Madrid - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 1 (Part 5)

After a final walk through the park, it was about time to head over to my Couchsurfing host's apartment. The bright midday light was now becoming weaker and warmer, adding a yellow-orange glow to everything. There also seems to be less people around now. After picking up my pack from Atocha Renfe, I taking the metro to Príncipe Pío station and emerge onto a busy, but not very central, square in the middle of a roundabout. Using a crude map I drew of the area, I set off finding their apartment. I walk along a street lined with shops and restaurants. All the restaurants were busy setting up chairs and tables along the sidewalks. At this point, everything was covered with a warm orange glow from the setting sun. Walking over a neat little dam and pedestrian bridge construction over a mostly dried river, a series of apartment buildings loomed ahead. I went to the wrong building at first, but was directed to the correct one with much pointing, motioning, and repeated counting to communicate numbers to me.

Finally, I arrive at their building. It was a 17 story rectangular building covered in red bricks at the end of a small, rather empty road. There was bus station in front of it, and trees lined the chaotic street. There was a small plaza with a small supermarket beside the building. Walking up to the iron gates of the building and checking to make sure I was at the right address, I type in my host's apartment number and wait. I had arrived at 8pm, one hour later than planned.

I was very glad to hear the voice over the intercom recognize my name, and was buzzed in immediately. The inside of the building had a small lobby, with a large photo of an areal view of Madrid. The corridors were dark and lined with dark polished wood. Going up a cramped elevator, I emerge in a similarly dark and wooden hallway. There were a few over-sized, heavy-looking wooden doors blending into the walls lined with the same wood panelling. In the middle of each door, at just below the level of your waist, was a large, bronze knob that you can grab onto, but could not be turned.

Knocking on the door, I was let in by Adolfo, my Couchsurfing host. He was Spanish, had short hair, glasses, and had a friendly but direct mannerism. He lived with a French Canadian and another Spanish girl who where all quit friendly and seemed to be very social. They were all students. They had a small narrow room that they dedicated to Couchsurfing guests. There was a small bed in it that seemed to take up more than half the room. From the single window at the end of the room, you can look toward central Madrid up a hill. There was a calendar at the opposite wall, filled up with people's names on the different days. "Mark and Felix" was marked across June 4 to June 7. After dropping off my stuff and meeting everyone else in the apartment, I was informed that they had their weekly Monday get-together with their friends tonight, and I was invited.

Shortly, at around 9pm, we headed out. During the walk, I was told that we are going to Casa Mingo, a somewhat historic joint that specializes in hard cider and roast chicken. Casa Mingo is located a large informal stone building, with vaulted ceilings and large wooden tables adorning it's loud and hectic interior. There were many young people here, many of them students. Right away, we ordered some roast chicken to start off the night. For the rest of the time there, we would order a plate of chicken whenever we ran out, as we all shared from one common plate and ate with a shared fork. As good as the chicken was, the highlight of the trip to Casa Mingo was most definitely the cider. Casa Mingo had been famous for some time for the cider that they brew, and although I am not a cider connoisseur, I can tell you that the cider I had that night was the most delicious cider I have ever had.

The cider was very fresh tasting and refreshing. It was vibrant and a joy to drink. As with the chicken, we also drank out of the a communal glass, poured from the same one litre bottle of cider. It seems that that Spanish have cider drinking down to an art. To get the best flavour, you must pour a small amount of cider from as high up as possible, making sure the stream hits the inner wall of the tilted glass, and then drink it immediately, a process called throwing the cider. I watched as people held the tilted glass in one hand as low as possible, and stretched with all of their might, balancing the bottle of cider precariously high above their heads, aimed, and poured. I even got a few practise pours in during the night. We watched some of the other patrons do it with a more difficult technique, holding the cider bottle behind their heads, and pouring the cider from behind their backs. I was told that you can tell that someone is from the Basque (or was it the Asturias?) region if they pour their cider that way.

The mouthful of cider poured in this way was opaque and churning with tiny bubbles, as opposed to the transparent, serene-looking cider in the bottle. You drink the cider as soon as it is poured. As tradition dictates, one leaves a small amount of cider in the glass after drinking from it, which is then poured onto the stone floor of the pub from the side of the glass you drank the cider, to rinse the shared glass. As a demonstration, I was given cider poured into the glass from a small height, and then cider poured from a great height to taste the difference. The difference in taste was surprising! There was nothing subtle about it! The "un-thrown" cider tasted good - like how good, refreshing apple cider should taste. However, when thrown, the cider came alive! All the off flavours were gone and all the good flavours were magnified many times over. It became crisp and clean. It was a world of difference. Instead of tasting like apple juice, it tasted just like biting in to a fresh apple just plucked from a tree. I made a mental note to always throw cider before drinking it from now on.

