Page 5 of Past Due

The chocolate chip cookie dough.

Mom: Thank you!

But, Mom, please, this has to be last time.

There’s $1100 in the freezer.

That is more than enough for your trip.

I’m tapped out after this.

Mom: Of course!

I promise I’ll pay you back as soon as you get home!

Love you, sweetie!

I love you, too, Mom.

I liked the crunch of rocks beneath my hiking boots. It was a pleasant sound, repetitive and calming like a mantra. Every now and then, the sounds of wildlife or farm animals would interrupt the rhythm of my steps. I enjoyed that even more, especially the happy barks of dogs running along wooden fences and the warbling bleat of goats.

As I climbed higher and higher, the farms faded away and the rocky trail angled more steeply through the lush woodland. I took my time along the trail, moving aside so faster hikers could continue their trek without slowing their pace. I wasn’t in any rush, and I had to be careful to not over-exert myself.

My hand drifted toward my chest, rubbing the spot over my heart. It had been months since my unexpected heart defect diagnosis and surgery to treat it. I was fully recovered, and so far, I hadn’t shown any symptoms or side effects. Still, sometimes the anxiety of thinking that maybe my heart would start beating erratically again left me overly cautious.

Hiking my way around Europe hadn’t been the plan when I had set off from Houston seven weeks ago. I had been committed to the idea of grabbing a rail pass and traveling to major cultural centers. I had done that, at first, but then I’d read a blog post on my way into Austria that sparked my curiosity. Before I knew it, I was abandoning my plan to see an opera matinee in Salzburg for an easy day hike.

After that, my itinerary shifted. I still visited museums and architectural wonders, but I also tried to steer my travels toward areas with interesting hikes or nature preserves. After a trek across Hungary, I found myself staring at my plans to head back to Italy and realized I wanted to go south into the Balkans. I tried not to think about why I felt that pull. I bought my train ticket and set off.

And, after another week of train and bus rides, I ended up in the last place I had ever expected.

Albania.

Hishomeland.

A place so unexpectedly magical and otherworldly I didn’t have the words to describe it in my travel journal.

Standing high on the Valbona Pass, I breathed in the crisp, clean mountain air and marveled at the incredible view. Wanting to see more of the valley, I unlatched my backpack and set it near a tree where other hikers had left their bags. There was a silent camaraderie here, all of us looking out for each other and abiding by the unspoken rules of the trail. Don’t litter. Don’t steal. Be considerate.

With my camera strap draped around my neck, I cradled the expensive DSLR against my chest and moved higher up the pass to a jutting boulder. Balancing up there was a bit tricky, especially with the strong winds buffeting my face and whipping my thin jacket. The northern Albanian countryside stretched for miles in front of me, the land sloping down into a lush valley. The taller, craggy mountain peaks cast deep shadows along the forest below, highlighting the shift in leaf color as autumn rolled across the woodland. A stream snaked through the center of the valley, wide in some points and a trickle in others.

Not for the first time, I found myself wanting to never go home. I grimaced at the idea of leaving this paradise for the ungodly heat and humidity and sky-high piles of concrete and glass back in Houston. Back to my dinky mobile home in my stepdad’s trailer park. Back to my graduate studies. Back to the pawn shop. Back to my lonely, empty life.

I could stay here.

And do what?

I didn’t know the first thing about moving to another country. I doubted I would qualify for any kind of visa. After this trip, I would be a broke grad student with a practically useless undergrad degree.

I cringed at the sound of my mother’s voice echoing in my head, criticizing my choice of major. Knowing she was right didn’t make it any easier to accept. It made it exponentially worse.

Refusing to let those old arguments ruin this moment, I lifted my camera and snapped a few shots before moving off the boulder. I chose different spots, some higher up than the boulder and others a bit lower down and made sure to capture every memory I wanted to take with me. When I was certain I had enough photos to remember this place, I returned to my backpack and stowed my camera safely inside.

After some water, I hefted my backpack into place and continued the trail. According to the map, the descent to the next café where I could grab a bite to eat and rest was about an hour. There was a steep downhill section I wasn’t looking forward to after the café, and then a dry riverbed for a few kilometers to Valbona.

I checked my watch and glanced at the sky. There seemed to be enough sunlight left if I kept up a moderate pace. At least, I had a room reservation waiting at a guest house in Valbona. Even if I cut it close to sundown, I wouldn’t have to worry about finding a place to sleep.

I moved aside as more hikers came down the path. I was impressed by some of them, especially the lithe way they moved over the rocky, steep terrain. How many hikes would I need to take before I could move like that? Assured. Relaxed. Nimble.

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