Travel Is Rebellion In Its Truest Form

"Travel is rebellion in its truest form... 

We follow our hearts. We free ourselves of labels.

We lose control willingly. We trade a role for reality. 

We love the unfamiliar. We trust strangers.

We only own what we can carry.

We search for better questions, not answers.

We truly graduate.

We, sometimes, never choose to come back."

-Anonymous

From as young of an age as I can remember, I've had a good, hard bite by the travel bug. I remember being five years old and talking to my dad about walking on the Great Wall of China one day. I remember listening to my grandma tell me stories and show me things she had bought on her trips abroad. I remember spinning globes and wondering what each country I touched looked like in person. 

Unfortunately, my family was not able to do any traveling growing up. My first time out of the country was on a mission trip to Jamaica with my church my freshman year of high school. That trip is one of my fondest memories. I remember getting off the plane and being hit with the smell of spices. I also remember getting to the campsite and being hit with the smell of decaying animals and trash. I remember the incredible sunsets from the top of the mountains, and the incredible mid-summer Caribbean heat. I remember the painfully cold showers, and the lack of laundry for ten days. I remember the Coastal Carolina blue ocean in Ocho Rios and the soft, tan sand. I remember climbing Dunn's River Falls, and also climbing the steep hill from the supplies to the worksite everyday. I remember the people. I remember their happiness- yes, the people that we were on a mission trip to help were without a doubt the happiest, kindest people I have ever met. I remember their love for Jamaica. I remember the kids at the orphanage, running up and hugging us as we got off the bus. I remember how they just wanted to sit in our laps and to hug us and lay their head our shoulder. There so much about the trip that I could continue to write about, but to avoid writing a novel I'll wrap up his part of the blog. 

What I remember most of all, was despite the fact that we were sleeping on hard, uncomfortable beds; in Jamaica in June with no AC, no electronics/cellphones/social media/etc. for ten days; no laundry, no hot water (the water was bone-shilling, painfully cold btw), and no contact with home- it was the most amazing ten days of my life. I didn't miss home for a second. I had a new love and appreciation for how simple life could be- how simple it was there. I came home, but I left a piece of my heart there. 

I did get an opportunity to return to Jamaica the summer after my junior year in high school. Though the circumstances were the same, this trip was anything but the same. I remember-easily one of my fondest memories period- was our first day on the campsite. One of the workers/family members we were working with was walking down the hillside where the team stood in a line passing cinderblocks down to the worksite and one-by-one introducing himself. As he introduced himself, he also asked if it was our first time to Jamaica. The people before all said it was their first time, and he said, "Welcome to Jamaica!" When he got to me, I told him that I had been once before, he hugged me and said "Welcome home."

My junior year, my school combined the junior and senior class for the senior trip because the classes were so small. I was lucky enough to go to a school where are senior trip was a nine day trip to England and France with an incredible historian. I honestly don't have words to describe what this trip was for me. I can say, though I've always wanted to travel, I never actually considered studying abroad. This trip completely changed that for me. I fell in love with everything Europe. I kept a nightly journal while I was there, and I continue to look through it to remember the trip. I remember feeling like I was literally walking through a fairytale with the breathtaking, awe-striking architecture. I remember being amazed by the size and ornateness of the architecture that was built in a day with so much less technology. I remember getting lost at Harrod's. I remember my night in Piccadilly Circus. I remember seeing genuine knight's armor and crowned jewels in the Tour of London. I remember getting lost in my love of Paris. I remember meeting a WWII civilian survivor and hearing his story about spending his life searching for the name of the American paramedic who delivered his baby brother and kept them safe as a battle raged outside of their home and was then killed before he could return. I remember visiting C.S. Lewis's house and sitting in "Narnia. I remember being enamored with the French desserts. I remember visiting the American D-Day beaches and being hit with the reality of what happened there. I remember being absolutely terrified as I went to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I remember never wanting to leave and everyday wishing I could be back there. 

Currently, I am lucky enough to be preparing for a two week trip to Germany and Poland this summer. It's a trip based on the Holocaust so we will be visiting two-three concentration camps, and abandoned ghetto, working in a Jewish cemetery where we will be illuminating names on the headstones and memorials with gold paint, visiting many museums and synagogues, attending a Shavout service, and going to the Carnival of Cultures in Berlin. I'm sure I'll be writing one lengthy blog on that if not many smaller ones so be on the look out in about 6 weeks :)

So basically, I am about as wanderlust as it gets. If I could, you better believe I would spend months backpacking through Europe. And who knows? Maybe one day I will be able to do just that :)

My thoughts are in places I've never been to. My dreams are in pictures I've seen. 

My heart is abroad, and I'm not quite sure just where it is. Maybe that is what it is I'm in search of.