Itchy Toes - a Travel blog

Sitting frozen in front of the computer, my palms were getting sweaty. My pinkie finger was immobilized, unwilling to stretch out over the comma key to hit enter. To go, or not to go. I went through the motions, checked the schedules, found the cheapest flight, planned an itinerary, staked the options. It was now do or die.

With a muffled scream that sounded more like a cat being smothered, I pressed enter. Lo and behold, that weekend, I was off to Thailand. I had several options, and was more excited at the fact that I was traveling alone than anything else. Though I would have enjoyed company, there was an allure traveling alone held. The freedom to slack off, to just aimlessly wander, to sit down on the sidewalk and watch people. To have nothing to lose, and strike up a conversation with the person on the street, or next to you. To have no one else to blame but yourself when you get lost. I knew I was meeting up with my sister for a couple of days when I got to Bangkok, and I had been planning on meeting up with some friends when I got there. But for now I had plans. It didn’t matter that I may not see all the great tourist spots. I wanted to sit and watch people. I wanted to take public transportation. I wanted to walk and walk and walk. I wanted to converse with cab drivers (if language permitted). I wanted to haunt the bazaars. I wanted to take the train. I wanted to visit the local universities. I wanted to eat street food. I wanted to hear stories.

Little did I know that each leg of my trip would hold a story. I would get to do whatever I wanted to do. I would get to visit the places I wanted to go to. But months after I arrive back home, it would still be the people I met that I would remember most vividly.