I arrived in Madrid with my elementary Spanish feeling like a complete lunatic. I’ve prided myself in navigating public transport systems, but trying to buy a Madrid metro card and load one trip made me feel like a complete idiot. After multiple what the fucks under my breath, I headed towards my expensive hostel. Then my BlaBlaCar Driver texted with photos of the mics I left in his car. Welp. What the fuck. He sent me frantic Spanish voice memos, and I opened google translate at least 4 times in 30 seconds. I arrived in the city and ate at Walk to Wok. In that restaurant there were three total Asian people, and I haven’t seen any other Asians since. The food was delicious, and I wanted to cry.
Travel is a privilege. As I complain about having food in my belly, money to buy the food, means to take public transportation, losing expensive camera equipment, and having a sub $500 cellphone, I remind myself that travel is a privilege. All these instances shape my travel experience, making it unique and interesting. I will welcome all of them. Travel is the fattest privilege I indulge in. Like a bucket of lard in the middle of a grease pool. This is all just a fat indulgence. And I am grateful.