Six Month Reflection

It’s almost impossible to believe that today marks six full months of travel. If you had told me this time last year that I would be in Bulgaria, having been on the road for 26 weeks, been through 15 countries, seen countless incredible sights, made so many wonderful friends, and managed to add seven more dogs to my Menagerie (oops), I would have rolled my eyes and told you you were crazier then I am, and that’s saying something. Yet here I sit, tucked in the little caravan that has been my home for the last six months, and I have done all of those things and more. It’s weird to contemplate how different my life is then I thought it would be a year ago, and more, to really grasp how I feel about the changes.

I “knew” travelling with all my animals around Europe with no plan and little money was going to be challenging. Everyone knew that. But I had no idea just how plain hard it would be. I could never have anticipated the stress involved with not being able to afford campsites, food, gas, and vet care. I couldn’t have known how often we would be coasting in to a truck stop on the last fumes of gas, or what it would be like to not be able to find any rest stops as the last rays of sun were setting behind yet another mountain. When we lost phone service and reliable WiFi we faced a generational challenge that I know our parents would have laughed at… but you can’t find truck stops on a map!!

The reality of six large dogs and five cats cooped up in a tiny caravan and car is actually brutal… there is nothing fun or exciting about it. It’s dirty, hairy, smelly, and crowded. No amount of vacuuming or wiping down can keep the sheer volume of animal at bay. On the days when there’s no place for off leash walking, the dogs pick fights with each other and the cats to work off energy. Or they bark incessantly until your head wants to explode and you can’t think straight.

I’ve struggled with nightmares and insomnia for years due to PTSD, but on this trip sleep has become a distant memory. The few hours I do catch are often interrupted by high beams at truck stops, drunks throwing up in front of the caravan, or dogs and cats simply stepping all over me in an effort to find a place to lay down. And the fact that I haven’t had any sleep doesn’t stop the fact that they all want breakfast, potty breaks, and walks at the crack of dawn. There’s no option to just throw the door open and let them run around the yard for a bit like back home… it requires fully getting up, getting dressed, putting on leashes, yelling for everyone to shut up and sit down so you can do all those things, and then being dragged out the door and across a parking lot to the nearest grass so the business can get underway. This is rain or shine, snow or blazing heat, day and night. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve closed my eyes and wished myself back to England in my great big house with my huge fenced garden and a husband to lean on when it gets to be too much for me. That’s not an option out here on the road so we just get on with it, albeit with plenty of griping and swearing at the animals and at each other when Trav and I have reached the end of our ropes.

Other challenges are more unexpected. Laundry has been our biggest shock. Laundromats such as we have back in the States are not a thing through much of Europe, especially not in small town, rural Europe where we spend the vast majority of our time. We can go a month between finding laundry options and while I have enough clothes to get through it, poor Travis suffers. More, the bedding suffers. Usually I would change sheets once a week at minimum… I’m used to hair but this is a whole different ball game and it drives me crazy. Showering is another issue. In countries with good truck stops we did okay, but when we entered the Balkans, things weren’t so easy. Here in Bulgaria we have access to a house and shower, except it’s winter time, and the pipes freeze regularly. We’ve gotten real good at washing by baby wipes or showering in 60 seconds when there’s enough hot water to do so. They claim that not washing your hair too often is actually good for it… well mine is being put to the ultimate test; I’m not sure I’m impressed.

The reality of life on the road is that there isn’t a lot of what you see in the photos or on those travel shows. We sight see once in a blue moon and in some counties have missed the best sights altogether because they aren’t practical with dogs in tow. It’s not one big adventure day to the next; most of the time it’s just trying to stretch the last few dollars to feed us all until next month’s pay check and be able to afford the gas to get us to the next country or safe place. It’s wondering how to cook food with no stove and no place to start a fire, and how to stay warm with no electricity when the temperatures drop below zero (the animals are real helpful there)! It’s never knowing where we are or where we’re going next, and often not being able to read the signs that are directing us there. It’s a lot of communication by hand and Google translate and often knowing that neither party has a clue what’s been said. It’s hard and it’s depressing and it’s frustrating and it’s often lonely even with each other and the animals for company.