Only two of their friends dropped by briefly that night. Supposedly their weekly get-togethers would vary in size unpredictably every week. As the night went on, the area of wet stone under our feet grew larger and larger with every drop of cider spilt from a pour. Soon, it was time to return, and after a quick shower, I went to bed. Taking one last look at the scene outside my window, I was glad the time for sleep had come, after only getting about half an hour of sleep in two days. As I fall asleep, I think about what I've experienced so far, how much more there is to come, as well as looking forward to meeting up with Felix tomorrow.

Madrid - El Retiro - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 1 (Part 4)

I explore the area a little bit more after lunch, walking around the park. I walk through a pedestrian road lined with stalls selling low-priced used books. I buy a postcard. I plan on sending a postcard to my parents from every city I go to, just as I did during my trip in the winter. This way, my parents will be able to track my progress through Europe and I can share a little bit of that excitement and spirit of exploration with my parents.

Returning to the park, I find a bench in a nice, quite shady area. I settle in and read The Da Vinci Code. It was the only paperback book I found at home that could bring with me on my trip. It is always a good idea to carry a light book with you for those times when you have nothing better to do. I only started the book earlier today, but have already blasted through almost half of the novel. I spent the day reading and strolling through the park, taking photos once in a while. I even had others take a photo of me to commemorate the first day of my trip. Settling down to read again, I look forward to spending the next half hour or so reading quietly, enjoying more of the serene scenery around me, listening to the birds, and finding out how Robert Langdon and Sophie Neveu were going to get out of their current dilemma.

After a while, an old man saunters over and stops near me, looking as if he needed a place to sit. Moving my bags from the other side of the bench, I smiled at him to offer him a seat. Smiling back, he plops down on the bench right next to me. "Wow." I think, "I guess people in Spain are just like people in Asia where they don't need a large personal space." I continue reading for another minute or so until I finish the chapter.

Seeing that this is a good opportunity to meet a local, I glance over and ask "Do you speak English?" No. "Parlez-vous Français?" "Un peu." After some wrangling, I find that he doesn't seem to speak enough French to carry a conversation so I decide to go back to reading. "Chaud?" I look over. I see him grinning at me and making a "take off your shirt" motion while nodding. OK, that was weird. I shake my head. Now I'm a little freaked out. But looking around, I notice that many people have their shirts off. I also remember seeing many people with their shirts off in the streets while I was walking around. Maybe it's common for people to have their shirts off, and the old man didn't know how to say anything else in French. OK, I'm just going to pretend I misheard and go back to reading. Suddenly, a hand on my leg. Hmm.... this seems a lot like that scene on the train in Eurotrip. Maybe he's just being affectionate. After all, it's really only in North America that people are so afraid of contact. OK, I'll let it slide just this once. A minute later, he starts rubbing my shoulder and feeling my biceps... while stopping whenever someone walks by. OK, now I'm not sure this is normal even for Europeans anymore! I think of an excuse to leave... after all, isn't it rude to leave without saying anything when someone's befriending you? Suddenly, someone walks by, stoops in front of the old man and talks to him like a friend. A second later, they seem to be in some kind of disagreement, and the old man is handing the other person a five Euro bill. Right then, I receive a phone message from my parents. I Pick up my phone, pretend to take an important call, and walk away.

What an wonderful first day in Europe. I was targeted by a team of pickpockets, hit on by an old man on a park bench, and was the star of a show about the dangers of the sun that my audience interpreted as me brushing my teeth.

Madrid - El Retiro - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 1 (Part 3)

Walking through bustling corridors filled with shops and people hurrying in the morning rush hour, I find an information booth to ask for directions. After some more walking, and guessing at which corridors I was supposed to walk down, I emerge into an enormous atrium with a garden containing full sized palm trees, and restaurants and stalls lining the sides. Following the signs from here, I find the luggage storage room, hidden behind all the action, in an unsightly corner of the station. After going through a brief security check, I find the smallest, and cheapest, locker I can fit my gear in, prepare a small day pack, and deposit some coins. Finally, I was free of my debilitating pack.

