Photo by Valentina_a (via CC)
Now that Labor Day Weekend has passed and the weather is starting to cool, let’s take a look back at some summer fun. (This post originally appeared at The Frisky.)
I entered the hostel common room and plunked down on the couch next to a sunburned Norwegian in flip-flops. The plasma television was tuned to European MTV, which in the Balkans apparently still broadcasts music videos. A gaggle of Irish girls, likely still part of the channel’s demographic, drank cocktails from coffee mugs. They had just returned from an alcohol run steps outside of the Old Town in Split, Croatia, which had been built by the Roman emperor Diocletian as a retirement home in the year 305 C.E.
In New York, I’m usually uptight and neurotic. I over-analyze everything but “on holiday” (as my Aussie friends were wont to say), I was following the first rule of improv comedy—just say yes to everything. (Tina Fey would’ve been so proud.)
At 27 years old, I was a bit older than most of the university age backpackers. So was the Norwegian, who had a few creases over his blond brow. “So how was your day?” I asked. He rubbed his eyes and wearily stretched his arms overhead. He half smiled at me, as though he sort of knew me.
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