But all that being said, I wouldn’t take back a single moment of the last six months. We maybe be living rough, we may be taking the longer, tougher road, but damn are we living life to the fullest. No one can say that we haven’t taken the bit in our teeth and ran with it.

I’ve bathed in a lake in Denmark and stood on the spot where two seas meet. I’ve traversed most of Poland in an attempt to enter the Ukraine (which admittedly failed). But I’ve walked the castle in Krakow and gazed through the gates of Auschwitz. I’ve ridden native horses in the Czech Republic and watched traditional song and dance at one of their local village fairs. We made friends there, from both the Czech and from all the way from China. In Austria we may have seen some of the worst of life, but we also saw some of the best. I drove Standardbred racehorses and summitted my first mountains. I rode in ski lifts with my service dogs and danced on the streets of Hallstatt with Wasi. I saw Vienna through my family’s eyes, rediscovered Austria’s beauty through them when it had all gone a bit sour. The friends we made it Austria will be ones we keep for life: we’ve revisited some already and have others coming to see us next month! I finally made it to Italy, and the magic of Venice. There’s more to discover there but at least I got a taste. A dear friend joined us there and made it all the more special.

Entering the Balkans, we had no expectations, no ideas of what life would be like here. In Croatia we were introduced to Rakia (ewww by the way), perfect beaches and the friendliest people around. Bosnia and Herzegovina stole my heart with its unexpected charm and harsh mountain beauty. There I rode horses free across lands littered with the ruins of ancient people’s. The recent tragedy only made the people’s determination to move forward all the more inspiring. We lived in a town that had been at the center of the war, where houses still bore the bullet holes and bombed out craters of the violence. Our hosts there has experienced the war first hand, one on the front lines, another having to give up his eight month old daughter to keep her safe. The shadows of what they lived through was often still visible in their eyes and their hard exterior, though when you got to know them, they were people just like us who wanted peace and prosperity just like people everywhere. They shared their stories and it was impossible not to feel their pain. It was humbling and frightening and inspiring all at once.

Our time in Serbia was too short but we reunited with one of the friends we made in Austria and he shared life there with us. We met his family, had dinner made by his grandmother (amazing by the way). We helped move a (very large) pig and played with some piglets. Our friend shared his family’a story with us, how life had improved for them but there was still more they hoped to do with the house. We talked about the protests in Belgrade and how politics are the same no matter where you are in the world. And again it was brought home to us how very alike people are, no matter where they may be… we’re really all the same at heart.

Now we’re in Bulgaria. In the last six months we’ve rescued two dogs and successfully rehomed one. The second dog has a home waiting for her when she weans her puppies. Somehow I’m once again raising a litter of six puppies born on my bed, nearly seven years exactly since my Nefsi was born. I was just divorced then too; how’s that for life coming full circle? My own dogs and cats are happy and healthy. Wasi will celebrate his one year birthday tomorrow; he will have spent exactly half his life living on the road. That’s one well travelled pup! We lost our precious Sami but we’ve never forgotten her, not even for a moment… she’s still apart of our Menagerie in spirit.

I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know where we will go when our time in Bulgaria is up, or how we will get there. Outside factors have made life all the more difficult right now; especially financially, but I imagine we will get through it. I long to return to England, to my horses, my friends, my life there, but I know it’s not possible right now. There’s so much more to see, so much more to do, and we’ve finally gotten the hang of this life on the road so I suppose we should take advantage; lord knows I’ll never do a trip quite this way again! But it’s certainly been one hell of an adventure so far, and I’m glad it’s not over yet!

LOOKING BACK: When the Heart Breaks Again

The above photo has gotten the more traffic on Facebook and Instagram then any other post I’ve made.  It was taken on 16 October 2018, in Flachau, Austria.  For the viewers, its probably because it captures the essence of what travelling in a minuscule caravan with too many animals actually looks like.  For me, the photo is one that makes my stomach hurt, in both good and bad ways.  It’s a frozen moment, a moment on our trip that will be with me forever in crystal clear clarity, one I’ve relived many times since and will likely continue to do for some time to come.

