How to make pancakes

My dearest reader,

It has been a year.

As usual, time has passed. Seasons have changed and beards grown. The wise have become arrogant.

The arrogant have become stupid, the stupid have become electricians; the humble have grown wise and the electricians have grown rich. (I guess then if you give it long enough the humble will be rich).

And me? Since my last post, I have blossomed into a self controlled, emotionally stable, clear minded, clear skinned young woman; motivated by a desire to overflow my brimming happiness and joy into the lives of those around me- forever a support to those who suffer in dark paths I have walked and know well. I am the lamp in the darkened room, I am the pen that God writes with, an instrument to his grace, I know not of my future but I courageously face it with the strength of God’s hand.

Unless of course someone offers me a custard donut. Then I try to look disinterested for a while and distract myself….. and -ohhh look at this intriguing and beautiful flower- flour- dough- donuts- custard donuts- mouth- BAM diet over.

Re-read the paragraph above the one about custard donuts and replace every word starting with p with poo, s with shit, and g with grandma. We are all a bit lost, a bit lonely. The night out is a fabulous cover up until the lights are turned on and alcohol turns green in our stomachs and comes out our mouths in chunky bits of 12am maccas.

We are a bit expectant of better days- we feel temporary, anticipating a future self that will be fullfilled, happier, stronger, less alone.

And yet does it ever come? Do we just keep chasing the carrot right infront of our nose until we run ourselves off the cliff edge?

And who will cry at our funeral? Our family? Our friends? And then they stop crying and they slip back into their lives- they start going to work again, picking the kids up from school, anticipating the weekend, and then the next weekend, and the next... chasing their own carrot…the odd memory here and there of their dead companion’s laugh, her smile.

That is what we do here?

Yes, it is morbid, but is it reality? Why cover up with distractions if that is the reality? WE ARE ALONE!

SUCKED IN

I just was hoping you’d get awfully tearful, and then be forced to answer all my dreadfully dramatic and rhetorical questions with ‘no, christina! You are wrong! We are meant for more!’ and then you come to the conclusion that our search is one for God, and that we chase the carrot right through the gates of Heaven.

And then because you come to the conclusion yourself you stick to it more than if I just tell you straight out, and then you will get baptised and become catholic and you never would have known that it was all because of me and I guided your thoughts because I am a genius.

This is a whole lot of ramble and merely messy stabs at sarcasm to confuse you into thinking I am one step ahead- but I am also confused and don’t have a point, so I am just being sarcastically sarcastic and it has backfired into nonsense.

Nevertheless, I havent written in a good year and am rusty with my cohesiveness.

I promise you a better post next time.

If you are wondering about the title it is because I am hoping it is one of those common questions people pose to Google and so my blog will pop up and the unsuspecting victims will read my post expecting some sort of recipe but ending up at this paragraph (if they have made it) and thinking 'what a terrible let down'.

Well, fine.

Here:

Pancakes:

Ingredients:

- White Wings Pancake mix (325g)

- As much water as it says on White Wings Pancake Mix (325g)

Instructions:

1. Follow the packet directions.

Happy eating!

Post 62

Well, my first post from Sydney. And last.

Following on from: "I'm not going to write any more blogs"

Yep. I've been avoiding writing this post for a while now. This post will contradict half the things I have ever written in this blog. If you remember, I quit weeks ago actually writing about feelings etc. and as such had resolved to simply write about interesting things I'd done, as a sort of traveling diary. As I wrote these "interesting things", they sounded even more menial than the former sort, dumbing down some of the best experiences of my life that were so perfect while they lasted. And now after the memories, the best I have are the visuals. The photographs, which I treasure because the pictures take me back. And even though the pictures can't depict everything I ever did, and the smiles are sometimes unnatural, I do look that little bit happier, and that's what I'll remember. The rest, only I can fill in. But that's what's great about it.

