In eight months we had traveled over 51,000 miles. Boarded thirty-seven planes. Twiddled our thumbs through twenty-five bus rides. Collected sixteen passport stamps. Slept in one hundred and eight different places. Exchanged money in dollars, baht, kip, rupees, dong, pesos, sols, bolivianos, marks and euros.  Learned to say ‘hello’ in nine different languages.  We had savored thirty cent beers. Devoured exotic curries. Adventured through remote jungles. Gazed at impossibly tall mountains. Become accustomed to doing laundry in hotel pools. Survived food poisoning in extremely inconvenient places. Mastered the art of successfully carrying a dozen eggs four miles down a dirt road in the back of a tuk tuk without the luxury of a carton. 

And while I’m pretty sure we both agree that it was by and far the most amazing experience we could have ever hoped for - eight months that changed our lives, altered our perspectives and allowed us to collect more beautiful, insane, once-in-a-lifetime moments than we’d ever dreamed possible - by the time we got to our final month abroad…we. were. tired. Pretty over the long days spent in transit. Qualms of navigating foreign travel sites. Perplexities that arise whilst trying to ask directions in a foreign language. Having to constantly figure out the who, what, where and how-to-get-there was starting to wear on us. 

Thankfully we had saved some of the ‘easiest’ countries for last - and had a few visits from friends scheduled to lift our spirits. From Croatia we flew to Spain and spent a week climbing just north of Barcelona with our friends Eric and Heather. We then squeezed ourselves into a teeny tiny Fiat and ventured to the teeny tiny country of Andorra, a place I had never heard of before this trip - and spent a night there just to say we’d been. Woke up, brushed our teeth and continued on through the Pyrenees mountain range to France. 

Now, I’m not a huge fan of spending prolonged periods of time in moving vehicles, but I think I could drive through southern France forever. The roads swing around giant mountains and cut through tall billowy grasses – they follow ancient stone fences and breeze by fluffy farm animals. They merrily weave in and out of little towns with tiny houses atop rolling hills. And you hang your feet out the window and stare out at the wisps of clouds sailing overhead and listen to beautiful French women serenade you with their beautiful French voices over the radio. It’s kind of like a dream.

Rather than trying to see as many places as possible in France, as we probably would have done at the beginning of our trip, we decided to pick a town and stay put as long we could. Mostly on a whim, we settled on Bagneres de Luchon - this sleepy little town at base of this epically huge mountain. It had the most beautiful main street lined with perfectly primmed trees and a tiny cheese shop and wine store and bakery and plenty of access to gorgeous hiking and biking – I don’t know what more we could have asked for. Brad dragged me, huffing and puffing up the Col de Peyresourde and the Col du Tourmalet - two of the most horrifically lactic acid inducing, quad shattering bike climbs I have ever experienced. The same ones they do in the Tour de France. I think the only reason I made it up the last one was that he promised to buy me this way overpriced t-shirt I really liked from the bike store if I finished. And I’m damn proud to report that I added a new piece of clothing to my backpacker wardrobe that day.

From France we drove back to Spain to meet up with our friends Brad and Lisa in this gorgeous beach town called San Sebastian where we drank way too much wine, had way too much fun and watched way too beautiful sunsets from hidden castle bars, pocketed ever so secretly into cliffs overlooking the ocean. Last up we drove to Toledo, Spain - a place I just had to see because it shares a name with my hometown - and after touring a few more cathedrals and eating a few more tapas we hit our final destination - Sevilla, Spain and caught a flight home. 

We’re now two and a half weeks emerged back into American life and have been busy enjoying the little things - like hugging our moms, washing our clothes on a consistent basis and marveling at the fact that we can get whatever we want pretty much whenever we want it. We have a whole new appreciation for things like convenience stores, Jimmy Johns, freedom of enterprise, infrastructure, the ability to post our political views on Facebook (even though most of the time we don’t choose to do so). I don’t think I realized before how goddamn lucky we are to live the lives we live in the country we live them. 

The last two and a half months of the year we’ll be living out of our truck and exploring the northwestern US. We’ll be doing our fare share of climbing, hiking and s’more making - and trying to figure out where we want to plant some roots after all of these shenanigans are over. We think life when we get back might look a little different than it did when we left, and we’re both ok with that. I think among so many of things we’ve taken away with us from this trip - one of the most important is that our time here is way too short to spend it going through the motions. That it’s worth it to take risks. Be gutsy. Do the things other people tell you you’re a little crazy to do. Both of us have discovered new things along the way that we want to pursue. And they’re kind of big. And kind of scary. But we’re going to go for them anyway. Because we think at the end of the day they’ll be worth it.

Mine is that I’ve decided I want to write a book. And even admitting that was a little terrifying for me because it’s something never done before. I don’t quite know how to start. I don’t know if I’ll ever finish. But I’m going to try because I’ve discovered that writing is something that I love. And they say time spent doing the things that you love is time well spent, right?

So if you don’t hear from us for a while, know we’re still getting after it. That I’m still writing. Brad’s still dragging me up mountains. That we’re still doing our best to collect moments – painful ones, beautiful ones, ones that we’ll take with us forever.

Thanks for following along with us for as long as you have – we promise to check in again before too long.

Until next time – and God Bless America,

Kenz