It was only a matter of time before I got lost.
Getting lost is simply my lot in life, especially when I travel. It’s what I do. Not unlike the phrase “Pics or it didn’t happen,” my travel motto should be, “If I didn’t get lost, was I even really there?”
Imagine this: you’re alone in a foreign country. You have no cash on you. You have no working phone. You’re in what looks like the Times Square of Madrid. You’re trying to find your way back to your apartment, and all you have is a blurry picture of someone’s map on your phone that doesn’t work because you haven’t gotten a SIM card yet.
No phone, no money, a foreign language, and I imagine most people would be in panic mode now. But, given that my travel expertise is getting lost and finding my way back in the most unconventional and humorous way possible, I found it as a great adventure.
A few days prior, I was standing next to an oven in my hometown, dreaming of being at this very place. And here I was, I was in what still felt like an actual oven due to the dry summer heat, in the heart of Spain.
I was hot, sweaty, lost, and all alone in Madrid.
And I couldn’t have been happier.
(And, for the record, I did find my way back. The only unfortunate part of the story is that it wasn’t in an unconventional or humorous way. I didn’t end up in some strange neighborhood, nor did I even have to bashfully ask someone for directions (which usually starts the “Hey, where are you from?” conversation, and then the next thing you know, I’m getting a free tour on the outskirts of the city while a bus driver is telling me about his family). It took a few mistakes, but I ended up finding my way back to the apartment in a reasonable time. So uneventful. I can do so much better.)