Some people can write about normal, even menial, stuff really brilliantly. I cannot even write about normal, brilliant things brilliantly. Since I am no longer traveling, nor doing anything remotely worth reading about (other than the post-travel withdrawals; boredom with normal life; future hopes and plans that, in actuality, might never happen) there will be no more blog posts. Nor even private writing which, for me, intensifies dark thoughts and momentarily fools me into thinking that simply because it's written there, disguised as a more-or-less finished thought-paragraph, that it's somewhat logical. It is not. Writing also forces the thought to remain in the brain longer than it should. Holding that glass of water is not a strain for the ten seconds it takes you to drink it. That same glass would, however, put an unnecessary strain on you should you continue to hold it for ten minutes.

This attempt to block negative thoughts is not limited to writing either. For weeks now, I have abstained from the private listening of music pretty well. Who knew you didn't have to take your earphones everywhere you go? I don't have to Google everything. And prayer? Well. I'll keep that one to myself. I'm trying to be more of a reader too, but the more I read, the more that selfish part of me wants to provide unnecessary input in the form of writing.

I am also weary of having a blog that is open to all the strangers in the world wide web, yet completely unknown to people I would consider real friends. When I meet new awesome people, I sometimes think whether I would show them this blog. The answer's always no. Where's the unity of life? Does that mean they're any less friends? It's not fair to any of them, I don't think. I hate having things to hide; I don't want these things to exist. There's a shame I carry with this blog, even though it always seemed so great writing it because of that mental trance it put me in. I'll stop here before I go on another tangent, and fall into the trap of everything I mentioned in the earlier paragraphs. 

Adios amigos. It was a good run while it lasted.

La Mercé

(Post set to draft one week ago in Barcelona and never reverted back to. It doesn't feel right to finish it now, but I'll finish it with some happy snaps instead..) 

Barcelona just gets better day after day.

I have been so lucky in this city as to experience a major annual festival right in the capital of Catalonia, with my experience infinitely enhanced by the fact that I'm spending it with real Spaniards themselves, who love and appreciate their fantastic culture. La Mercé is basically a cultural festival that runs for the few days leading up to the feast day of the patron saint here. For Spaniards, that means party. And they sure know how. It opened with some spectacular fireworks at the beach, followed by concerts held in Plaza España that featured both mainstream music from the US, as well as exotic South American beats, and Catalonian music to top it all off. Hundreds and hundreds of young people gathered at these huge concerts which reminded me a lot of the Stereosonic atmosphere, with less alcohol. I love how in Europe there seems to be less alcohol consumed, but can still be fun. The first one we went to began at 10pm or so and continued well until 6am. The following day's concert began a little earlier in order for teens to be able to come too. On Tuesday was the actual feast day, and we

I'm going to not write any more blogs

I don't think it is a very good use of time to blog.
I will not post, but I will keep writing only because it clears my thoughts and holds a record of my rational side for myself to refer to when i am stuck and lost in a pit.
I will keep it to myself in a document because I think it makes me even more self conscious to be representing my experiences.

And it makes me feel like one of those people who takes themselves so seriously, which i have always been but hoped so much that i wasn't.

If i were to have another blog, it would be at a time in my life that i could contribute to people's knowledge in some field, or provide them entertainment.
Since i can do neither, i post purely under the assumption that people care, which is a self centred and irritating thing for me to have fallen for in the first place.

Until further notice,
adios to all you caterpillars and people.

Barcelona. First impressions.

Arriving in Barcelona, one of the first things I noticed looking out from my bus were the amount of flags at the windows of all the apartment blocks. Sure the Spanish are patriotic, but a majority of these flags were surprisingly that of the province itself, Catalonia. The flag of Spain notably missing. Before coming here, mis amigas Madrileñas had told me about the political manifestations, resulting from a majority of Barcelonans actually wanting to be an independent Catalonia. To separate themselves from Spain. It's an issue that is weirdly captivating for me and I bring it up in almost every conversation whenever I meet someone new in Barca.