Just before this photo was taken, I received a text message from a woman I loved more then I have ever loved anyone else in this entire world.  The text message was part explanation, part defensive accusation, and reading between the lines of those two things, part pleading for understanding.  The message served the purpose of shattering the few remaining intact pieces of my heart, while somehow simultaneously giving me a way of taking the first step towards putting those very same pieces back together.  To say that I was emotional when this photo was taken would be an understatement.  To say that it was one of those precious moments when travelling with every single one of my menagerie was 100% worth it would be entirely accurate.

A few weeks prior, I had been notified that this woman was now romantically engaged with my husband.  There’s another frozen moment of this trip, one I thankfully don’t have a photo to remember by.  That moment was sheer devastation.  The fact that I had “known” for many months, that I had “suspected” for even longer, and that it was this very “unfounded fear” that had ultimately ended my marriage didn’t change the force of the shock that blew through me.  It was even worse to realise, in that moment, that I was still hoping for a reconciliation, that I still loved my husband.  There are few betrayals that can compare to when your best friend and your husband fall in love, let me tell you.

And that was the first feeling I had, that I had been betrayed.  Then there was a trickle of relief, that I hadn’t been crazy after all.  This was followed by an unexpectedly soft feeling, one that I can only describe as joy; joy that two people I loved had found love in each other.  Which was quickly overridden by anger: vicious, bright, hot, ugly anger.  And then finally, that emotion that has ruled the entirety of my feelings towards the failure of my marriage: grief.  While the other feelings would cycle in and out over the next days and weeks and months ahead and I imagine, those that I still have to get through, the grief has remained constant.  First he broke my heart, then she broke my heart, then they broke my heart…  its a lot of things to grieve for at the same time.

In this photo, I am smiling.  And it is for that reason that I decided to share this moment here.  This was not, no matter which angle I examine it from, a happy moment.  A bitter one, yes, and a bittersweet one, undoubtedly.  Yet there I am, smiling away, and its not the least bit fake.  Part of that smile is for those that are surrounding me, comforting me, in my time of need.  Being under a furry pile of love is certain to make even the most horrible moment bearable.  The other part of that smile is for me.

I only read her text message one time before I sat down and typed out my response.  I typed for ages, pouring my heart out, refusing to censor myself, letting all those feelings of betrayal, rage, confusion, joy, and grief roll through me and in to my message back to this woman I had considered my soul mate.  When I was done, I pressed send before I could go back and read what I had wrote.  So much of what had led to this moment had been dishonesty, lies, claims of trying to protect someone from more hurt, accusations of wrongdoing or not doing enough; all of those nasty little things people tell themselves and each other to try to avoid the painful reality of what was actually going on.  I wanted my response, I wanted this moment, to be nothing but truth, my truth, no matter how ugly that honesty may be.

I thought I would have written back something that I’d later be ashamed of.  I thought I would have called her awful names, accused her of breaking up my marriage and ruining my life.  I thought I’d have told her how stupid she was, how foolish, how arrogant to think that he would be any different for her, after she’d watched the affairs he put me through, held my hand through what he’d done.  I was so sure that all that would come out was hate, that hate must be that overwhelming emotion that I couldn’t seem to identify through the confusion of all the others that had built up over the years and months, and most recently, weeks since I had found out.  So you can imagine my surprise to discover that the message that I wrote was one purely, singularly, overwhelmingly, of love.

In that photo, I’m smiling because in one of the darkest moments of my life, what burned most brightly inside me, what poured out of me, what I wanted her to know most of all, was that I loved her, that I loved them.  Love.  Even as I grieved, I loved more.  There is a version of me out there, somewhere in my past, that would not have ever found this inside of me.  The frozen moment this picture captures is thus not only one of pain, but one of pride, for the woman I am becoming, one who is still very capable of love.

The conclusion to this moment doesn’t exist yet.  This situation in its entirety would eventually trigger the biggest mental breakdown I have experienced since I first came forward about being raped five years ago.  All those emotions swirling around inside me continue to do so, sometimes soft, sometimes hard and painful.  Every day since I found out has been a battle for my own sanity, but I like to think that even when I don’t win every daily battle, I’m winning the war.  That’s helped along by the fact that a few days after I responded, I got a message back… This time, she was also full of nothing but love.  I hope that as long as I live, I’ll look back at this photo, at this frozen moment, and remember the lesson it taught me: love is always stronger then hate.

