There are bad travellers. The ones who cannot understand why someone in a small Asian village cannot speak English, so just yells at them louder. The ones who get absurdly drunk and vomit on sacred monuments. The ones who always seem to have their passport/wallet/tickets/bag stolen, mostly because they’re wearing a t-shirt that says “I’M A TOURIST ROB ME” written on it.
But then… then there’s us.
Once we were getting on the plane for a two-month trip to Europe, and realised we hadn’t packed a bra between us.
Another time, we travelled to Morocco despite not really knowing what a ‘Morocco’ was. It was 51 degrees which was absurd.
Then there was the time Jessie put her passport through the wash in Croatia, or the time she severely sprained her ankle the night before a three-day trek through the Chiang Mai jungle.
You’d think with all our combined experience, we’d get better at it.