary cup of lukewarm water, and before I could even bring it to my mouth it had spilled over all three seats. 

We passengers smiled nervously to each other, but eventually it got so bad we slumped in our seats for what I can only assume was individual prayer. I know that's what I was doing. I said my final mental goodbyes, hoped they'd ship my body back to the States, and implored whatever higher power is up there to just give me one last chance. The captain, finally, came on the intercom to say that "it might get bumpy up ahead" (wait - was that last 20 minutes of torture not bumpy?) and that's how I knew I was a goner.

*Spoiler alert*: I lived. He slammed the plane down in sunny Salvador, and we went on with our days. But whoever's up there in the sky had fun that day, I can tell you that.

Brazil was wonderful. Sugarloaf Mountain is beautiful, Brazilian barbecue is to die for, and sugar cane vodka is not your friend. 

I can't wait to share some photos when I return.

Much Love,

Nicole

 

Barcelona, Spain

Dear Colleen,

As the the theory goes, the longer you have to do something, the more you will procrastinate doing it. So, knowing that I had a leisurely 14 days at sea to write about Barcelona, it took me ten of them to finally get around to doing it. Alas, at long last, my letter from Barcelona.

I think its important for every traveler to experience at least one place on their own - totally solo. Barcelona was my solo port. I wasn't sure how to describe my time there at first, since I didn't hit any of the tourist spots that make Barcelona such a rich and exciting place to visit. Instead, I spent my days there wandering the streets, hoping for the mysteries of the city to unlock before my eyes, and for opportunity to spring up organically - I kind of relied on fate.

Fate had my back, so to speak. I did have a good time taking in the city from street-level. I spent a whole day walking through a neighborhood on the far side of the city, trying to enter as many shops as I could. I met an Indian man who invited me to his restaurant down the street, and discovered the difficulties of reading an Indian-language-to-Spanish-language menu. I spent an hour in the only black beauty salon I've seen in Europe, mostly because it felt like home but also because I bonded with the owner, who told me more about life in Spain from a minority standpoint. I also treated myself to a traditional Spanish meal of seafood Paella with a sweet and crisp glass of sangria. Perhaps my favorite encounter, however, was meeting two incredibly sweet men in a nightclub off La Rambla working to improve understanding of the transgender community.

Finally, I continued my super scientific analysis of KFC chicken strips world-wide (what started as a casual craving for fried foods in earlier ports has become a tradition I'm reluctant to abandon) and I have to say it - Spain, you could do better. Chicken quality? Poor. Crispiness? Lacking.

I want to take a minute to talk about the difference between a tourist and a traveler, which has been a big theme throughout the voyage and an idea I've embraced in the majority of ports I've visited. So - what's the difference?

A tourist is a person who focuses more on checking items off a list than seeing the place itself (for example, visiting Pisa only to see the leaning tower; or, a person who sees the Eiffel Tower and thinks, "okay, I've seen Paris now.") A tourist snaps a picture without bothering to really see what's in the viewfinder. A person who takes pictures of people without asking for permission, and who doesn't bother to stop and say a word to the subject of her new photograph. A tourist passes through.

A traveler immerses herself, no matter how long she is there for, in the local culture. She chats with people on the street, in cafés, in bars, maybe even talking to one person for hours. A traveler is engaged, active, curious. A traveler questions her stereotypes and beliefs, and substitutes past prejudices with newly made memories. A traveler leaves each place changed. A tourist is merely a visitor.

To be honest, in Barcelona I would say I was neither. I was there, but I didn't fully connect with the city. However, there are places where I would absolutely say I took in that place with all my heart and soul. Belgium, Poland, France - those are places I saw.
I'm sure there are much better descriptions of what I've just said, because it's a popular notion. I encourage travelers present and future to embrace it.

The more I make plans for my return to WashU, the more excited I am to see you, Colleen! I'm excited that we're taking a class together in the spring (I've said it publicly so it's gotta happen now). Thanks for your update emails - you always keep me in the loop. I can't wait to hear about all the new experiences you've taken on this semester at wustl.


Much luv,


Nicole

Rome, Italy

Dear Priyanka,

You'll never believe what happened in Italy! I was with my fellow students at the Trevi fountain in Rome, when this tall, dark, and handsome Italian man approached me, mistaking me for his friend Isabella. I met up with him later that day, and it turns out he was a famous pop singer, and my lookalike Isabella was a mega-famous superstar too! Long story short, I ended up performing in place of Isabella at a sold out show in the colosseum, and was on the cover of international magazines, and now I'm basically super famous.