 

LOOKING BACK: The Shetland and Orkney Islands

Warning: Longer Post

I realised a few days after Travis left that I hadn’t been entirely truthful when I said this is the first time that I’ve been alone in who knows how many years.  Actually, I was surprised at myself for having forgotten the most recent time that I was completely and totally on my own, considering that those two weeks last year were actually the catalyst of this very trip.  So I think it might be a good time to remind myself that I actually have survived on my own before, while traveling, and having faced quite a few unexpected obstacles.

In August 2017, I was very much in denial about the pending end of my marriage.  For nearly six months, I had been steadfastly refusing to acknowledge that I was on the verge of losing the man I loved and a life I desperately wanted.  I’d been doing everything in my power to turn the tide towards reconciliation, including throwing myself whole heartedly in to a marriage renewal program I found online (Side note: While this program would ultimately fail to save my own marriage, I actually found it to be incredibly helpful and enlightening… it changed the entire way I think about marriage and long term relationships, and I would recommend it to any couple whether their relationship is in trouble or not.  In many ways, Marriage Fiteess by Mort Fertel taught me how to love, and I consider that one of the silver linings of having to get divorced, even if it came too late: https://marriagemax.com).

During this time, my husband had made a trip back to the States for family reasons, and as his return neared, I began to realise that I literally couldn’t face him.  I needed some time and some space from the situation to come to terms with what was happening, so I packed my bags one day, loaded Nefsi, Moomkin and Nibble in to my Subaru and hit the road.  I had absolutely no game place other than to drive “north” which I did aimlessly over the next couple days.  Eventually I found myself in Aberdeen, on the coast of Scotland.  I happened to drive by the ferry dock, and out of curiosity, stopped to see just where the ferries were headed.  Fifteen minutes later I walked out with a ticket to the Shetland Islands, which I had heard of only with reference to the Shetland pony and whose actual geographic location was a mystery to me.

You can probably imagine my shock when I boarded the ferry and learned that it was an eight hour, overnight trip to the Shetland Islands.  I hadn’t actually paid the least bit of attention when booking, and I assumed we were headed on a short trip to an island off the coast.  So ending up in a subarctic archipelago of over 100 islands was a surprise to say the least.  It turned out to be one of the most pleasant surprises of my life.

The Shetland Islands are not a hot spot tourist destination, which means that while people are definitely missing out, the islands remain a wonderfully pristine, almost untouched landscape.  There are pieces of Neolithic and Viking history dotting all of the islands, rarely preserved and almost never identified on any map or by sign.  The dogs and I spent a week wandering from island to island, stumbling over ruins that seemed to spring up out of the blue as we walked.  I walked through Viking places of worship, sat on beaches holding tools once used by ancient civilisations, and took in views that I could only have imagined in my dreams.  We slept in the car, sometimes at campsites, sometimes just where ever I could find.  The people were wonderful, the history fascinating, and the quiet and solitude, and absolute complete lack of phone service or wifi brought some much needed peace to my fried emotions.

At the end of my week in Shetland, I was taking a final drive up to the lighthouse on the south of the main island when I had a tyre blow out.  It was a Sunday, and thankfully, I was close enough to a major town to be able to reach an emergency car service… on the Scottish mainland.  It took a few hours and a great deal of begging, but eventually a local tow company agreed to bring me back in to Limerick, the main settlement and let me sleep at the garage until morning. First thing Monday, they gave me the bad news that they didn’t have the size tyres my Subaru Forester needed, and that it could take weeks to have the correct one shipped to them.  My best bet was to head for the Orkney Islands, which was more settled and should have a better selection.