Barcelona es la mejor ciudad en el mundo. I didn't expect it to be. How it could beat my perfect experiences In Madrid and Zaragoza I'm not quite so sure. It's a pretty bold opinion for a first impressions post too. But Barca is the place in Europe I will one day live in! There is also this (not-so) friendly rivalry between Madrid and Barcelona. And not just in football. I've been trying to keep a sort of mental tally between the perks of each city in the back of my head. But today we walked those old streets that are typical in the standard image I have of Spain. We stopped every once in a while to taste the cheeses and sausages being sold at the markets. And enjoyed seafood paella and a long siesta at the beach. They sell mojitos, sangria and coconuts right there too, which I found really strange. I think all that just does it for me. Barcelona has practically everything  I loved about Madrid, just with different (though so far equally awesome!) people. The same wonderful language that I'm loving more and more. It also has all that vibrant culture and street life that's always attracted me most to Europe. Plus there's a beach. 

Again my host family is absolutely amazing and ridiculously friendly. It's a big family and we live in a huge (four story!) house towards the forests of Barcelona. It's the typical Spanish-style house and I have an amazing view from the window in my room. Apparently wild boars actually lurk out at the forests at night. One of Cristina's brothers always tells me about them. He's 12 and loves speaking Englishy Spanish with me. Pretty much the coolest kid ever - youtubes the National Geographic channel about dangerous animals in his spare time. Need I say more? Spanish kids are so much cooler than normal kids.

I have this real temptation to extend my stay! Or more realistically, come back to Sydney for a bit to drop off everything and say hi and catch up with everyone, then jet right back.

(Chelle?) Zaragoza

When I told all the Madrid girls I was going to Zaragoza for a good chunk of a week they told me I might die of boredom in a city where the main tourist highlights could all be done in a day. Well, I'd say they couldn't be much farther from the truth. I'll say it again but it really is the people that make a city awesome. What was I even doing there? To be honest, I was being strategic in that it's the city pretty much located at the exact midpoint of Madrid and Barcelona. And who can pass up another 21st birthday celebration in Spanish style? 

Zaragoza has a different feel to Madrid. It's older, and quite windy actually. But it was the first week of uni for the students here, so all my time was pretty much devoted to orientation and welcome events with all the international "Erasmus" students. Erasmus students are the exchange students coming from all over Europe. These events included things like bike tours, parties, and my personal favourite, "tapas tour", where we went on a tour around the city for the best tapas and cheap drinks in each one. Drinks are insanely cheap here by the way. 2 euros for a bottle of red wine is apparently expensive.

They all spoke Spanish at around my level as well, so it was a relief to be able to speak Spanglish with them, and there was a common ground for all of us that facilitated easy conversation, in groups and one-to-one. Everyone was insanely friendly, and had gone traveling, and had amazing stories to tell. When you say you're from Australia, their eyes light up thinking about such an isolated, 'exotic' country, and love to hear what you have to say. Some of them had even backpacked the outback themselves, making me insanely jealous, but stealing tips and ideas for future roadtrips myself. Plus it's a good idea to ask them about their own countries too, because that's when they offer you their place to stay for when you come back.

It was awesome staying at my friend's flat too, and really makes me want my own one somewhere in some little Spanish town down south. The place wasn't fancy or anything (typical student piso) but I just loved helping her set everything up a bit and go grocery shopping altogether, and the feeling of deciding what to make for breakfast, or get for the whole flat if it was a night-in, and even the whole excitement of having other people come over. 

(Christina) When I grow up I want to become a pebble

Here is a lovely little quote I once heard from a wise chinese man who lived in a cave at the top of a mountain.

‘When life gives you lemons

use them to build a fort around the opening of your cave

so that people don’t come in and bother you with their company

when you are trying to be wise.’

Okay little chinese man. I did make that one up, sorry to pull words out of your mouth and then make fun of them.

