I still wasn’t feeling super hot, but didn’t want to lose another day that could otherwise be spent feeling awesome in the future along the coast. So, we spent the day on an old European train from Sibiu to Timisoara. We got in towards the evening and after we dropped off our bags, Andrew refused to let me crawl in a bunk and go to sleep, insisting that eating would make me feel better. It did, kinda, and then I crawled into bed. Not before our hostel offered us free shots of Rakia. My stomach turned. My head throbbed a little more at the thought, but I smiled, said thanks, and encouraged Andrew to accept one while I snuck back into the dorm room. The sweet (super, super sweet) girl at the hostel then offered me tea instead, but a pillow and my yak-wool scarf were all I wanted.
Whenever we’re sick, or tired or frustrated with a day or the trip for some reason or another, one of us will ask the other, “Do you want to go home?”
We always say “No.”
Except, this time I responded, sadly “We don’t even have a home…”
It’s usually a joke. But the trip has started hitting me a little harder lately, and not feeling well certainly wasn’t helping matters.