(Okay, fine. This is the plot of The Lizzie McGuire movie, and not at all like my life. I went to the Trevi fountain, and instead of an Italian man made friends with an extra-large gelato. But I'm sure if I'd waited at the fountain a moment longer, it would have happened. For sure).

I had a really good time in Italy, lack-of-international-fame aside. We docked in Civitavecchia, Italy, and from there some friends and I took the train to Rome where we stayed for the next three days. We started the trip with romantic notions of going to Florence (which I really, really wanted to see!) or maybe Pompeii or Pisa. However, after just a few hours in Rome we discovered that there are just so many things to do, see, and eat, that we could not even imagine leaving Rome without hitting all the highlights. Even after three days of sore feet, torn maps, and bloated bellies, I still feel that I can never really see enough of Rome. I could be a tourist there for a month. I could be a traveler there for a year, and still want to see more.

My friends and I stayed in an air-bnb steps away from the Vatican, and from there were able to explore the Vatican Museum, Sistine Chapel, St. Peter's Basilica, the Colosseum, and the Pantheon. Almost as much as the iconic art, my time in Rome was characterized by the apartment we stayed in. Our air-bnb apartment was a one bedroom meant to sleep six, but for all three days, we had eleven people. I snagged the middle spot of a lumpy pull-out couch mattress between a snorer and a blanket-stealer, but the experience was one of the best I've had in my life. 

Because you are in the art school, Priyanka, I don't think I could possibly describe the beautiful works of art I saw in a way that would do them justice. My takeaway from the Sistine Chapel is a blurry selfie of me, Adam, and God from "The Creation of Adam" (I kid. To see it in personal was spectacular and moving). Sistine Chapel is absolutely breathtaking. 

I also can't even begin to describe how the phrase "molto bene," which I thought could carry me through any situation in Italy, wasn't exactly enough.

I can't wait to hear all about your experience in Florence this spring. In just a few months you'll be in Italy and I'll be at WashU! I'll need daily (okay, weekly) updates on your life please and thanks.

xoxo,

Nicole

Morocco

Dear Meghan,

I haven't talked to you in awhile, so I thought: what better way to say hey and ask about your wellbeing than an incredibly public forum with a widely varied audience? And so I ask: how are you? How is your study abroad experience?

I have just (well, a week ago, but I'm a tad behind on the blog posts) returned from Morocco, and it was an incredible experience. Having spent so much time in Europe thus far, which is unique but also in many ways similar to the US, it was refreshing to go to a place that's so different. The air was so hot and dry! The flavor combinations in food so unexpected and delicious! The squat toilets so horrific and awkward!

While in Morocco, I did a camel trek organized by Semester at Sea. Our journey started in Casablanca where the ship was docked, and continued from Marrakech through the Atlas Mountains, all the way to the Sahara desert. The trip included a grueling 24 hours of driving round trip to cross the entirety of Morocco, so the best categorization I can think of for the experience is Morocco: eating, sleeping, driving.

I would write paragraphs and paragraphs of unnecessary descriptions to simulate the pain of hours and hours of driving, but I'm a benevolent blog author so let's just say that after two days of driving through beautiful red-orange mountains we arrived at a spot a few hours outside of Ouarzazate where our camels were stationed.

I would love to know the person who looked at a gangly hump-backed camel and said to themselves, "gee, that looks comfortable, I think I'll ride that!" That person should be institutionalized. If anyone ever told you they enjoyed riding a camel, they are lying to you and romanticizing what is generally awkward and uncomfortable. Personally, I loved every minute on the camel and had a great time traversing the desert from high up. Wrapped in my headscarf, swaying side to side as my camel and I climbed sandy, windswept dunes, I had a bit of an emotional experience as I reflected on where I was (Africa) and what I was doing. To be honest, I think I might have gotten a little more caught up in my feelings than the situation called for. While my fellow voyagers were being the loud, unruly American teenagers they often are, I couldn't stop comparing myself to the Three Kings going to visit Jesus. My knowledge of the Bible is limited, but rest assured my imagination ran wild on this camel trek. I'm going to stop here before I say anything offensive in regards to religion. But anyways, that's what was going through my head, and the bottom line is that camels are not at all comfortable.

