Traveling, for me, is a highly personal thing. I frequently go to the UK to visit a special gentleman, and while I spend time with him once I reach my destination, the act of packing, of getting to the airport, of security screenings and shoe checks and overpriced airport food, of boarding and settling down for the night in a tiny space against the bulkhead, of deplaning and immigration and exiting the airport full of excitement, is all done solo. This has it's pros and cons, but mostly I enjoy it.
This time was different. I packed alone, but the journey as well as the end result was shared with my oldest and dearest friend. Of course, it was only a two-hour car ride and an overnight, no airport or passports involved, but it was still an adventure.
We started with a tour of the liquor store, loading up on girly flavored malt beverages and boxes of premixed drinks. We drove through Philadelphia heading towards the Atlantic City Expressway, tossing rude gestures out the window in the direction of my ex-husband's South Philadelphia apartment before crossing the Walt Whitman Bridge. We vogued to Lady Gaga songs while looking out for speed traps, and squealed like preteens as we traded the Pennsylvania suburbs for the glittering resort on Absecon Island. For the first time since going to Italy, I had someone to share the entire experience with. And I loved it.