But all in all, half of the world needs to stop their living and start up their brains, to lead their life in the right direction.

The other half needs to get up from their cave and start learning through experience instead of controlling with seeked out knowledge.

What is the point in having knowledge if you don’t even apply it to helping others.

Asians are great. The ones where I live are quite quiet and come mostly directly from Hong Kong, so they arent westernised.

They often need a little distraction from study. I feel the need to help out here, by dropping a joke when I pass them, or dropping a noodle bomb when I pass them.

But the best thing about them is that they are incredibly ordered in their minds.

They are dominated by their thoughts rather than emotions.

This means less procrastination, efficient organising, neat rooms, neat sentences.

The caucasians have too many factors juggling in their heads. So many emotions ruling over thoughts.

Plus they all exaggerate their responses to teasing to fit in with a joking atmosphere whereas the asians throw a legitamite WTF face which is 24 carat gold.

Of course this is all generalisation and there are many exceptions to both stereotypes.

Oh, and I hate quotes. 

Look at this one.

Unfortunately a very intelligent man wrote this, so me poking fun at it will make me look either arrogant or shallow, or both. I can't help myself though.

Believe in yourself. You can change the world. The entire world. All you have to do is be crazy, and think you can. So go ahead, be a prime minister! 

...Or you can change the world in an even more influential way. Get all the people on the globe at the same time to run towards the east. That way, they oppose the turn of the world and slow down the rotation of the earth, lengthening all of our lives.

It is an incredible alternative to the laborious process of finding cures for disease, and even lessens heart problems by increasing fitness levels.

Yes, you go for it! Change the world!

Imagine if all of us tried changing the world. We would all be pulling and tugging it and trying to get eachother to look at us, and then who would empty the school bins? I find more commendation for the janitors of the world who are strong enough to prefer to go unnoticed, and influence people around them in unspoken ways.

Not to say that there isnt room for leaders, and shining people, because if all the good people were quiet then the world would be lead by mere ambition.

Just that the search for power is dangerous, even when it is done in the best of intentions. How many people can deflect the attention invariably showered on them, and pull their head away from the mirrors that everyone is shoving in their faces?

Pride is a sneaky slice of cheese. It wedges in, at first disguised by goodness.

It rarely attacks head on, because as soon as it is recognised, a person’s conscience tries to battle it.

An example is my trip to the Philippines for volunteer work in the slums. So many times I would have a sentiment come over me. It was a sentiment of apparent goodness. I would feel this sparkly emotion, one that told me I was a particularly good person for doing this good deed.

When in actual fact, all my acts were shining; they were visible. It sounds good, doesn’t it, to ‘volunteer in a poor country’. But the thing is, I don't lose out on a whole lot to give to the kids in the slums at the level I did it at.

So I was gaining a sparkly feeling, a hidden pride, when I was actually giving very very little, and what I ‘gave’ was all shining and categorically noble.

And yet how can you give if you havent consequently lost? It all sounds harsh, what I am saying. And i know no act can be done in perfect love and humility.
Its just that we have to be careful with how we 'love'. True love is a sacrifice. It is great to volunteer. It is great to be a nice person. But all these things are lit up, so you often gain more than you give, the whole time thinking you have done your bit in terms of being a good person.
This can relate to everyday happenings. Most of us give when it can be seen. Or when it is waved in front of our face so that it would be rude not to. 
It is safe to stay in this 'giving' zone. No pressure, no worries. A 'nice person'.

But I have seen now that true giving lies in the janitor way of things. Love works in the dark, since pride so easily takes hold. And it perseveres through no recognition.

We need to deflect the attention away from our actions so that neither we nor the receiver thinks about it too much. If we ponder on it, we give ourselves airs.
God is the only one to record it.

I fail so heavily in this regard. I know what I have to do, but I, like everyone else, am human and fall time and again, only to then get up time and again.

