By Andi Newby
As the booming voice on the intercom asked me to return my seat
to its upright and locked position, I looked out the window at the
familiar sprawl of Oklahoma City below. I had left my hometown to
fulfill a dream nearly seven weeks earlier, and I was returning as a
transformed person. Some dreams come and go quickly while others
linger with you for life. Occasionally, a dream can wrap itself around
you until it becomes as much a part of you as your own hands, as
familiar to you as the worn creases in your palms. Once it is fulfilled,
you feel like you have lost a part of yourself. This is how I felt as my
plane descended into Will Rogers International Airport that drizzly
spring day in 2003.
 My dream to travel began when I was a little girl, sitting on the
floor in my grandparents’ living room, my toes curled into the olive
green shag carpet, listening to my grandmother tell of her adventures
in exotic places. Growing up in Moore, Oklahoma, where travel of
any kind was rare, my grandmother’s stories of Madrid and Morocco
sparked a flame in my imagination that to this day has not been
extinguished. I knew I would someday see these exciting places. With
my dream never far from my heart, I worked my way through college,
saving every penny for my trip to Europe.
 I will never forget the way I felt when my plane left the runway at
the start of my European adventure. At 22 years
old, I had never tasted such independence. I
had been living on my own for several years
as I attended the University of Oklahoma,
but my family was never more than a phone
call or 20-minute drive away. This time,
independence was not optional. I had no
one to call if I needed help. Over the next
six weeks I would visit 14 countries, and I
would do it completely and totally alone.
When I arrived in London, my excitement overtook jetlag, despite the fact that I arrived at 8 a.m. London time, with no
sleep whatsoever. Ready to take on the city, I nearly skipped through
the airport, anxious to see all the sights I had read so much about.
As I waited for my backpack, I planned
my itinerary in my head. I would begin
with the Tower of London, take lunch
to Hyde Park, and end the day with
Parliament and Big Ben. I’m not sure
how long I stood at the baggage claim,
entranced in my thoughts, but soon I
realized I was the only person there,
and my backpack was nowhere to be
seen. Only slightly alarmed, I quickly
found an attendant and asked about my luggage. He
disappeared into a small cave-like office, and after a few moments he
returned with a crinkled expression that told me I had reached the
first speed-bump in my adventure.
“Sorry, Miss,” he said in a charming English accent. “Your bag
never made it out of New York. If you tell me where you are staying,
we can get it to you as soon as possible.” He looked genuinely upset
for me.
“Well, that’s the problem,” I answered. “I’m not sure where I’ll be
staying.”
He looked at me, puzzled.
“I’m backpacking,” I told him.
His face broke into a smile, and the little chip in his front tooth
added character to his tired face. “Jolly good!” he said. “I’ve always
had a fancy to do that!”
Backpacking in Europe is a phenomenon in itself, and it is so
commonplace among young people that I did not need to explain
any further. The attendant knew that I did not have reservations
because I would be finding places to stay as I traveled. Although I had a vague idea of my general destinations, I would
let the ebb and flow of my adventure set the pace and
guide my journey.
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