Eat F*ck Love

This title is narrated with virtual voice. Computer generated narration for audiobooks. Eat Fuck Love. By Jiggy Brown. Number 1 Paris It was exactly 12.20pm when I walked out of my apartment with a friend, who was taking me to the airport. The moment I had waited for, dreamed for, strived for all my life had finally arrived. No courses. No work. No professors. No bosses. No schedule. New people. New places. New foods. New experiences. New adventures. Freedom. Sweet sweet freedom. The good life was here. The good life was now. It was a rainy, misty May afternoon. The heater of my friend's prehistoric Honda Civic was broken, and so we drove with the windows rolled down, tiny droplets of rain kissing our skin, and drenching our clothes. As I looked out of the open window at the trees and the clouds, I reminisced about the flurry of activity since I decided to embark on a two-month backpacking trip across Western Europe. Before my travels even started, I had learned so much about myself and the world. I had started to realize, for the first time, the deeper reasons for my behaviors, prejudices, and insecurities. I had discovered, much to my surprise, that I was just as capable of connecting with others, especially women, without being overly self-critical. A large part of the credit for getting me started on my journey toward self-discovery, following my dreams, and being my true authentic self, went to Elise. Travelcums, a website to find travel partners, is where I first met Elise. I had posted an ad to see if anyone else was traveling on backpacker bus. That's what I will call a private company that operates buses for independent travelers across Europe. After a number of calculations, I had concluded that a bus pass worked out cheaper than a U-rail pass, and it was less lonely since you shared parts of your journey with other travelers and made friends along the way. Backpacker bus had a preferred hostel in every city in their network, where most of the travelers stayed and then took the backpacker bus bus to the next destination. The crowd, as I would soon discover, was mostly youngsters in their 20s and early 30s, with significant representation from the U.S., Canada, Australia, and New Zealand. I decided to start my journey in Paris, and use backpacker bus for the first five weeks, ending up in Nice. From Nice, I intended to take an overnight train to Venice, and then the ferry to Corfu. I planned on spending the last three weeks traveling with the wind on the Greek islands. It was the perfect combination of structure and freedom, and the optimal way to spend my hard-earned money. As a poor graduate student, I had spent months eating ramen noodles and frozen pizza, and walked an hour in the bitter cold to save every dollar for this dream trip. I was confident about my finances, but apprehensive about getting bored traveling alone for eight weeks. The longest solo trip I had ever taken was for three days. I was hoping to find other travelers to share the journey, or at least learn how to make friends in a different culture. Elise was the only person who responded to my post. She was 22, seven months younger than me. She grew up in Halifax, but went to university in Montreal. Elise was going to commence her six-week trip the day after graduating with her bachelor's degree. Just like me, it was her first time traveling solo, and she was as excited as she was nervous. She was to arrive in Paris two days after me, and stay five days before taking the backpacker bus to Brugge in Belgium. That gave us a two-day overlap, and we were looking forward to meeting up. As luck would have it, we had both decided to stay at the same backpacker bus-recommended hostel in the Montmartre neighborhood of Paris. Elise and I started communicating by email, but quickly transitioned to Yahoo Messenger. Facebook, WhatsApp, and Instagram were yet to be born. Through those clunky chat windows, I told Elise about the ancient sites of Prague and Rome, and the sheer beauty of the Greek islands that I was dying to see. Elise, on the other hand, was more excited about partying and beaches. I was excited about the places, but all Elise cared about were the people and the experiences. I struggled to understand why someone would go all the way to Europe, and spend their time and money on getting drunk. After all...