Freedom. That was all I felt at that moment. No school, no work, no pack, no responsibilities. Walking back through the lobby, I stop to marvel at the palm garden. There were a variety of tropical plants there, and a system of pipes and nozzles to spray the plants with warm mist from time to time. This was my first vision of Spain, my first vision of what was to come for the next two and a half months. To mark this moment, I take a photo of the palm garden. The first of thousands of photos that I would take at hundreds of different places this summer.

I decide to take it easy today. After a long flight across many time zones with nearly no sleep, I though it would be a good idea to have a relaxing day in the sun to recover from my trip and to readjust my circadian rhythm. I had the perfect place to go. Parque del Buen Retiro, Madrid's most famous park. Covering 350 acres, it would provide a full day's worth of relaxation and casual exploration.

Walking out of the station, I take a brief tour of the neighbourhood. A cozy melange of bustling cafés and small, quiet back streets lined with worn-in, distinctly Spanish buildings full of character. The bright sun woke me up and made me feel alive and energetic even after a sleepless night. Passing by small lucotorios, offering Internet and phone service, I make a mental note of their prices, as I know I will be relying on e-mail and Internet to coordinate, research, and organize my trip as I go. Ambling toward El Retiro, I enjoy the stately architecture along the way. Before long, I was walking through the lush greenery of the park among tall, twisted trees, fountains, lakes, and statues. There was a very well laid-out rose garden, the famous Monument to Alfonso XII, and the beautiful Palacio de Cristal. I enjoyed finding small, out of the way paths winding through the dense forest, through beautiful gardens filled with a variety of different flowers and plants. I sat by a lake to watch ducks, fish, and turtles race to reach breadcrumbs thrown in by locals.

Around lunch time, I walked out of the park to grab something simple to eat. Throughout the trip, I would do most of my eating at simple local shops or buy ingredients from markets and supermarkets. On the way back to the park, I decide to get some sunscreen since I didn't bring any liquids or gels due to the new restrictions on carry-on luggage.

After exploring some shops, I realize that sunscreen was sold only in pharmacies, all of which are marked by disproportionally large, green neon signs flashing a dizzying array of complicated patterns. Walking into a pharmacy, or rather, buzzing into a pharmacy since all pharmacy doors are locked, I patiently waited for the person ahead of me to complete her purchase. The pharmacist smiled at me. I start "... uh... do you speak English?" A blank stare. Unfortunately for me, I discovered only later that surprisingly few people in Spain can actually understand any English, but a good portion of the population understands French. Not having thought this through and not having a backup plan, I quickly scan the shelves that I can see for sunscreen. Nothing. "Umm.... sun?" I point to the sky. "Creme. Lotion!" I smile and rub my left arm with my right hand. A puzzled look followed by some words spoken in Spanish that sounded like a question Now being caught completely off guard, I repeat my gestures, this time with more vigour. Now I'm also rubbing my face and play-acting an entire scene in which I look at the sun, appear threatened by it, and am rubbing sunscreen all over, interspersed some some related words such as "sun" or "sunburn." Suddenly, the pharmacist looks like she understands, walks into the back room and comes out with a small tube. It was toothpaste. At first, I started making the motion of rejecting the toothpaste, but realizing that I was already embarrassed enough and not wanting to continue my silent play about me cowering from the sun, I smile and pretend it's what I want. I pay one Euro, butcher the pronunciation of "gracias" and walk out. As I walk out, the pharmacist was beaming about the fact that she was able to figure out what I came in to buy.

I was eventually able to find a tube of sunscreen at another pharmacy, but it was very expensive, so I thought I would wait until Morocco to buy a tube, hoping that it would be cheaper there. It turns out sunscreen can be ordered by saying "solar" in a Spanish pharmacy. I feel stupid not trying that earlier.

Madrid - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 1 (Part 2)

The main lobby of the airport was run down, dark, with a rather drab brownish colour scheme. With the heat, humidity, and the disarray caused by some maintenance work, the place rather reminded me of the Varadero Airport in Cuba. From the information booth, I followed the signs pointing me in the direction of the metro station. Leading me through various corridors, turns, and different lobby areas that become emptier and more desolate with every doorway I pass through, I start wondering if I was going the right way. Eventually, I give up, and backtracking a little bit, I head out the doors into the open. I had been looking forward to this moment as I had caught glances of the surrounding countryside through the windows ever since I was standing in line at customs.

