Traveling Feet

In 2007 I crossed the Atlantic (dragging my sister's backpack along) to wander the historic streets of Europe - a place I had called home many times during my childhood.  I frequently sprinted into stations as the next needed train pulled away from the platform, arrived in cities after dark with no idea of where I'd be laying my backpack or head for the night, and altered my intended trek mid-booking of train tickets and flights.  Despite growing up as a mobile Army Brat and having parents who spent their weekends throwing us in their (to this day I refuse to claim this vehicle as having any association with me at all) unbelievably uncool hunter green Winstar Minivan - fanny pack clad and all - it wasn't until my solo trip to Europe that I found my Traveling Feet.  I have always enjoyed an adventure (my dad would call it trouble, but that's a potato, patata debate if I ever knew one) and our family excursions have left me with fond memories and wonderful experiences.  Being an Army Brat I had the opportunity to count the number of steps on the Eiffel Tower and learn to repel in the slate quarries in Wales during class trips.  I spent many weekends on a bus full of teenage athletes (I use this term lightly considering I too was on the bus) traveling to other military bases to compete.  With this said, it wasn't until I walked out of the train station that summer in 2007 and stood, nervously, rocking back and forth on my feet with my sister's backpack weighing me down that I had ever been in charge of my own traveling destiny.  With the Dom in center of Koln, Germany stained with black soot from World War II staring me down I had two choices: 1. I could run back into that train station, call my Mom, and fly home or 2.  I could do this - travel Europe completely alone for six weeks and have every decision, every consequence, every bit of adventure rest solely on my shoulders.  Mostly out of the embarrassment that choice one would lead to, I went with option 2.  I walked up to a group of people dressed as ballerinas at eight o'clock in the morning and asked them what no one else seemed willing to - "WHY?".  And there they were - my Traveling Feet.  They were definitely shaky.  They tripped up many times.  But I had found them and with them, the confidence to take myself anywhere I could dream of.

My Traveling Feet - Post Pompeii

Over the next few years my Traveling Feet took me (and now my little brother's backpack) across the equator toward Brazil to bask on the stunning beaches in Rio de Janeiro, to hike with the overly assertive monkeys living on Sugarloaf mountains, and to kayak the calm waters running through the world's largest rainforest. I traveled lightly (with only my school backpack) to Costa Rica to swim in the crater of a dormant volcano, to witness one of the world's ten most active volcanos erupt every fifteen minutes like clockwork,  and to swing life away in a hammock overlooking the mind-bogglingly expanse of waves that is the Pacific Ocean.  My Traveling Feet even took me on a cross-country adventure with my seven-months pregnant sister-in-law.  I like to refer to it as the Express Tour of the United States of America.  This tour included many National Parks and Monuments, a run-in with a jack rabbit and our vehicle, a moment on a mountain where we were looking down at the moon, a town called Emblem with a robust population of 10, and nearly running out of gas at a questionable establishment.  My Traveling Feet (and the contents of whichever, or whoever's, backpack) got me through every pitfall, over every obstacle, and excited about every new adventure I came across.

Now I (and my very OWN new travel backpack!) leap Traveling Feet first into the greatest adventure of my life.  I packed up my life in St. Augustine, my home for the last eight years, quit my job at a school I love, and headed to the northeast to couch surf until I found a teaching job at the perfect school in the most adventurous location I could reach.  Five job interviews and offers later I found my new home: The Ela Murray International School in Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea.  

I will spend the next couple weeks unpacking my life from the bags I've trudge back and forth across New Jersey, Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Washington D.C. with for the last nine months and repacking them into my green travel backpack (and a suit case, and a couple of boxes).  My work permit is approved.  My visa application is ready.  My vaccines are up-to-date.  Here's to hoping these Travel Feet keep me firmly planted on the ground and ready to tackle every adventure that comes my way.  Maybe not too firmly; I've found that the most exciting adventures begin when you stumble a bit.