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As is normal here the local bus I am riding slams to a stop with little warning, sending nearly every grandmother aboard into a frenzy to protect their day’s produce from flying to the other side of the vehicle. A split second later, exactly like in one of those perfectly choreographed scenes of a foreign film where the woman is spat from the bus and left in a cloud of beige dust and exhaust at an unrecognizable bus stop in the middle of nowhere, I find myself with my backpack in Novi Iksar, Bulgaria.

A Western-Bulgarian town formed by the…


Recently, and probably since I began university, I have found that one of my greatest day to day challenges is fulfilling my personal need to feel I am doing something with my life.

It’s a challenge in that there are days when no matter how much work I do, how many Ted Talks I watch, or how many hours I avoid sleeping in an effort to maximize productivity, I just don’t feel I’m accomplishing anything.

I have a few theories as to why this might be the case. For starters, I feel slightly cheated by the American education system. Coming…


Not too long ago, I was sitting in a bustling roadside cafe on the way to the Sahara Desert, inhaling the exotic aromas of couscous and mint tea, and listening to the chatter of a dozen or so Moroccan families enjoying a meal together. A few months prior to this trip Arabic couldn’t have sounded more foreign to me, but now I could quickly pick out bits and pieces from the locals’ conversations. I could finally say thank you when handed a steaming chicken tajine and say some colloquial phrases, however deeply accented they might be, to break the ice…


Where the road unifies us, the city divides us.

Every morning the landscape outside my bedroom window changes. Sometimes I’m still asleep when it does; when we pull out of truck-stop, parking lot, side-of-the-road, campground, and meet the road at the beginning of another day. Today we are in the desert, tomorrow we’ll see evergreens and mountains again, and the next day the Pacific ocean.

By nine am the New Mexico sun is already hot on the skin of the Earth. Children play tag in the trailer park kicking up red dirt with dusty sneakers and bare feet. Mothers with…


Time. It slips through interlocked fingers like loose grains of sunlit beach stand. She kisses me with soft lips in the rain while a fog coats the hills in haziness. Time. There’s never enough of it. Life is composed merely of months that feel like minutes, days fading into the subconscious, seconds and split-seconds.

I let myself live and breathe and experience despite the pain I know I will feel later just for this reason. Wrong timing is only one theme of a life lived in one hundred places all at once. A day here, a month there. …

Izabel Antle

19, traveling the world full-time with a pen in hand. Find me at happyworldwanderer.wordpress.com.

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