Reflection On The Orient Express From Venice To Venice

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It 's 2:45 AM, Italian chatter fills in blank spaces between the hip hop instrumentals playing in my headphones as I reflect on some travel struggle. I 'm still on LA time, the nine hour time difference has me jet-lagged like a mofrigger, and my monstrous nap from 7 PM to midnight could not have helped my case. I 'm the only sober person sitting in the lobby of a hostel where Peroni bottles now serve as decoration left by travelers passing through Venice. Like them, I 'm here in transit, taking a moment to reflect on the reasons we travel, despite the struggle. It 's important to understand that while I 'm in a city where most people only dream of coming, the past 48 hours were very far from #TravelGoals. While you think "Damon and Jo, they 're living the dream," I can assure you that I was sprinting, bra-less, through the airport in Rome trying to make my connecting flight to Venice that departed in about 15 minutes. Let 's take a step back, and rewind 18 hours before the bra-less-running-through-the-airport fiasco. Damon and I had a spur of the moment opportunity to ride The Orient Express from Venice to London. We 'd never pass up a trip to Europe, even though staying for less than a week is a bit painful. To maximize our time, we planned on arriving a day earlier to do what one should do while in Italy: sip tiny coffees in local cafés and chatting up wise Italians who 'd lived in Venice their whole lives. Next scene is us arriving at LAX at 8 AM, only to find out we

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