We rode our camels an hour and a half into the desert to a nomad camp where we spent the night, located only 15 kilometers from the border of Algeria (which to me seemed incredible and unfathomable). I will openly admit that before this trip I was absolutely terrified for this night in the desert, mostly given that I am terrified of the outdoors and everything that comes with it. I spent hours considering whether death by scorpion sting, snake attack, or infected bite from rabid camel would be the worst way to go. Like most things in life, these concerns dropped away once I was actually there. I spent most of the night barefoot wandering through the camp, digging my feet in the sandy dunes without a second thought. The camp was beautiful, shrouded in pale moonlight from a full moon, and so isolated amid a vast desert. It was so beautiful that I forget to be scared.

Other highlights from the trip include the fabulous shower I took the day after the nomad camp visit, bargaining in the market in Marrakech, and watching Arab Idol on TV (in the most disappointing moment in the history of disappointing moments, my favorite singer got voted off). Also, I've been doing a cross-cultural examination of the varying qualities of KFC chicken around the world, and I have to say Ireland still gets my vote for best KFC chicken strips (Morocco is a close second).

Meg, I can't wait to hear more about your time thus far in Chile! Especially your interactions with the local people - I'm so jealous of that experience! Keep me posted. Also, I am finding it impossible to believe our study abroad experience is halfway over! I'm just a tad freaked out since I've been avoiding certain basic questions like: where will I live in the spring? what classes will I take? Will I have friends? and whatnot.

Miss you!

Love,

Nicole

Portugal & Spain

Dear Mom,

Thank you so much for coming on the Parent Trip! I had a great time and I'm glad I got a chance to see you mid-voyage. As I've said in the Ireland blog post, I was on my death-bed (okay, it was merely a bad cold, but still...) and I truly appreciate your help in recovering.

On the Semester at Sea-organized parent trip, we stayed in the beautiful Pestana Palace in Lisbon, Portugal, toured Evora and Sintra (including historic Pena Palace), and spent the night in Seville among other things. We also ate enough delicious fish for a lifetime. If you were worried I wasn't being adventurous enough in my dining pursuits, know that I ate fried shark and pig cheek, and both were awesome. 

On the last day in Cadiz, Spain, I took a special trip with my Travel Writing class to a nature preserve nearby. Since this is the one day I wasn't with you, Mom, I decided to share what I wrote about my experience. (We can pretend I'm not being lazy in reposting what I wrote for class).

The Wrong Stream

At a McDonalds in Cadiz, the menu board casts a neon glow across my face as I struggle with the all-important choice of alitos or patatas deluxe. Caught within dingy yellow and grey tiled walls, it's hard to imagine that just behind me, the waves of the Atlantic crash onto a wide stretch of soft sandy beach. In a few minutes the sun will set, likely to be strikingly picturesque, yet I am inside preoccupied with consumer concerns, too busy to step outside and take it in.

It's even harder to imagine that just a few miles away, a land more scenic, rugged, and beautiful exists, unknown to many a tourist. This is a place where nature runs free and where greasy McDonalds bags do not belong. The present has been stripped away, making room for traditions of the past.

   At La Esperanza, the longstanding tradition of harvesting salt continues within a natural landscape of salt marshes yellow-green with shrubbery and alive with the calls of sea birds.  On a day bright with blue skies I was welcomed to this foreign land for a few hours, so close to civilization yet still relatively untouched by human hands. Incredible work has been done to preserve the natural salt marshes that provide a home for birds and fish alike, in part through careful channeling of seawater from the nearby coast. It is through the care and passion of local Cadiz residents that this important ecosystem has survived and flourished.

While at La Esperanza, a group of caretakers and local residents were kind enough to demonstrate how they fish in the salt marsh. During this process, I was struck by a single image: that of a fish stuck in an industrial rubber glove. His head was wedged into the thumb of the glove while his tail flopped helplessly in the fifth finger, and I could not help but watch this fish and think of myself.

The fishing process involved drawing in a large fishing net inside a salt pond to capture the assorted fish within. Slowly, three men each took a corner of the net to draw it towards the bank of the salt pond, until a horde of fish thrashed within a tightly drawn net.  The fish were transferred from the net into black plastic tubs, where the fishermen inspected each fish for size and health.