So I booked another ferry ticket, this time for only a four hour journey south.  Unfortunately, the seas were not so calm for this trip, and the stress headache I had been nursing because of worry over the flat tyre turned in to a full blown, vicious migraine.  I hadn’t booked a cabin, and instead was sitting in the regular seating area where, about 30 minutes in to the roller coaster ride, I passed out.  I came around when Nefsi, who was traveling above deck with me (the mastiffs stayed in the car in the cargo hold), woke me with frantic licking.  At his insistence, I was able to gain my feet, bracing myself on him.  Of his own accord, he dragged me to mid ship, where he sought the first person he saw and whined adamantly to bring their attention to me slumped against the wall, blinded from the migraine.  A few hours later, when the ship captain came personally to wake me up and check that I had survived the rest of the journey, he told me that watching Nefsi work had been one of the most incredible things he and his crew had ever seen.  He was even more amazed when I informed him that Nefsi was not trained to brace, respond to migraines, or seek help from strangers…  but he wasn’t any more shocked then I was, who despite years with Nefsi at my side, couldn’t believe that he had known how to handle my sudden collapse and following blindness.  Once again, my dog had become what I needed without any training or guidance… my very own miracle.

When we arrived on the main Orkney Island, I was directed to the best mechanic in town, who was pleased to inform me that the had the size tyres I needed in stock.  A few moments later, we were both staring in dismay as not one, but two bolts snapped as we tried to remove them to change out the donut tyre.  Even worse, they did not have the right bolts available, and we would need to order them from the mainland; it would take a week for them to arrive.  I was still feeling sick from the ferry, and now I was frustrated and near desperation.  I was sleeping out of my car, unable to get home, alone with my dogs, and now I was facing the prospect of spending an entire week parked at a garage because the roads on the islands were no place to be driving on a donut.

Before I could even decide what I was going to spend the next week doing, the mechanic shocked me by motioning me over to a van parked just behind my own car.  It was his, and he didn’t need it for the week.  Would I like to take it while we waited on my bolts so that I could explore the islands and wouldn’t have to sleep at the garage?  The back seats were already out, so it would house the dogs nicely and I would easily be able to sleep in the back as I had been doing in the Suby.  I was shocked.  He was offering a perfect stranger his van so my trip wouldn’t be interrupted by my car troubles.  I gratefully accepted, marvelling at the kindness of people.

The van had no power steering, and anyone that knows me and my driving knows that made for a very funny breaking in period.  Reversing was especially challenging to start, and I spent most of the first day being passed on one lane roads by local drivers probably wondering why their friend’s van was struggling to make turns or go faster then 30 miles an hour.  But I did get the hang of it eventually, and the week that followed was truly spectacular.

The Orkney Islands are like a much more inhabited Shetland Islands, with the most notable difference being in how well preserved their historical sites are.  While it was possible to chance upon some old ruins here or there, more often then not, signs, visitor centres, and guide books were available to guide you around.  I stayed on the main island so that I would be close if my own car was unexpectedly finished, but there was plenty to see.  I bought a book that had a map in the back with each of the main sites marked and numbered.  I spent the week driving around the “Heart of Neolithic Orkney,” a UNESCO World Heritage Site, exploring Skara Brae, walking around the Standing Stones of Stenness and the Ring of Brodgar.  One of my favourite experiences was laying on a skateboard and pulleying myself in to the chambered tomb of Maes Howe.  I didn’t neglect some of the more “recent” history (and how amazing is it that 15th/16th/17th century ruins are recent there), taking time to see St. Magnus’ Cathedal, the Bishop’s Palace, the Earl’s Palace, and Skaill House.  In all, I managed to visit over half of the 40 sites on my map over the course of the week.

To this day, the Shetland and Orkney Islands are my favourite places that I’ve travelled to.  Spending two weeks exploring the civilisations and ruins that are older then the pyramids was mind boggling and truly humbling.  It was impossible not to reflect on my own situation in life and see it “in the big scheme of things.”  When I returned to England, and the man who no longer wanted me, I finally had begun to accept that the life I had dreamed of wasn’t coming true.  And the idea of travelling with my dogs as a path towards healing had taken root in my brain.  When my life finally finished imploding all the way a little over a year later, that idea seemed to bloom and grow until it couldn’t be ignored any longer.  And so, here I am, having last year visited the northernmost church in Britain, and now having taken in a service in BiH.  How far I have come, in more ways then one!

