Two things about travel that I think I’ll never cure myself of:
Packing too much.
Eating too much.
My suitcase was ten pounds too heavy on the way over to Croatia. This was largely due to a big blue file box that held all the Level Two lesson material, which weighed about ten pounds by itself. Now that box is gone, safely stowed in the house of my missionary friends. However, my suitcase in inexplicably just and heavy as it was two weeks ago. I’ve not added more than one bag of very light souvenirs. Other than that, I’ve used up the soap and other sundries that I brought with me. Why my suitcase is so heavy is a mystery to me.
However, there is no mystery as to why I am heavier than I was on the flight over. Croatian food is carb-heavy, fat-heavy, low on vegetables, plentiful, and irresistible. This is a hard combination for a foodie with no self-control. My friends wonder why I’m a salad addict. The reason is simple—if I eat anything else, I won’t stop.
As a result, staying in a country mysteriously void of vegetables has left my clothes hanging a little differently on me by the end of two weeks. Even my face looks bigger. Looks like I have a few weeks of salad for breakfast ahead of me—at least until I assume some shape other than that of a hippopotamus.
Running next Wednesday is going to be utter torture.
So as I pack my clothes and toiletries and try not to think about the sheer quantity of food I’ve consumed in the past two weeks, I have to remind myself that trips like this only happen once or maybe twice in a lifetime—and a few extra pounds are probably worth the price. I’ll shed the weight, but the memories will last a good long while.