My name is Megan, as in rhymes with “vegan”. I also go by Meg because outside of Australia, people don’t know how to pronounce my name properly. Am I right fellow Australian Megans?
Anyway, I’m a 26-year-old lass who’s a bit lost in life. Lost in a need to see new things and lost in my passions.
I’ve never been one to fit in. I’ve always felt like a salmon, swimming upstream, doing my own thing. That doesn’t mean I grew up a cool loner who read The Catcher in the Rye during lunch breaks at school. No, I was a secret salmon. I floated around groups and hung around people who were (mostly) nice, but not kindred spirits, while secretly planning my escape.
My thing is moving. I am not ‘on the adventure of a lifetime’, ‘travelling non-stop’, or ‘living a nomadic lifestyle’. It’s just not me. I like to move to new places and become friends with that place. I have had a total of 10 homes so far (and counting).
I travel slow and I travel deep. Like a tree, I put down roots and I get to know my surroundings. Then I pull them back up again and move somewhere else because I’m a bit crazy like that.
On their own, holidays aren’t ever going to be enough for me. And when I do go on them, I like to do them differently. I’ll stay somewhere for a while and get to know it. I like to see the other side of the coin, to know what towns offer when the lights are all off and the show for the tourists has finished for the day.
You will not find me blogging about my day exploring the top 5 best things to see in Rome, according to Tripadvisor. I’ll try to seek out the little special things of a place rather than just going where everyone has said I should. I’m not your typical girl or traveller.
In fact, you might as well just consider me a storyteller because that’s what I’m here to do. I’m not looking to guide you to the best restaurants or bars because almost every travel blog has city guides and itineraries and I want to do something different. I like to tell stories so that’s what you’ll find here.
I leave parts of myself behind whenever I move or stay somewhere new. And everywhere I visit leaves something in me as well. They imprint on me. My own sentimentality honestly astounds me. There are bits of me scattered in all the places, like leaves falling from trees. Places where I’ve felt pain, places where I felt love, they all have some part of me and I have a part of them. So I’m always half here and half there.
Who knows where I’ll move next or what my next adventure entails. But be sure, they’ll never stop. Not until I go there and back again. And once more through, just for kicks.