Lighting the Fire

I lit my first fire today.  That may seem like a small thing, but for me, it turned out to be a rather monumental occasion.  I’ve never lit a fire before, like ever in my whole life.  I’ve been avoiding trying since Travis left, I thought because I was afraid of burning the cabin down.  But the temperatures are dropping, and its raining on top of that, and I really hate being wet and cold, so I knelt down in front of the fireplace and got to work.  I think I might have avoided it for longer if I knew what was coming.

Travis taught me how to build the little wood teepee, make space for the white accelerant block thingie, open the little drawer underneath for air flow and how to wait until those pieces caught before adding one of the bigger pieces of wood.  So I did all those things, crouching there shivering and hoping things would go smoothly.  Everything went along fine until I added the big piece that would actually create some heat… then things just sort of died out.  So I started the whole process over again, trying to remember if I’d forgotten anything, and wishing fervently that someone was there to help.  It was when my consciousness caught up with my wandering mind that things started to go really down hill.  Because I realised I wasn’t wishing for an faceless helping hand, or even my cousins familiar face… I was wishing for a man I’ve spent this entire trip trying to forget, and god that was galling.

I froze there, crouched on that hearth and tried to tell myself it made perfect sense I’d be wishing for the firefighter I married while I was trying to light a fire.  No big deal.  But it was a big deal, a betrayal of myself by myself, and in the moments that followed I stopped shaking from cold and started shaking in anger.  I started prodding the fire with a kind of pathetic desperation, as if getting it to stay lit would release me from the heartache that was threatening to overwhelm me, but it was too late, the thought, and the emotions it brought with it, had already taken root.

I’d like to be able to say that I got that fire lit and burned my ex-husband in effigy on my first successful fire.  But that’s not what happened.  Instead I spent the next thirty minutes lost in a smoky haze of painful memories and seething emotion.  I wanted to be angry with him, with the man who had deserted me, a man who cheated on me, stolen my best friend, lied to me, left me homeless and in tens of thousands of dollars worth of debt knowing that I was in no position to find permanent housing or a real job.  I wanted to feel hatred towards this man who hadn’t been able to love me, who hadn’t even tried to love me, who had emotionally abandoned me when I came forward about my rape, who had degraded me for having PTSD and never once sought to understand the depression and anxiety that plagued me.  Most of all I wanted to stop feeling anything, anything at all, for the coward who broke my heart.

But though I tried to concentrate on all these perfectly valid and anger inducing attributes of this man I’d been married to, it wasn’t anger I felt as I stared in to those sputtering flames, it was grief.  Still, after all this time, I was grieving the loss of love.  Because still, after all this time and despite all those disappointments and failures and just general shitty husbandness on his part, the emotion that I feel most strongly when I think of him is love.  I stopped prodding the wood and sank down fully in front of the fireplace.  This is why I had avoided building the fire, why I haven’t wanted to be alone, why despite the wonders of this trip I still find myself on the verge of tears more often then not.

I’m so tired of feeling this way.  I wake up every morning with him in my head, and go to sleep every night wondering how he is (even though I know perfectly well how happy he and I imagine soon to be wife number four are).  I came on this trip wanting to prove to myself that I wasn’t going to be one of those “empty shell people” they talk about in my favourite movie, Under the Tuscan Sun.  I’m no chicken shit after all.  I took my homelessness and debt and crappy job prospects and PTSD addled brain and dragged them on the adventure of a lifetime… what more can I do?  Right?

So why do I still feel like I’m the one who is a coward?  Why is my heart still aching for a man that didn’t love me, and couldn’t wait around long enough to let me heal and start to become the woman I wanted to be again?  After everything I’ve done the last four months, why am I still afraid to light the fire?  And how much longer will it be until I’m not?

I don’t know the answers to those questions, and I didn’t find them sitting there staring into the fireplace.  Maybe that’s because I’m asking the wrong questions, I don’t know.  What I do know is that as I sat there, wishing I could stop wishing for what I know can never be, I realised that I wasn’t staring in to smouldering ashes anymore… there were flames… the fire was burning.

