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The bus stop abuts a "lovers' patio" where countless couples before me have purchased little colorful tags, written both their initials, and affixed them to the terrace's fence—same idea as the "love locks" on Pont des Arts bridge in Paris. Then I spot a Mc Donald's with unfamiliar food on the window decals and decide to go in; checking out weird regional variations in fast food is a hobby of mine.(Starbuckses in Taipei sell gelatinous tarts, and they are revolting.) I order the cheesy champignon Angus burger and sit at a long communal table. It tastes like a Shake Shack burger and mushroom stroganoff had a love-angel-music baby (with all due respect to Queen Gwen [prayer hands]).
), and am about to hail a cab back when I spot an open-fronted, permanent store crammed with big gemstones, crystals, and spiritual-leaning antiques.(The same is true for creepy strangers, too, I suppose, but life is all about dualities.) It's a weird time to go to bed, but I'm tired and in control of all of the room's lights, so I call it and starfish in the middle of the king-size bed.Also, I do not shower even though I smell like fish market and sweat, because I personally don't find the smells repulsive, and I'm the only one with the good fortune of being in this feathery bed.I consider returning to the lovers' patio to attach a tag for the champignon burger and me.Then an engineering student from Chicago sits down across from me and strikes up a conversation as I'm devouring my new love.A year ago, the torrent of lovey-dovey selfies would've made me burn with envy—not because they're married and I remain in the online dating morass, but because these women have a buddy with whom to explore parts unknown.
A new survey from Intrepid Travel showed that only 40 percent of people feel comfortable traveling abroad solo, and I get it: The world really is set up for traveling duos.
), slide on my headphones, and block out the world.
Bonus: No one judges me when I keep ordering delicious Cloud Nines, the airline's specialty cocktail.
I wander in and poke at some singing bowls, too shy to ask about prices.
But the owners—a boisterous Indian man and a sweet, smiley Aussie who became friends in Ireland many moons ago—come jangling out from behind the counter to show me how to hold the bowl and wooden mallet, how to strike and then circle it to produce the resonant vibration.
So many couples do all their traveling together, and no shade, but I can't believe I didn't figure this out sooner.