(Christina) Einstein's moustache becomes white when he laughs

Today I woke up and found Einstein staring at me in the mirror. How did he get there, you ask? The secret is to blow dry your hair before you go to bed.

He is probably one of my best pals; turns up at the most convenient times, like the morning of a party or a ball, or if I went on dates then the morning of a date, or on a Tuesday when I have chemistry lab with my cute instructor. 
Einstein and I are besties, its just that most of the time I have no clue what he is on about. He loves it!

So a good chunk of my time is spent writing shut-up-penna theories about the existance of God, or perceptions of truth and beauty and art and ridiculous throw up in your own mouth bandwagons like that.
I usually get so deeply obsessed with ‘finishing’ the theory; delving further and trying to come to the perfect truth that I end up on a branch that is incredibly specific and a few kilometres off the original point.

I then give up, having exhausted all my energy on this useless endeavour of half finished mess but not wanting to rid it completely, so I cut and paste my crap to the toilet, flush it, and keep it hidden in a word document on my laptop til kingdom come.

Im getting worse. Order to disorder, ye olde scientists say? Oh thou seemest to be right in every way-est. At least it has moved to the laptop and is not just contained to myself. 

So you know what I have decided to do?

Probably continue writing crap until the day I die.

Or, eat some fennel.

This solution is much more effective than the last.

Fennel was selling 1 dollar each at coles. So I bought 5 and put faces on them and lined them up on my asian neighbour’s pillow.

I have always eaten fennel by the pound when I have had the chance. It is like a healthy alternative to liquorice and a more interesting way of drinking water.

But you know what happens when you replace every snack with fennel? You are so full of fennel that you never want any food, let alone junk food, to enter your mouth ever again.

Anyway, back to the point, filling yourself up with ideas that are not damaging to your mental peace means eliminating the hunger your brain has for stimulation and analysis. It makes it forget about going walkabout and getting lost.

The fennel I will feed my brain is what I am meant to be currently doing; maths homework.

It doesn’t mean I cant enjoy pondering on throw up in your mouth bandwagon theories, it just means they will be limited to an unobsessive time restricted boundary.

Which means this will hopefully be the last blog I will write that is not connected in some way to outside my head. I apologise for the self centredness of the past few blogs. As I say, I write about external topics that everyone can relate to but they always make me frustrated and confused, so I end up taking a step back and writing about writing, or thinking about thinking which invariably involves me dwelling over my own brain.
If it wasn't such a hugely debilitating thing for me I wouldn't bother with it so much. Its just that every single day the racket and mess in my head makes me want to blow up or scream. Even though I can now deal with this blowing up feeling and have a more light hearted approach to things, it is still there. Anyway, that is hopefully the last of my spillage on this topic.

Madrid

Record longest time of non-blogging, have you realised? I'm trying this new thing where I avoid expressing myself. As much as I love to write and listen to music it's something that I've discovered I need to limit myself in doing. Although they're not inherently bad things, you can have too much of a good thing. I'm less of a feeler when I abstain from these things. And more of a talker.

So what am I now? In a word, sociable, I think. In little over a week I've gone out and been exposed to so many people, more than I've ever met all year. And I like them.  Spain has so far been the most amazing experience in this whole trip. I love everything about it: the vibrant culture, delicious food, the people. I remembered exactly why I wanted to go to Spain for a whole year in the first place. I now want to, again and have this itching to stay here forever. Towards the end of this journey I've discovered I care so much more for people and culture than seeing the physical beauty. 

Almu's family have been the most amazing hosts ever, and pretty much treated me like one of the family during my time staying at their beautiful place, overlooking the football stadium. Here in Madrid most people live in "pisos", not so much houses - tall apartment blocks where people own a level each.  

Sunday: Mass, followed by a family lunch of croquetas at the nearby restaurant. Lunch is late here (2:30) and is the largest meal of the day. Telling jokes over the table. With a small language barrier you realise halfway how much the "enjoyability" of the story is dependant on the way you express it, but they laugh at my attempts anyway and the joke becomes about that.