And so, I lit my very first fire today, all by myself.  And maybe when I do it tomorrow, I’ll wish for that firefighter a little less, and the day after that, even less, until one day I won’t have to wish for him anymore at all because I’ll know I can light the fire all on my own.

 

Obstacles to Exploring

I’m on day two of being alone, and I woke up this morning knowing that if I didn’t create a routine that would get me out of bed every day, I was liable to just sit around and sink in to a depression over the next two weeks.  This is one of the main reasons I didn’t opt to travel alone in the first place: I know I am susceptible to regular and often severe bouts of depression, and I find that having someone around to feel responsible to helps me fight them off.  Luckily, I still have the animals to care for, and am responsible for the daily upkeep and exercise of the horses here at the farm, so it should be fairly easy to keep myself on track.

One of the things I’ve promised myself that I will do at least every other day is leave the farm and go out exploring.  This is challenging for me, and not just for the usual reasons of having anxiety and such.  I also don’t have access to WiFi or phone service once I leave the farm, which means getting lost is a very real concern.  Additionally, Assistance Dogs aren’t really a thing here, definitely not outside the major cities, so that means if I want to go inside anywhere, I have to go without Wasi.  I’ve been getting really good at going in to stores and shops without a dog, but always with Travis, so this is going to be a really big push outside my safe zone.

Despite these concerns racing around my head, after I finished my morning chores on the farm, I set off determinedly to check out some of the things in the local area.  I visited the churches in Kupres and Tomislavgrad since I am surprisingly fascinated by churches for a non-religious person.  Part of the reason is the architecture and history of these places for sure, but I think another big factor is the fact that for whatever reason, churches always feel safe to enter without a dog.  Both churches were beautiful, and sadly, both are new.  The church in Kupres was destroyed not once, but twice during the war.  The fact that this history is so recent, literally within my own lifetime, was heart wrenching to think about.

After the churches, I attempted to visit the ancient tombs that are scattered all over this area of BiH.  In one of the tombs, a perfectly intact mummy and his shroud were recovered from 3000 B.C.!  I plan to visit the museum that houses these artefacts at a later date, but for today, I just wanted to wander over the hills that had once housed them.  Except I didn’t do my research very well, and I forgot that out here in the countryside, many of the would-be tourist sites are not very well marked.  I found the road sign indicating the turn off for the tombs, but despite nearly 40 mins of driving down an unpaved road, I’m not actually sure that I ever managed to see the tombs themselves.  There were some rocky hills that looked different from the rest of the landscape, so I snapped some photos of those in case they were it.  I’ll have to ask Mate or Marko where I went wrong…  this is me as a solo traveler in a nutshell.

I may not (or may, to be determined) have found the tombs, but I did visit quite a few cemeteries along my route.  Like the churches, these sites serve as really poignant reminders of how recent the tragedy of war is here.  Kurpes was a major battle site of the war because of its important mid-way location for communications through the mountains.  The remnants of war are still visible everywhere, from houses bearing bullet holes, buildings blown to pieces, signs warning of mines, and into the eyes of Marko, boss two, who served on the front lines and still clearly carries the weight of what he saw.  There are memorials everywhere and I stopped and took a moment at each and every one that I saw because I think we owe it to peace not to forget.

I ended my first day of solo exploring by forcing myself to stop at a local restaurant and have a meal all by myself… not even Wasi for company.  I went for comfort food, pizza and French fries, and tried not to notice how crowded the completely empty restaurant started to get as I sat there.  I’m not sure I can remember the last time I ate a meal in public alone, and I definitely don’t know the last time I did so without a dog at my feet.  I managed to keep the anxiety attack at bay by focusing on editing some of the photos I’d taken of the day and scrolling through Facebook.  By the time I made it home, I was feeling both relived and proud of myself.  I made it through the day intact, without succumbing to the fears or anxiety that were pressing in on all sides.  I even enjoyed myself, enough that I’m already looking forward to my next mini solo adventure.  This time I think I’ll try planning a little more thoroughly, so that I know for sure if I make it to the site I’m trying to reach!