I've been thinking a lot recently about how I almost didn't go to Norway. At the time, I was set with plans to go to Amsterdam for a few days to see the tulips then bounce over to Athens for a bit before landing in Rome then Pompeii. This was all during my two week spring vacation while I was studying in Cork, Ireland. I had arranged who I was traveling with and the itinerary, but when it came to about a week before I had to buy the tickets, my new Norwegian friend asked me if I wanted to come back to Norway for her for a week.
I wasn't sure.
I'm not a spontaneous person.
Especially where I hadn't done any traveling like this before. I never traveled alone, going to Ireland was my first time on a plane, and I was operating almost entirely off pre-printed maps. I had these neat and organized plans to go visit places that I had thought about for a long time. Especially Rome and Pompeii, which enticed all the classical archaeology in my heart. I had never, in my life, ever considered going to Norway.
But here was my friend offering me a guided tour, places to stay, and an opportunity to hit the highlights of Norwegian culture by a native archaeologist herself. The only catch was this:
I would be missing out on the time I would be with my friends in Amsterdam. I wouldn't see the tulips or the Anne Frank house. I would have barely two days in Athens before flying off to Rome, so it became very clear to me that my plans for visiting lots of places on my spring break was going to turn into me saying no to some of them.
I think about priorities a lot. Time is one of the few resources we can't get back. Once it's spent, it's spent. Hypothetically, I still have time to go just about anywhere I want to, but I don't know what the future has in store or how much time I really have in it. Letting go of Amsterdam wasn't the problem for me. It was letting go of the amount of time I would spend in Athens. I couldn't do it.
I told my friend yes, and I had an incredible time in Norway. For a week, I lived and breathed the culture better than any average tourist could. I celebrated an early Easter with my friend's family, skied the Northern slopes, and had my friend explain all the history that wasn't present on the plaques in the museum.
Then I committed myself to a whole week in Athens, and I let go of Rome and Pompeii. The biggest travel takeaway I had from my time abroad was this: Give yourself time.
As we drove down the roads of Norway, we stopped at beautiful outlooks for me to take pictures of lakes, churches, and slopes. We paced the paths of the shores and the parks of the city. I wanted to give myself time in Athens too. I wanted to climb the hills, circle the temples, and traipse the streets. I wanted to sit on the beach of the Mediterranean ocean and stare for as long as I could stand the sun. I didn't want to feel like I didn't have enough time there.
For as important as Athens was for my history and trajectory as a lover of myths, stories, and archaeology, it's okay if I never go back. I had enough time. I lived it. I breathed it. I visited every temple once for pictures and twice for admiration. I sat on Filopappou Hill, and I wrote like I sit at my local park and write. I swung on a park's swing set. I strolled through the churches on Easter weekend.
When I returned home from traveling abroad, I committed to continuing my travel blog. I started visiting all the places in my home state. Most were places I have been before, though some were not. When thinking about them through the lens of a tourist, I thought about them differently. I learned new things, but I did not experience the places the same way. I had to stop, and give myself time. I had to put down the camera. To see, and live, and breathe.
I've diverted quite a bit from the original intent of this blog. COVID happened and I thought I wasn't traveling as much, but that's not totally true.
Sometimes, when I need groceries, I will drive instead to the next town over. Sometimes I take a back road just to give myself more time to listen to a new mixtape in my car. Sometimes the sun feels really nice coming through my windshield, and I just want some space away from the box that I've been living in. So I drive. I drive all the branching routes. Like a spider weaving a web, I've passed up and down roads, taking right and left turns until I slowly have spiraled out across much of the state. I don't always stop, and even when I do, it might not be anywhere special enough to write a whole blog post about. Over time, I've walked dozens of trails within an hour of my home. Many are small, which has been better for me anyway as I cope with chronic pain, but they are opportunities to see the nooks and crannies of the world, and as I travel the same streets and trails, I come to know them, and the time never feels too short.
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