I bought the Istanbul section of the Turkey Lonely Planet, and have yet to look at it.
I booked a hostel for the first night in the city, and I have no idea how to get there.
I know when my flights will be landing; I know when they should be departing.
I am a person that actually prefers to be thrown into the thick of it to figure out my next step. Perhaps it has something to do with my anxiety, but the act of thinking about trips in full detail really stresses me out and probably makes me worry even more.
Instead, I’ve learned to rely on the fact that I revert to my survival instincts when I travel. I somehow manage to get from point A to point B, even without speaking the language — and I do whatever it takes, whether that be stopping people on street corners or jumping around playing charades, to make it all happen. I am at my best when I travel… way less shy; way less worrisome. It becomes a simple task of survival.
Find food. Find accommodation. Find way around.
Plus, I’ve never been a details person. When I read, I pick up overall feelings and events, but I can never remember the lines people spoke or the passages depicting lengthy description. And when I write, I’m succinct and short-winded — getting to the point with no real fuss.
And with the trip I leave for in the morning, I’ve gotten the major plan worked out — flights confirmed, hostel booked, travel insurance purchased, dates I know I will be arriving and departing and people I know I will eventually be meeting. The rough outline builds the trip’s foundation, and the rest is simply what I’d love to let happen.
On its own.
I’m not a prepared traveler in the itinerary sense, and that’s the way that works best for me. Otherwise, I’d probably freak myself out with all the thinking and then end up not going anywhere at all.
See you on the flip side!