The bus to the city is about to come. It’s a chilly summer evening in Calgary and I’m sitting in front of the airport’s arrival hall looking at the entry stamp in my passport with a grin on my face. I made it to Canada.
The hostel in Bitola doesn’t look as sketchy as its neighborhood. What is disturbing is the fact that I’m here completely alone after watching the receptionist take off for the day. I’m not scared of being alone, although I shivered a bit last night passing through nearby streets with no lights trying to get here safe. I just stare at the wall thinking about the recent events. I bought a flight to Macedonia only because it was the cheapest of options. But now my traveling without any deeper reasoning is falling into a trap. How the hell do I get out?
I sat in the train defeated. In a way it was the first time during the course of my travels that something didn’t go as planned. I felt miserable. Was it a mistake? I looked out the window up to distanced mountain peaks and remembered the old smartass quote: ‘Dude, there are no mistakes in life, only lessons’.
It’s been a while. I’ve decided to go home. The interesting part was that I kept it for myself. They had no clue, neither my family nor friends. At the same time I had no clue how this homecoming was about to confront with my wandering mindset.
It’s been less than two weeks since my mum cooked a dinner for me after being four months away and I’m sitting in the train slowly passing the borders of our little country again. For the next few days I will thankfully call “home” my friends’ homes around Europe, already extremely glad for this voyage proving that for the lasting friendships a distance is not an obstacle.
The long awaited trip to Balkans had finally come and after sleepless nights spent by finishing up my master thesis it was again the time to give my wanderlust its deserved pleasure.