My 100th (!) post: My favorite journal entry

My knees are sore from caving under the Danube River in Hungary.

My heart is hurt from one of my traveling mates and I hate the way it lingers on me and the way I make up that everything is fine. But, I am passing a sea of sunflowers on the train, acres of yellow reaching tall into the sky.

The warm breeze is blowing in our car, saving us from the August humidity soaking into my skin.

 We slept on a concrete bench at the train station last night and washed clothes in the sink. I think I am really traveling now.

At this point we have been on the road a month and we have trained, trammed, bussed...

 flown, ferried, walked...

run, and swam our way to get here in this moment.

 We are leaving Hungary where we have relaxed in the baths in the city park,

danced until dawn on Margot Island,

and made some of the best traveling companions of our time away.

And it came at the perfect moment because after being in Prague,

and stranded in Poland questioning our path,

we found our motivation and our fantasy world by continuing on.

 We may have been three bored little girls looking for an adventure but what an adventure it has been.

 I love gyros, and tea, and ciaos.

I have cheered on the World Cup with new friends and travel companions,

I know the places and the people. I have stood in the train windows watching the coast and the Adriatic Sea blow by.

I have 8 types of currency in my wallet, was detained at the border in Slovakia, I have celebrated Spain's birthday on their beaches.

I leave each hostel with names and e-mails written down my arm of the countless best friends I have made. My feet are throbbing from walking and I couldn't fit into heels if you paid me; but my legs are strong and I believe I am capable of anything.

I love hoisting my pack high on my shoulders and strapping it on with less wobbles each time. I love where it is worn away where my hips ride against it. My pack is my home; it gives me a strange feeling of comfort and I can feel a smile creep along my face as I throw it on my back. It is my pillow in airports, my seat on trains, my bed in train stations.

It has been hoisted up mountains, it has walked streets of the world, it has been soaked in rain storms of Monteverde, laid on the beach in Croatia. It has been thrown in shuttles, under buses and holds my experiences, my souvenirs, my locks. It is the one constant in this nomadic lifestyle.

My books have been swapped from El Salvador to Istanbul and each opens releasing sand from beaches around the world falling out of the pages that have flown with me from Ibiza to Croatia.

I have seen Auschwitz and sat in a gas chamber.

I have fallen in love with Budapest.

I have drank from the aqueducts of Italy.

And bike through the streets of Amsterdam.

 I wear two outfits - one to spend my days and a second for nightly dinners and dancing and pub crawls. I have had drunken kisses, rambling conversation, and made great memories.

I have felt like family at Carpe Noctem and contemplating staying forever. I have woken up to coffee waiting and sitting with my best friends who were strangers the day before.

I live off free breakfasts and only the items that fit in my pack. We never know what country we will be in tomorrow but survive by the kindness and directions of strangers and for every place I have been, I have added three more to explore next.

I honestly don’t know how were going to stop.