It’s been close to month since I’ve last posted, and tomorrow marks two months of travelling (23 countries thus far!). So it seems like an appropriate time to get my shit together and write another post. When I set off on this adventure, I told myself I would be blogging every day.
Between jet-lag and a late night, most of my fellow Monsooners decided to sleep in this morning. I woke up at 9:00, which for me is still sleeping in, and decided to go for a run through the city. I haven't gone for a run in a while so anticipated a short one or two mile run. But once I got started, it just felt right so the next thing I knew I was doing a four mile run with some sprint intervals and hills training.
When I first decided to drop everything and spend a year backpacking, the first question that popped into my mind was “how the hell am I going to pack for this?” I began obsessively reading countless blog posts on packing for long trips and even did a few “trial packs” to get a sense of how much I could fit into my backpack without making it uncomfortably heavy. Based on this and the relatively minimal personal experience I have with backpacking, I learned a few key lessons that helped me finalise my packing list.
So after checking out and leaving my luggage in their storage (I literally don’t know how I would function while traveling if it weren’t for hostels’ luggage storage), I made my way to the bus stop to wait for my bus to Glendalough and got on my phone to book a THIRD hostel in Dublin. I got pretty used to changing sleeping locations every night on the Trans Siberian/Mongolian trip this past January, but we were always either in a new city or on our way to a new city when that happened. So three hostels over three nights in a single city feels a little excessive.
You know that super cheesy cliché, “you should do one thing every day that scares you,” that is attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt? Well I’m terrified of heights. I have been for pretty much as long as I can remember. Not in a way that’s debilitating: I’m generally able to push through but it’s always with a feeling of impending doom in my stomach that makes me want to vomit and go crying to my mommy. I remember almost pissing myself the first time I flew in a plane (which was when I was 15, flying from Atlanta to Frankfurt) because I was so scared of being that high up. While I’m not that scared of heights anymore, I still get a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach every time I’m higher than a few stories without a solid wall in front of me. The Cliffs of Moher is a really solid location to face that fear and today I did just that.