It was hot. And humid. The climate is very different from home. Seeing the bright blue sky and the bustling cars and buses that look older and more run-down compared to what I see at home, I feel like I'm in a foreign land. There was barely any English in sight. I suddenly felt and intense feeling of freedom. There was no more school to worry about for I had graduated, and my job wasn't starting for another three months. I had absolutely no responsibilities or expectations and had come away victorious, with a double major from a top-tier university with various honours. Above all, I was in a strange land with so many many things to explore. For the next few months, I can live my life anyway I want to. It was the most freedom I had ever felt, unlike anything I had felt before. I was completely liberated.

I was completely liberated except for one thing. My pack. I hate carrying my pack on hot and humid days. Even with moderate activity, you can't help but sweat a bit on a hot and humid day. Even the slightest amount of moisture would pool behind a large, heavy backpack after an hour or so, putting a oval of dark, sticky, clingy, uncomfortable mess on the back of your shirt. I had to get rid of my pack, the sooner the better.

After a short period of exploring, I finally find the metro station at the airport. I was lucky. Having arrived very early in the morning, the metro system wasn't overly crowded yet, making for a comfortable ride. Having a large backpack on with a Canadian flag on it, however, made me stand out on a subway in Madrid, a fact which I was painfully aware of. I was especially self-conscious of my situation since this was the first day of my trip, and had not yet grown accustomed to being the odd one out yet. Wanting to avoid crowds and potential pick-pockets, I stood off to one side of the car I was in, away from the crowds.

The train started to fill up on the way to Atocha Renfe, although there was still enough room to easily get to the doors. Eventually, I noticed two men standing to either side of me, almost squeezing me into a corner of the train by the doors, away from most of the other passengers. This was suspicious enough to me that I lowered my hands to protect the pockets that contained my camera (which was large and bulky), and my wallet (which I tied with a string to my belt for extra security). I noticed one of the men draped a thin jacket across his arm, and the two men were glancing at each other, and would sneak quick looks in my direction. I pretended not to notice. As we neared a station, with me in alert mode, I noticed I was being slowly squeezed toward the doors by the two men. As the doors opened, I ducked between them with my hands by my pockets. They exited at the same time, squeezing me between them. All of a sudden, I felt a hand in my pocket, fumbling around as if trying to find something to grab a hold of. It was subtle, and would have gone unnoticed if I hadn't been paying attention. I quickly raised my hand of slapped his. A second later, the two men were out of my subway, with the closing doors separating me from them. Checking all of my pockets, I was relieved that I hadn't lost anything. I hadn't expected to come into contact with pickpockets so early in my trip. I had expected to lose some money during my trip since I figure you can't completely avoid pickpockets and other criminals over a trip so long. Even so, I decided to be constantly on the lookout for suspicious behaviour.

Madrid - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 1 (Part 1)

Taking my seat on the plane, I can hardly contain my excitement. I scanned the area for other backpackers and people to talk to. Across the aisle from where I was sitting, there were three people that looked about my age, taking very excitedly. I struck up a conversation with them, and found out that they were a group of two seniors and one sophomore, on their first backpacking trip to Europe. One one of them had visited Europe before, but had only spent a short time in Paris. They asked me to take a photo of the in their seats and returned to excitedly talking among themselves. They still seemed a bit shy talking to strangers, but I knew that their attitude will change after their experience. I was excited for them, how much fun they are going to have, and discovering the liberating world of backpacking. I missed my first backpacking trip, how excited and anxious we were, plunging into something that we were unfamiliar with, having no idea what awaited us. It was a great bonding experience with friends.

I can almost never fall asleep while sitting up, so I knew it was going to be a long flight through the night ahead of me. Luckily, I was on a Boeing 777, with a personal TV, so I could entertain myself with movies all night long. It also enjoy being up all night, as I feel nighttime is like a completely different world than during the day. Breaking routine and the lack of sleep also helps to intensify the feeling that I was on my way to something special. At one point during the flight, I felt sleepy and dozed off with some difficulty. Waking up to the hum of the airplane around me, I checked the time and was very disappointed to find out I had only dozed off for about half an hour. Not being able to go back to sleep, I decided to watch some more movies. Seeing that I had about three hours left in the flight, I started Pam's Labyrinth. I enjoyed the movie very much but near the end of the movie, all of a sudden the entertainment systems turned off, and we were told to prepare for landing! They had cut off the movie about 40 minutes before we actually started the final approach! Well, I guess I'll just have to finish up the movie at a later point in time.

