Can it really have been one year ago today that I landed in London to kick off my round-the-world escapades? When I tell people that I traveled for 3 months on my own, I usually get reactions mixed with awe and respect. But three months seem like nothing compared to friends who have done 6, 12 or 18 months. And when I find myself having returned to the same yellow bedroom still bunking with my parents, I wonder how wide I really made my world. Was it all just a temporary broadening of my boarders?
On Another Note
I chopped my hair off. Pictures TK.