Some people find love early, some late; For me, I found love at twenty-five.
It took me seven years to finally pull a Eurotrip.
Why? Well, I didn't have the money to do it right before college and got stuck being a college nerd for five years.
"Well, atleast it happened." I tell myself.
So now I can proudly use my carefully thought up screen names: scruffybackpacker and surreptitioustraveler, without feeling like a phony wannabe.
The self inflicting hate that has been growing like a tumor inside fueled by amazing travel stories - stories of others - has been appeased and my love for this magnificent world is growing.
I love the Louvre, not for it's artifacts or paintings or sculptures but for the atmosphere it gives at night allowing Francois the street musician to magically transform me back to an age where I haven't been, an era where love and music transforms the mind into something human.
The trip changed me and I came back a completely new person.
From Salsa dancing in Rome, stealing a pizza in Barcelona, hooking up in the dark alleys of Venice, crying at the sight of Florence, to trying some Parisian cocaine, I aged years in just one month.
Sparrows, and even a pigeon, ate grain from my hand at the Notre Dame.
I got to dunk my feet in the mediterranean sea, made out with a soldier from Israel and a night of crazy dancing led to an unexpected kiss from a French cutie who lost my lighter.
I'm already planning my next trip.
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