Siestas are from 3-5, más o menos. I so love this about Spain. Such a relaxed culture! Sleep late, wake late. Everyday. 

Corrida de Toros (Bull fight). What a unique experience, which needs to be done with real Spaniards in order to gain the energy to shout OLE, and appreciate the beauty in fairly brutal sport. I didn't realise how so until I got there. Tourist spectators could be seen crying, or averting eye contact. 

Monday: Parque de Buen Retiro, a beautiful park where we hired a boat around the lake. Exposed to a sport called "padel", which is sort of a mix between tennis and squash, played with a short racquet. Watched Nadal defeat Djokovic on TV, and being the only Djoko supporter in the country...

Tuesday: Madrid is stylish. Shopping despite the already heavy backpack. In Madrid, everything is quite close together and accessible. On the bus back, some pickpocket stole the wallet and iPhone of the English guy next to me. Churros con chocolate. Eating leftovers that people next to us left behind when we were done with ours.

Wednesday: Prado Mueseum. El Greco is my new favourite artist. Paella Valenciana for lunch. Joint college initiations for all the nearby colleges, just like stuff out of an American movie. Meeting the awesome people I would have met had I come to live in one of them.

Thursday: Warner Brothers theme park closed! Had tapas with some girls and then gelato with others. Tapas are amazing. Light-hearted conversation and being super talkative again. Vogue Fashion night and getting freebies after getting into VIP, Spanish style.

Friday: teleféricos (cable cars). Night out as a "surprise" despedida for Almu that all her friends organised for her.

Saturday: Bego's house. A Spanish baptism and after-party with the best looking camarero waiter I've ever seen. I loved getting both casual and formal experiences of Spanish parties. Spanish kids are the absolute cutest. Their outfits and how they line up to give you double kisses. Playing table tennis with them and taunting them after beating them. Watching football and getting into it. 

Hah probably the most boring way I could have possibly summed up my favourite week.

(Christina) Deary me, Cynthia. The petunias are wilting!

Come on, head. Just do your chemistry.
Just stop your extra mess and chaos, do your chemistry.

I am doing band night on thursday. I can't stop thinking about it. We are so unprepared and it is all my fault because i was avoiding planning it because i knew it was going to sound crap so at the back of my mind i had the intention of bailing.
Why the hell do they put me in charge of these sorts of things?
I spent hours doing the same guitar riffs that sounded shit, experimenting for new ones, getting frustrated at the combinations i could use of them all, knowing the whole thing is totally unimportant and yet not finding any solutions or order in it.

I am hyperactive, but so tired.
My room is a bomb and my head is a bomb and things are sort of unreal. If anyone comes into my room to socialise i will probably scream. And only then will I be able to ask them if they would like a cup of tea and a scone and would they like a seat?

I can't focus on chemistry to save my life. They are all black and white symbols and i can't order it; where do i start? Everything around me imprints in my head too much, everything that is composed of atoms is an instant distraction.
The exam is creeping up on me and i don't know how to get onto it.
Just buckle down you idiot! Just force yourself!
Ok. I will.
Shut it all out.
The only way to make progress is to do one thing solidly at a time.
Order yourself. You don't need to be doing anything other than the task you have set yourself at this time.

You bloody idiot

Schrodinger's cat's whiskers can be turned into sewing thread for all I care.

Regards,
Christina Penna

Madrid

I'm in Madrid!!!!!

Non-stop chatter on the plane here, and then Almu and a group of her friends picked me up from the airport at exactly midnight. Everyone is so awesomely sociable and Spanish! I have already experienced the craziness of the Spanish roads on the way to the standard Maccas run, where I ate a "Filipino" flavoured McFlurry.

Tomorrow (well, later today) we're all just having a lazy Sunday. You know, gonna eat some tapas; go casually to a corrida de toros - a bull fight. So glad I've come here early, this is just what I need.

