I was thinking about this the other day; soon enough, I’ll have spent two weeks in the States, and whilst on one hand it seems like times flown by, on the other, it feels like I’ve been here a lot longer. But fortunately, not in a bad way.
Talking to some of the other travellers, I’ve been congratulated for seeing the world so early on. But in my mind, I’ve only seen a glimpse of what’s on offer. It’s like I’ve only opted for the first starter on a menu with a wealth of fine foods.
These other British guys, for instance, have been in the States for far longer than myself. They all quit their jobs, and have worked their way from Boston round to this hostel in Arizona. I’m rather jealous, obviously, but in fairness, they’re at least four or five years older than myself.
In a sense, although I’ve gotten on well with everyone, it’s limited me somewhat in connecting. Everyone has travel stories to trade, and thus far, the only places I’ve been outside of Britain without my parents are the USA, Malia (with my sixth form friends), and France (and that was to my aunts house, so the last two don’t really count).
And that’s something I’d like to change.
I’ve been thinking for a while now; if this trip works out alright, then I might try my hand at travel writing.
It can be done; we’ll just have to wait and see.