Hello, my name is Nicole and I am a Travel Junkie.
Hi Nicole!
It has been 17 months since I last left the country and I am feeling it. Sure, I visited exotic Portland and yeah, I've been to the East Bay a few times but I miss the excitement that comes with visiting another country: the different smells, the billboards and ads in another language, the street food, the crazy television shows and commercials...all of it adds up to that intangible yet intoxicating something that makes travel so addictive. It's impossible to describe to a non-believer but fellow travelers know exactly what I'm talking about.
For me, what's especially thrilling are those first moments out of the airport. I remember riding the Tube in London from Heathrow and giggling when I heard the "mind the gap" announcement. Riding the bus through Seoul on a freezing cold December night, seeing the city that would be home for the next four years for the first time. The shock of seeing one of the biggest slums in the world in Mumbai on the way from the airport to Victoria Station. Hearing a Boney M remix as the cab whipped around the mountain in Bogotá.
I'm blessed with a good memory and a habit of heightened journalling whilst traveling. I go back and read entries from different trips and it inspires me to keep planning, hoping, and finger crossing. I have my heart absolutely set on a trip back to Colombia this coming summer and I've made an inspiration board and saving chart to help me stay on track. It's time to hit the road again.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Monday, June 25, 2012
Afternoon Amble
I live about half a mile from the peak of the last big hill going north so when you get to the edge of the hill, you can see across the bay to Oakland and Marin. It's pretty stunning and I like most of my runs to include this view:
Not having anywhere else to be, I strolled along to Alta Plaza and snapped some photos. Love this city.
Living Arrangements
In March 2011, I moved back to the U.S. from an Exotic Asian Country after over four years away. To save money and to ease back into being American, I lived with my mom. This worked fine at first. I spent a month training for a half marathon then jetted off to an Exotic South American country. When I got back in mid-May, I was broke and jobless and grateful to live with her. Fast forward to August. I was ready to stab the pope in the face if it meant I could move out.
Enter Tilda.
I’ve known Tilda for many, many, many years. I believe we first met at mutual friend’s 7th birthday party but really became friends in the 6th grade. Tilda had been in San Francisco since finishing school and she was one of the first hipsters, before the word even existed. For the past couple of years, she had been living in an apartment in FillPacJap (intersection of the Fillmore, lower Pac Heights, and Japantown), and her flatmate just moved to L.A. She was looking for someone to move in and was I interested? Oh yes, I was interested. I gave my mom notice (“Peace the eff out, this little birdie is flying from the nest!”) and moved in on the first of September.
We’re nearly a year in and it has been magical. We have no boundaries and will do disgusting things such as poop with the door open, announce our farts, and call each other unrepeatable slurs. There is something incredibly liberating about living with someone who has known you for so long and can remember embarrassing shit you did in the 8th grade.
Our apartment is technically a one-bedroom but we sacrificed a sitting room for cheaper rent. Tilda lives in that space and as she has no door, it can get awkward if she has a gentleman caller. I have weird control issues about the kitchen and have been told to “Shut the fuck UUUUPPPP!!!” when I try to offer too much constructive criticism. It can be tough living in such close quarters but we make of it what we can. There are some benefits, like sharing make up and hair products, hoarding our food together, and pretty much always having someone we can bitch to. It’s a good living arrangement.
Enter Tilda.
I’ve known Tilda for many, many, many years. I believe we first met at mutual friend’s 7th birthday party but really became friends in the 6th grade. Tilda had been in San Francisco since finishing school and she was one of the first hipsters, before the word even existed. For the past couple of years, she had been living in an apartment in FillPacJap (intersection of the Fillmore, lower Pac Heights, and Japantown), and her flatmate just moved to L.A. She was looking for someone to move in and was I interested? Oh yes, I was interested. I gave my mom notice (“Peace the eff out, this little birdie is flying from the nest!”) and moved in on the first of September.
We’re nearly a year in and it has been magical. We have no boundaries and will do disgusting things such as poop with the door open, announce our farts, and call each other unrepeatable slurs. There is something incredibly liberating about living with someone who has known you for so long and can remember embarrassing shit you did in the 8th grade.
Our apartment is technically a one-bedroom but we sacrificed a sitting room for cheaper rent. Tilda lives in that space and as she has no door, it can get awkward if she has a gentleman caller. I have weird control issues about the kitchen and have been told to “Shut the fuck UUUUPPPP!!!” when I try to offer too much constructive criticism. It can be tough living in such close quarters but we make of it what we can. There are some benefits, like sharing make up and hair products, hoarding our food together, and pretty much always having someone we can bitch to. It’s a good living arrangement.
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