On my travels, I fell in love ... with the world ... with me

Three incredible weeks. 

Two wonderful destinations. 

Morocco — from the bottom of my heart, shukran. I’ve been blessed to meet the most incredible people. I’ve been welcomed into homes to share meals with families (some of the best meals I’ve ever eaten), crossed the Atlas Mountains, done a Moroccan cooking class. I’ve seen farmers work their land by hand, been to the madness that is the square in Marrakesh at night. I’ve visited cooperatives that support women who produce local goods (Berber carpets, argon oil) and give them access to an income.

I’ve seen a Sahara sunset and a Sahara sunrise, and a sky so clear and perfect that I could see every star that shone, just for me.

I rode a camel. I’m pretty good at it. I’ve bonded with nine perfect strangers (seven other travellers, my leader and a kickass bus driver) and found magic in them all. As my new Aussie friend said to me: “We’re in fucking Morrocco." I can’t believe it either. And then it was on to Paris for three whole days by myself. I went to flea markets, did a Pere Lachaise cemetery walking tour (please stop desecrating Jim Morrison's grave), cruised the Seine. I went to the Palais Garnier and Sainte Chapelle. In fact, I went back to Sainte Chapelle for a classical music concert and my eyes weeped a bit at the beauty of it all. I’ve navigated customs and immigration and airlines. The metro, the trains. I’ve spoken very bad French. I’ve smiled and learned to flirt (just a little bit).

I’ve learned more about myself and what I’m capable of (more than I thought!). I fell in love with life from a different perspective. I fell in love with me all over again. I wear a bracelet that says, “Beautiful Girl, you can do hard things." I can. I did. Now it’s time for the girl with the giant suitcases (I only had one when I came) to get on a plane and come home. If you’ve ever wanted to solo travel, I highly encourage you to go for it. The world can be a beautiful place with beautiful people.