After what seemed like forever circling, we finally landed at Madrid Barajas Airport early in the morning just after sunrise. After standing in a very long line at customs and chatting with the three I met on the plane, I passed customs with no questions asked. I just gave my passport to the customs agent, and without a single word spoken other than hello and good-bye, my passport was stamped and motioned to move along. I split up with the first people I met on the trip as they went to collect their luggage. Heading out to the lobby, I called my parents to tell them I have safely arrived, and acquired a map of the city at the tourist information booth. I had arranged to stay at a local's apartment through Couchsurfing.com, but seeing that they were at work, I needed a place to store my luggage and spend the day before going to their apartment at "7pm or after." After chatting with a friendly and pretty female tourist information agent, I had a new destination, a place in town where I can store my luggage for the day: Atocha Renfe Train Station.

Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Start of Trip - Toronto and Philadelphia

June 3, 2007. After saying good-bye to my parents and a round of hugs and photos, I finally walk through the US customs door at the Toronto Pearson International Airport. The automatic door closing behind me, I step in line at the US customs. Again, I was jittery with excitement. Although not my first backpacking trip, this would be my first long-term backpacking trip, scheduled for almost two and a half months. Looking around me, I see families, loving couples, and other backpackers with their gear in line, some looking fresh and excited, some looking worn and tired.

Clearing customs with no problems, I found my way to the gate. I was very early, just like my first backpacking . In fact, I was at the same gate I used when flying out for my very first backpacking trip just a few months before. I had brought my entire 60 litre pack with me, causing many people to scan me with curious eyes. But I was in good company. I see other people with similar packs, waiting impatiently for their flights. I had refused to check my bags in with US Airways and they had lost my bags too many times when I was flying through Philadelphia. I walk to a pay phone, and with my pack beside me, I have a long conversation with my parents before I leave.

Finally, after what seemed to be forever, my flight was called. Walking out of the terminal, I see the jet in front of me. After detaching the small upper portion of my pack, I place the larger, bulky section on the luggage rack, walk to the plane and up the steps. I pause briefly before the steps to feel the ground of my home before setting off. I knew that I would not be back on this continent for a long time. It is difficult to describe the feeling at the start of what you know is going to be an adventure far away from home, so I won't even try it. Just know that the entire first day is always such a wonderful experience, the excitement and anticipation reaching a climax, knowing that you'll soon be in a new land with new cultures to explore, where the rules are different, and where you will meet many very interesting people with very interesting views and experiences to share.

During the approach to Philadelphia, I hear the announcements of which gates the connecting flights are. Since this is a small plane, the list only contains connections for present passengers. When they announced Madrid, I suddenly feel another surge in excitement, as I knew that announcement was for me. Suddenly, everything seems to real. I thought about all of the interesting places I will soon be in - Madrid, Morocco, Southern Spain.... Arriving at Philadelphia International Airport, I immediately find a pay phone to update my parents on my progress. I end up in a long conversation, as I had four hours to kill before my next flight. I had booked an early flight into Philadelphia since I didn't want to be late for my flight to Madrid, else I would have to wait another day before the next flight to Madrid.

In the next couple of hours, I purchase some food, and sit at the food court I am now so familiar with from my interview flights and my trip during the summer. It feels good to be back in the airport not on the way to a stressful interview with homework piling up. While enjoying my food, I continue to fill out a "cheat sheet" I'm making that contains important vocabulary for the different languages that I will encounter - Spanish, Arabic, French, Italian, Greek, Turkish, Bulgarian, Romanian, and Portuguese. I also include some information on social habits, etiquette, safety and common scam information, as well as special foods and drinks for each country and area I will be visiting - Spain, Morocco, Gibraltar, France, Italy, Greece, Turkey, Bulgaria, Romania, Portugal. I had brought a stack of printed pages from Wikipedia, and went to work transferring the important information to my two cheat sheets.

Finally, after a lot of studying, including a crash course in reading Greek, Cyrillic, and special Turkish and Romanian characters, I finish my cheat sheet. There are some holes in my language cheat sheet, but figure I can fill those holes up later on during the trip. It had been getting closer to my flight, and I was glad I had something to pass the time with, else the anticipation would have made me mad. Taking the shuttle, I walk over to the international terminal, which was now familiar to me since my last backpacking trip, brining back memories of my excitement during my first ever trip without my family.

