Fifteen days from now marks the one year anniversary 0f the day I departed for London, where I would live and travel through Europe for the following four months.
Despite it being so long since I came back to California, I notice I still have some British antics about me, as I sit here and sip my Yorkshire Tea. I still spell “favourite” and say words like “chuffed” and “cheeky”, I use my Osyter card (for scraping frost off my windshield) and sport trusty Primark socks. But the one thing that reminds me daily of my time abroad is my shoes.
Even after my return, I continue to lace up the same pair of well worn and well loved black, Chuck Taylor, high tops I had packed in my suitcase. When my toes and heel slip into the depressions that formed over time from my frequent wearing of them, I am reminded that the trip wasn’t just a dream, and I am wearing best souvenir I brought home with me.
after arriving back in California, I wrote the names of each major city I visited on the toe of my shoe
“Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world.”
They picked up their wear and tear from England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland, France, Spain, Sardinia and Portugal, and continue gaining battle wounds while I tromp around the States.
They may be gnarly, dirty and unintentional castings, but I hold them near and dear to my heart (or should I say, feet).