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How can you know who you are when who you are is always changing? I want this blog to be for those who are interested in travel, those who wish to travel more, and those who are travelling but perhaps struggling with the hardships that come from being a 'world citizen'. Where is your sense of belonging?
What a difference a weekend can make huh? On returning from Barcelona, I set my sights on making the move, and pouring all my energy into searching for a position in Spain. I wasn't too concerned about the field, but more the opportunity to relocate, and of course, finally being able to use my languages.…
London. Blighty. The Big Smoke. And the place I will always call home. As much as I whine and moan (comes with the territory) about the horrendous weather, traffic, doom, gloom and to top it all off, the extortionate cost of living we have to endure, I will always love my city. It can be…
We didn't make it.
We stayed in Venice; we're still here right now.
We're stuck forever; that's us in the photo featured. Cazza's finishing off her glass, and I'm pondering over what cheese selection would go best with the next bottle.
Sleep deprived. Ecstatic from sugar highs and the promise of what was to be a very very super-dooper fun day out. Deranged because of all the catching up (breath and story-telling) and also deranged anyway because that was kind of how we rolled. You'll see what I mean as I go on to share the rest of my tale...
July 2015. The tally so far stood as following: Laptops broken: 1 (we're not counting all the other years okay). Mama noodles packets ravaged: 55. Cups of tea: stopped counting. Glasses of morning wine: didn't bother trying to count. All-nighters spent with head in a book (on table): more than is acceptable. And one more…
Moving in with people you’ve never met is a bit risky to say the least. Finding individuals who will put up with your messy kitchen routine, shower ballads and constant burping can be difficult, but I considered myself lucky last year with all the flatmates I had, who didn’t seemed to mind too much when…
Continue reading ➞ Moving to Modena; Meet the Girls Who Saved My Spanish, and My Sanity.
Two little utterances that have brought me more shame than anything else in my twenty two years. The amount of times I have used this phrase is beyond the point of embarrassing, and every time I do, a half smile and awkward silence proceeds, whilst memories flood back of missed opportunities and that familiar feeling…
Sammy Wandering Abroad 