After a final call to my parents to tell them I've made it onto my flight to Madrid, I board the plane and find my seat. There is ample storage to place my giant bag in, which was a huge relief to me.

Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Prologue

I've been looking forward to finally returning home from university for a long time. I graduated from Cornell University, with a double major in Computer Science and Engineering Physics, magna cum laude, and with honours. It has been a tough four years, and coming home for good from school was a great relief. At the same time, I feel saddened that I've grown up and have to start facing the real world soon. But before that, I have one more big adventure ahead of me. You see, I had gone on a three week backpacking trip across Northern Europe and Scandinavia in the winter, and was very much changed by that experience. Wanting to relive my days of wandering around, meeting interesting people and learning to see the world in different ways, I decided to take a long, two and a half month trip to some more exotic destinations. So although I was ecstatic to be finally coming home, I only had a few short days to savour my success at home, as I needed to prepare for my long journey ahead.

June 3, 2007. Once again, I had my parents drive me to the airport. Although we had done this once in the winter, there was still an air of excitement, anticipation, and sadness that I will be leaving for so long. My parents and I knew that we would see each other for a long time. My parents were especially worried since they knew that I would be in a foreign country, with no way to locate me if our lines of communications were cut. This is why they "decided" that I should carry a GSM phone so that I would be able to contact my parents from time to time. After a few photos, I walked through the door to enter US customs on my way to Madrid through Philadelphia.

Months of planning had gone into this trip. It had taken months for me to finally decide on where I wanted to go for my big post-graduation adventure. I had applied for English teaching jobs in Mongolia and Myanmar, a volunteering program in Cambodia, a English Wilderness camp instructor position in Siberia, and had considered wandering around South Asia. But since I am moving to the San Fransisco Bay Area after summer, I decided to leave Asia for the future, and take advantage of being close to Europe while still on the East Coast.

After coming up with the idea of a Mediterranean trip, I had been spending my time researching places to go and planning a route. That was the easy part. The hard part was that a few of my friends, with some encouragement from me, had also decided to join me for parts of my trip. It took a lot of negotiations to decide on mutually agreed upon routes and dates. The cumulation of the negotiations resulted in a slightly changed route than what I had originally planned. Instead of visiting Slovenia, Croatia, Serbia, Macedonia, Sicily, Malta, Tunisia, and Algeria, I was going to visit (re-visit) Italy, Greece, Turkey, Bulgaria, and Romania.

Side story: After agreeing to go to Greece, I had been looking for cheap tickets from Eastern Europe to Lisbon, where I had an inexpensive flight home. I found a ticket for $12, including taxes, from Bucharest, but after all of the negotiations with my friends were done, it had jumped to $200! Just shows that you have to book a ticket well in advance! Anyway, because of this, I'll have an excuse to visit Romania, a country I have been curious about but never had a good reason to visit.

More amazingly, the negotiations resulted in having me arrive in Madrid, spending the first day by myself, then meeting up with a friend of mine. Throughout the trip, I will be meeting up and parting ways with 4 of my friends. I would have a guaranteed travel buddy all of way up to Sofia, Bulgaria, from where I would be on my own to explore Romania and Portugal. After many changes in the timing and route, my friends and I finally agreed upon the following way points:

June 3: Fly out of Toronto, Canada to Madrid, Spain. Start Trip!
June 5: Meet up with Felix in Madrid, Spain.
June 7: Flight from Madrid to Ouarzazate, Morocco.
June 11: Meet up with Lori in Marrakesh, Morocco.
June 23: See Lori off on her flight home from Barcelona, Spain.
June 27: Meet up with Andre in Nice, France.
Depart with Felix around Nice so that he can visit Florence before returning to Munich.
July 12: Meet up with David in Athens, Greece.
Visit the Greek islands during this time.
July 21: Send off Andre on his flight home from Athens, Greece
July 29: Send off David from Sofia, Bulgaria.
Aug. 7: Fly out from Bucharest, Romania to Lisbon, Portugal.
Aug. 10: Fly out from Lisbon, Portugal to Toronto, Canada. End Trip!

While I was excited for the upcoming trip, at the same time, I wished my departure day would never come. I loved the anticipation, as I knew that this would be a once in a lifetime experience, my last real adventure before entering "the real world." Once my departure date comes, I will never experience the anticipation of waiting for the start of my very first long-term backpacking trip, with no responsibilities and nothing to worry about except for me, my friends, and my well being for the sake of my family.