18 countries together. That’s a lot of laughs, and a lot of great moments, but it’s also a lot of tears and a lot of hardships. Travelling together can be one of the most difficult challenges your friendship will face, but, if you follow these tips, you’ll ultimately become even better friends, and closer than ever before.
So, how can you travel with your best friend…and still manage to be best friends at the end of it?
There was music in this place, in the wheezing cars on uneven cobblestones, the roosters that crowed day and night, the low voices of the men who played checkers on the street, sat on overturned barrels. Looming like kings of a former empire, three volcanoes surrounded the city, protecting it, or threatening it, I didn’t know. The buildings of Antigua were painted red and blue and green, little jewels, and it was hard to imagine that once this place was ravaged by lava and fire. I walked through these streets half-dead, impervious to the action around me, unsure of my decision to come here. I feared I was taking it for granted, that the month I had planned in the city would be wasted on sadness and regret.
A few weeks ago, I was contacted by Katrina from Eating London about joining one of their tours. If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you may have noticed that I haven’t accepted many tours or trips; it’s just a personal thing. After reading Tom’s post about the same tour, though, and when I realised that the tour would take place in my neighbourhood, East London, I became very, very intrigued. Since moving to London I’ve decided that I’d like to do a bit more “backyard blogging”, which is writing about the place in which you live. As I live in the best city on earth, and in the best neighbourhood in the best city on earth, this means writing a lot more about East London and how much this part of town has to offer.
It’s become a bit of a tradition for me to post about Thanksgiving every year; I think it’s incredibly important to give thanks. I try to do it daily, but on a day where Canadians are actually given a day off to be thankful, I try to really evaluate all of the positives (and sometimes the negatives, I have been thankful for them, too) in my life.
This place was sacred. Bodies burned day and night on the ghats, the steps leading to the Ganges; it was not uncommon to find bits of ash in your hair or on your skin. I balked at the chance to drink tea with the holy men after I learned that the Ganges was the source of the water, even though, as my guide told me, “It will make you closer to India.” I watched each morning as men and women bathed in the river, washed their faces in the river, drank from the river. Hindus and Jains came here to die, the Ganges serving as the divine cosmic road to salvation. Tourist boats rode up and down the water, the people on them snapping photos of cremations.
Two weeks ago, I was in Berlin. I had met a group of backpackers at the hostel and we went out for burgers at Burgermeister in Kreuzberg (if you get the chance, you should go). We got our food and sat at one of the tables near the road, laughing and drinking beers. One of the girls had put her purse on the table, right next to the road. Picture a high table, with a barricade blocking the street, but not sidewalk; that meant, if someone on, for example, a bike or a motorcycle wanted to reach over the barricade and grab something off of our table, he or she very well could.
“You should take your bag off the table,” I cautioned. We were in a safe neighbourhood in one of the safest cities in Europe, but still I couldn’t help but think that her purse looked awfully vulnerable.
“I know, I know, I always forget to do these things!” She laughed. “Maybe this is why I’m always getting things stolen from me.”