It's 2:30am. Buenas noches!

Dear Jess

Writing from my layover at Brussels Charleroi airport. Eight hours long wooo! With so few deadlines and having things to write about, I've strangely grown to love waiting. I'd imagined it all in my head the night before too. Me eating delicious Belgian waffles and drinking Belgian chocolate whilst sitting next to really cool Belgians… I've missed the airport feel a bit. People are having a quiet chuckle about the weird shape of my standard Australian electrical adaptor. Asking me if I'm writing a book. Everyone here is up to something, and it's nice to just sit and watch everything.

Now that I've been in Europe for a while (going on 11 weeks!), I think it's best to do short stays in each city because you need to keep yourself busy when everything is sort of starting to all look very similar, and the initial infatuation is fading slightly. You also manage by getting excited for seeing people who are also excited to see you. I am so ridiculously excited for Spain! Just a few hours. Anyway I've spent the last two nights in Warsaw, the capital of Poland. Staying right at the heart of the city and seeing tall, skyscraper buildings of a modern Eastern European city brought me slightly back to life. It's not bustling with tourists - by now I think they've mostly gone home. But it had the more familiar, lively city feel that I realised I had sort of missed. It was different doing it all by myself too. I actually loved it and was exactly how I'd envisioned the "traveling Europe feel". I went shopping. I didn't skimp on food (it's freaking cheap here). I went out at night, explored the streets and alleyways of the city and didn't care so much about where it led to, or about being lost. I'd be the only person who would know it if I was.

Warsaw. Such an appropriate name. There is an older part of the city that still showcases the wounds left from both world wars, the Nazi bombs that completely ravaged the place. You can see its history in the city walls, and has now been declared a UNESCO World Heritage listed site. I've found that my favourite way to explore Europe has been by bike. A lot of locals use them, and you can hire them from just about anywhere and for the whole day, and I never realised how awesome and efficient bikes were till I got here. For me, it makes parks even more beautiful. With bikes, you also become wary of going into shops or buildings because you don't want to leave the bike outside, so it's strictly for outdoor exploration, which has its pros and cons. At times the cobblestones just get too bumpy and I've had to jump off the bike and continue the journey by walking it along with me, ice-cream in hand, but I don't mind. I love it all.

I did some random small talk with fellow travellers at my hostel. They're not so bad and reminded me a lot of Scotland and Ireland tourist days. They're actually kind of interesting, if not a bit mind-boggling. People who have quit jobs, deferred uni just to get here. Taking it one night at a time; not even booking the next night's hostel. Do you ever have real-time dreams though? Like the event is happening at that moment, and you sort of fall asleep halfway and imagine the ending yourself? Then waking up wondering if it was real?

Fellow travellers give you tips too, and I discovered new capabilities of my iPhone for traveling and navigating. I also discovered that I hadn't been wearing my backpack at its most comfortable position (there are so many little straps that I hadn't bothered to work out the use for all of them). Both these things are minor details, but would probably have prevented a lot of arguments before. Backpack + me + navigating + heat (triangle sign) = worst combination ever. Traveling by myself also forced me also to do my homework. I looked up a bit of the information the night before and played it smart getting to and from cities. It really does make a difference. You can't just assign someone else to do most of the work, and then get angry when they do it wrong. Do it yourself. Being lost, and with all your annoying luggage is not something you want to do in foreign countries.

Nonetheless it's inevitable to have some hiccups. Somebody tells you the wrong location to take your changeover coach, and you're sitting there for an hour before realising you should ask someone. I finally asked some teenage girls ten minutes before mine was due to depart from Kielce, Poland. Turns out I was in the wrong place and so what did they do? Lead me there themselves! It was literally ten minutes of absolute sprinting, with over 25kg of weight strapped to your body. It was such a close call and I got there at the very last milli-second. Don't know what I would have done without them. True angels.