Anywhere But Here

I’m a Sick Woman (or Me and My Itchy Feet)

My feet itch. It’s the most persistent symptom of my disease. There's no cure, but there is a treatment. And I’m not talking about Gold Bond medicated foot powder.

I contracted the wanderlust virus three years ago. So now I need to travel to satisfy my wandering itch. I became infected when I studied abroad for a semester in Ireland, and then took a 3-week tour of Europe.

I hated it. I was stranded in countries where no one understood me. I had to pay to e-mail my friends, the Coke tasted funny and I couldn’t get root beer at all.

I loved it. I made new friends every time I stayed at a youth hostel. I developed a large capacity for liquor, and I ate sushi off a conveyor belt.

Among my friends, I’m the only person with this disease. My friends do want to leave Missouri, but only to go to Chicago or New York. Even my friend Jennifer, who did a semester abroad herself, doesn’t feel the same compulsion to globe-trot.

But I need to see the world. I want to swim in sparkling turquoise seas, run with the bulls in Pamplona (the prohibition against women be damned), dance the night away in Paris, and take pictures of the aurora borealis.

The wanderlust virus has several insidious symptoms. One thing that happens is that you lose your inhibitions. You flirt shamelessly, dance like you actually have rhythm, and sing outside of the shower. And because of this, people think that you are interesting enough to have a significant other. That’s what happened to me on St. Patrick’s Day the semester I was in Ireland.

I was disappointed by St. Patrick's Day in Ireland. All the parades were cancelled because of the foot-and-mouth disease outbreak that year. I went out to the pubs, but I did that every Saturday.

I went with my friend Patrick to our favorite pub, Richardson's in Eyre Square in Galway. Patrick was the first friend I'd made in Galway, and my favorite drinking buddy. He was excited about celebrating “his” holiday.

We had a few pints and listened to the traditional Irish band. I sipped my Bulmers cider while Patrick guzzled his Corona with lemon.

When Patrick went for more drinks, a woman told me, "I just wanted to say, that you and your husband make a lovely couple."

"Uh, thanks." She grinned and quickly left. Normally I would have been horribly embarrassed by something like this, but I thought it was really funny. When Patrick came back, I told him what happened. He grinned, held up his glass, caught my eye, and said, "To our marriage."

I shrugged and switched my claddagh ring from my right hand to my left, with the heart facing inward, to symbolize the fact that "my heart was taken." We started laughing. It became our inside joke.

The virus, besides altering your brain chemistry to lose inhibitions, also seems to change your taste buds so that new foods taste wonderful. I can't figure out any other reason why I would develop a taste for sushi.

I spent one of my days in London walking by the Thames River. Soon I was tired of looking at the dirty, stinking water and shivering. I wanted to find a warm place to eat. I spotted a small sign, proclaiming, "Yo, Sushi!" I figured, what the hell.

Soon I was seated at the restaurant's single large table, watching two parallel conveyor belts whisk small, color-coded-by-price plates of sushi by me. I poured myself a glass of seltzer water from the spigot by my plate and looked at the menu to help me choose sushi. I declined saki from the robot waiter, because it was the middle of the day.

Six or seven tiny plates later, I was satisfied and about $25 poorer. I had two fellow Americans take a picture of me next to the table before I ventured back into the cold.

Now I adore sushi. My friends and I are currently eating our way through all the sushi bars in town.

Honestly, the only thing bad about this wanderlust virus is that it makes me want to travel, and I have no money. I’ve been trying to find ways to feed my habit. I spent a lot of time in the International Programs office at my university looking up work-abroad programs.

I remember one time I was poring over the work-abroad bible, trying to find something I could afford. I was sharing a table with one of my former professors. He’d just returned from a semester in Albania.

“Do your feet itch?” he suddenly asked me.

“Huh?” I didn’t understand him at first.

“Do you need to go somewhere?” he asked, gesturing at my book.

“Oh, do I.” I said, not quite keeping the desperation out of my voice.

“As a fellow sufferer of that virus, I sympathize,” he said.

I started to laugh. It’s nice to know that I’m not the only one.

Caitlin Moriarity is a freelance editor and writer who has been hooked on travel since a semester studying abroad in college. You can read her other travel writing at www.tropeofirony.com.