the vagablond

Since my day-to-day life right now is about as exciting as finding old nacho chips under your couch cushion, let’s talk about my bus trip to Poland. Because Poland, for me, was one of the most unexpected gems I’ve ever happened upon.

I don’t know about you, but I love me a good castle. So let’s talk castles.

So instead of flying to London, I seem to have found myself on the way to Lithuania instead. Life, my friends, is rad like that.

Sometimes the biggest adventure does not involve booking a flight and leaving. Sometimes the biggest adventure involves staying exactly where you are.

Out of the blackness emerge a dozen men, eight who are brandishing a heavy raft piled high with cuts of timber. Another three carry ten-foot flagpoles; a torch is borne by the final man, flames leaping.

A street sign reads “Skunu iela” and an Audi A6 with Latvian plates is parked at the corner. The maroon and white of the Latvian flag waves sedately in the thin November breeze.

Holy smokes. We made it. We actually made it. And we’re both still alive, to boot.

Nothing quite beats hours spent cramped up in a tiny space, walled up between backpacks and snowboards and costco-sized bags of cheetos.