One of the fishermen's gloves had fallen into the net during the process, and there was a single fish that had wedged itself tightly into the glove. Barehanded, our guide grabbed the fish and tugged gently at first, but with increasing intensity as he wouldn't budge. She pulled and tugged, but he was stuck and if pressured any further would likely split in two. His two fins beat helplessly against his side as his body squirmed within the confines of the glove.

I'm not a fish in a glove, but I could not shake that same feeling of being trapped. I watched him twist and turn, and understood a similar feeling of having been in the wrong place. As a voyager, there are many dead-end trails that spring up without warning – missed opportunities, questionable decisions, unsolvable problems. Just the day before, I had let a magnificent sunset slip away for the sake of some fries and a large drink. Now, I was taking part in an intricate fishing experience that happens but a few times per year. This was the moment of a lifetime – McDonalds was something fleeting. I realized I'd been swimming up the wrong stream. If I allowed myself to miss these golden moments, I was simply a fish swimming into the neck of a glove, stuck, in my case, in my own complacency.

There is a magic to La Esperanza. Fish and birds coexist amid salt mines glistening bright like the surface of a frozen lake, nestled between sandy ridges of pale green brush. This is a magic I cannot turn my back on. 

That's it!



Thanks again Mom for a wonderful time, and I'm sorry to have gotten you sick! I sincerely hope you're feeling better! 

Love,

Nicole


 

Dublin, Ireland

Dear Stephanie (& Gary!),


Thank you so much for the recommendations for things to see and do in Dublin! It was super helpful planning-wise, and I think I managed to cross a few things off the list!


I had a great time exploring Trinity College, seeing The Book of Kells, and some of the churches in Dublin. I also visited Malahide Castle, the Leprechaun Museum (couldn't resist), and the Guinness Storehouse. And of course, I had a fun and safe time in Temple Bar.

One of the things my friends and I had been planning for Dublin was getting tattoos. Past SAS voyagers have gotten nautical themed tattoos as a way to commemorate this incredible journey, and we'd marked Dublin as the place to get ours.

Let me tell you about getting my tattoo.


After a wonderful first day of exploring the city and a casual night out of good-hearted age-appropriate fun, I woke up the next morning with a slight tickle in my throat. I was concerned but mostly nervous and excited because this was tattoo day and I had more important things to think about. I spent the morning touring Malahide Castle and then proceeding on to the Guinness Storehouse, increasingly concerned about what was transforming from a slight throat tickle into impending doom, aka the common cold.

I had a pleasant lunch and tour at Guinness and returned to the ship pre-tattoo for a quick nap. That's when everything descended at once: common cold hit food poisoning from lunch in a cruel, painful duel that left me lifeless in bed at only 4:30 on a Thursday afternoon.


My friends went to get tattoos, but sadly I was not among them.


The next day, emerging from my room like a bear from its cave, sick but determined not to waste another minute in Ireland, the opportunity presented itself again. A friend had yet to get her tattoo, and so we went together back to the same place.


Now, if you know me you probably know tattoos really aren't my thing. On this particular day, it was painfully obvious.


Imagine this: me, Nicole, with faux pearls, frumpy sweater set, virus-induced pink eye (Wikipedia tells me non-contagious pink eye is a common side affect of viruses/colds, so no need for alarm), tissue box in hand, in a tattoo shop at the back of a bar.


Not their typical customer.


Another thing you should know about me is that I'm not really a "comforter." That is, I'm extraordinarily awkward at comforting people in times of need. So here I am with my pack of tissues, my friend squeezing my hand like nobody's business, tears streaming down her face, and I'm totally out of my element trying to figure out what to say. The go-to "almost there!" and "doing great!" fell weakly from my lips in an unhelpful attempt to distract her from the pain.


So my friend (one of the strongest people I know) screamed and cried louder than I thought possible until the tattoo guy asked me to close the door because people were staring. And I stood there thinking: nope, this won't be me!


As you can see, the conditions weren't exactly ideal for a tattoo that day. But, honestly, they're not really my thing. Part of me wanted to get it because it's a thing that wild crazy teens do. Even writing that, I sound like a disapproving middle aged woman who judges kids and "newfangled" things.


I pretty much am that person. It's okay. 40 is the new 20.

Other than the debilitating virus that left me unable to leave bed for the majority of the trip, I had a lovely time in Ireland! Dublin is an awesome city, and I hope to return at some point.



Thanks again Steph for the good advice. I'm so glad I got to see you in August and I will keep in touch!


Love,


Nicole