I was six. She was 26. I was a chubby, dishwater-blonde tomboy. She was a lithe, brunette model. I wore football jerseys. She wore patchouli. The only thing we shared in common was a love for her boyfriend -- my dad.
Heading somewhere far off means running smack into a spectrum of new sights, new sounds, new tastes. But along with these comes the inevitable oven-fresh batch of eye-rolling, mind-blowing, completely incomprehensible Mysteries of Travel.