Elize
Home is where the luggage isn't.
After a few months in Mongolia, I quit worrying about always having a horse hair in my bowl of fermented mare's milk.
Alone in a cheap hotel room at 2am, I realized I'd never felt more at home.
I knew the trip to Dublin wasn't going to turn out as planned when my best friend woke me up in the middle of the night to ask me if the rugby player on the other side of our hostel room was dead.
Saving 100 bucks is more important to my father than me not having to spend 6 hours in the Atlanta airport waiting for a connecting flight.
On that trip to Switzerland we learned that yes, indeed, you can get a bumblebee drunk.
I needed to pay for a hostel in Budapest, but I didn't have any Forint or know where the ATM was.
His whole group was delayed at the Thailand airport for a day because he didn't know what suitcase his mother packed his clothes in.
I traveled around the world for a year and only felt lost once I arrived "home."
I sat in the last row of the crowded plane, realizing I had gotten on the wrong flight.
Without fail, a sense of panic rises in my chest every time I pass a "Last Exit in New York" sign.
I'm currently in search of a reasonably priced flight to New York City from the Lower Saxony Region of Germany (as of now they're in the thousands due to things like terror, G8 and Live Earth).
On his last day of class, the middle school foreign language teacher concisely summed up his opinion of the year with the words, "Fuck off," then left the room without looking back while his co-teacher translated what he just said into Korean.
I sat by a peat fire in Ireland and picked fat ticks out of a orange cat with heated tweezers for three hours while reading Joyce.
When my friend returned from Hong Kong, she brought me an eternally arm-waving plastic cat.
I'm going travelling in two months, and although all my plans and friends are here, I'm still not sure I'll come back.
My nine-year-old Korean taekwondo instructor used only two words of English in his lesson: "Again," and "No."
I had been traveling for 20 hours when the principal at the school I'd be teaching at picked me up and asked if we could please stop by the pub.
I have been in Hawaii for four days and I have four dollars left.
After years of traveling, it dawned on her she was the one left behind.
Bugs have been biting my face, and I got some weird gum disease here, but I'm still sad to be pulling out my US passport and going home, because there's really so much more love here than there is there.
If I had known how to say "I am socially comfortable" in Korean, that sultry night in May would have been less awkward, though generally I would like to limit the number of languages in which I've lied.
Having left behind my old life in London for a new one on the other side of the world, I soon came to realise that possesions are like old dead relatives - you miss them for a while, but soon forget what they were like to have around.
I thought I was going to have to find the ancient abandoned palace complex on my own until a local with whom I didn't share a common language offered to show me the way, up a steep hill and past some chickens and goats.
I spent five days getting there only to realise it was the jouney I should have been paying attention to.
On my tour of Kyoto I dislocated my thumb by falling down some slippery stone steps as I was exiting a shrine where I prayed for good health and good luck for the remainder of my trip (no pun intended).
I once drove many a mile to visit the Land of Little Horses and, indeed, they were quite wee.
I jumped off a moving train in Switzerland while traveling with some college friends.
When I got lost in San Francisco's Mission District, there was a really scary few-toothed crackwhore that asked me, "So where you staying, hon?"