I’ll remember salsa dancing in Zurich with my best friend, twisting and turning among locals and expats.
I’ll remember the adorable Italian girl in the bottom bunk in Copenhagen who spoke a few words of English and used “spatula” for “hairbrush.”
I’ll remember finding seedless watermelon in Novi Sad, a holy grail after months of only seeded fruit.
I’ll remember Adi, who called me “Sabina from Bosnia” because my name is so common in the Balkans.
I’ll remember looking over the Rila Lakes and just breathing in the stunning nature.
I’ll remember escaping a smoky, loud hostel in Belgrade early in the morning before anyone woke up.
I’ll remember Alexis, the extremely confident Brit who talked our way into finding Dracula’s Castle.
I’ll remember expecting to hate curry herring, and then liking it when I tried it.
I’ll remember the Romanian women who helped us find the right train and tried to convince the conductor to let us sit in first class with them.
I’ll remember climbing out to Kjeragbolten in serious wind, praying not to fall 3,000 feet into the fjord below.
I’ll remember the humid botanical garden in Aarhus that fogged up my camera lens.
I’ll remember crying in the library in Sarajevo listening to a video about how important books are during times of war.
I’ll remember Tim and Jacob, the Germans who got scammed into buying a Turkish rug.
I’ll remember off-roading in the back of a jeep all the way up Rila Mountain as the back doors swung open.
I’ll remember the taxi driver who ripped me off, charging $30 for a ride that should have been $10.
I’ll remember arriving late at night to Bergen to stay with strangers, wondering what on earth I’d gotten myself into.
I’ll remember reading Danish children’s books and slowly getting a grasp on the language.
I’ll remember drinking Bosnian coffee, which comes with two sugar cubes, creamer, lokum, and a cigarette.
I’ll remember meeting up with Carly in Prague, chatting like old friends despite only knowing each other for a few hours.
I’ll remember seeing someone get robbed in Munich and not feeling safe to explore the city.
I’ll remember visiting Auschwitz and seeing the horrors of the Holocaust preserved.
I’ll remember Matt from Australia, who got a tattoo on his butt on a dare and kept Polaroids of his travels in his wallet.
I’ll remember watching a bachelor party striptease through the window at my Munich hostel.
I’ll remember wearing red lipstick and drinking wine under the Eiffel Tower.
I’ll remember the learning and excitement instead of the impatience and hardship.
I’ll remember that the good always outweighs the bad.
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