that one time (I almost died) in Greece.

 So this is Loni, and in a few months she moves to France through Christian Associates International to plant a church, kick ass and take names. There are few people I'd consider more qualified for or passionate about missions; she's been in Spokane for a month, and tomorrow she goes back to San Diego before lifting off for good.

Nearly two years ago, we backpacked Europe together. At the time, I was too tired to attempt a written rundown. Then time got away from me and I moved to Portland and back and girlfriend, you don't even wanna know what happened after that.

The only word to describe my first experience abroad would be 'traumatic', as Loni should've had a hurricane named after her long ago. You couldn't have picked two more opposite people to spend an entire month together, on foreign soil no less. This served us well, but not before nearly killing our 10-year friendship. Granted, she was remarkably savvy and knew a thing or two about how to catch departing trains and/or get handsome foreigners to buy you potent drinks. Our personalities and preferences clashed when you take into account that one (see: me) was on vacation after quitting a job of six years, and the other was all about cramming in the sights, swimming in the fountains and eating sugar cubes for breakfast. 

In Ireland, we rented a car and spent three days driving through the countryside, stopping at obscure chocolatiers, sampling Irish whiskey, singing along to the Backstreet Boys, stalling the rental car... it was a good time. What makes Loni a smart world traveler is her confidence. 95% of the time this was fine, til it got to be too much and after her millionth assertion that this is the way, I know this is the way, I was all OH REALLY? I DIDN'T KNOW YOU KNEW EVERYTHING and then it went to hell. Like when she couldn't figure out how to put the car in reverse and spent 10 minutes trying to force it. Or when she thought she could read the Greek alphabet just like the English one. That led to our wandering around Athens at 2:00a, fresh off the ferry with 25 lbs strapped to our backs, looking for our hotel -- we were lost for over half an hour, which now that I think about it never did make it back to Mom & Dad. (Hey guys, guess what? I'm fine. Also, Kelsey and Kyle used to shoot eachother with the BB gun.)

Speaking of Greece -- send me back! Le sigh. Somewhere on that small island is a man waiting for Loni to make his wildest dreams come true. He was the owner of the hotel we stayed at, and boy did he fall hard. On the way to catch our ferry he held her hand and told her to come back soon, and please email a picture in the meantime so he can frame it for the front desk and when people ask, he can say THAT IS MY WIFE! He had the entire wedding planned out, from the breaking of the plates to the shooting of the guns. All this, based on two days and a few shuttles around the island. Loni was mortified; I asked what color the bridesmaids would be wearing. Then she hit me. Then we sailed into the sunset, never to look back. I sometimes think we should feel worse about this than we do.


And let me just say, riding a donkey up the mountainside is a lot harder than it looks. I have no pictures to show for it, as I'm not ashamed to admit I was hanging on for dear life (and screaming at the top of my lungs) the entire time. 

I almost died that day. It was very serious.

And so, to Loni Marie, I say Bon Voyage, godspeed, and by all means, give 'em hell.