I was 19 when i bought a ticket to Europe to travel on my own for 2.5 months.  i didn’t tell anyone until plans were already solidified, tickets were bought, rail passes purchased; i thought for sure someone would tell me that i couldn’t do it, that i wasn’t allowed to, that i wasn’t savvy enough to get around in foreign countries alone.

i had 3,000.00….  and that included my airline ticket, my railpass, my loging, my backpack… everything.  i was left to about 30 Euros a day, which was roughly 60.00 american dollars.  that would have probably been pretty managable, except for the fact that the 60 Euros was to include lodging as well.  I had no money for anything else except food.  if i wanted to call home at a payphone, that would cost me my dinner. if i wanted to do laundry… lunch trade-off.  if i wanted to find an internet cafe and email home… dinner.

I got creative, sometimes not staying in a hostel (and sleeping outside) or cutting costs by finding a campground.  i illegally hopped on subways by jumping the turn-stations where you are supposed to pay so i didn’t waste money on transportation.  in France i would buy a large baguette, brie cheese, and an apple, and save half the baguette for lunch.  i still can’t eat brie cheese to this day…

In Italy, i found that renting a small closet with a window apartment was less expensive than a hostel or hotel.  it was furnished with one army cot, one shelf, and one window, but that window overlooked the main street right on the coast of the mediterranean. I had my own key, and it also sported a miniature stove and sink- and i saved further money by buying my own farm eggs at the market and eating 3 eggs everyday for meals. in Genova, Italy, a family took me in that spoke no English.  they were so incredibly poor, but they delivered amazing spreads of food for lunch everyday- it was incredible.  I couldn’t afford to go out to eat at restaurants and i know i missed out on a lot of the culture by not trying the traditional epicurean fare, but i learned to find the culture in other ways.

Although i’m not particularly religious, i went to a church service in every country and i also found myself visiting graveyards.  there is no better way to experience the history than by doing these two things (that also happen to be free, which, conveniently, fit right into my budget).  It has sort of become a tradition,  to visit a service and a graveyard.  maybe not one of the first things on a normal person’s list of must-see things at a tropical location, but im alright with being a little avant garde.

In San Jose Del Cabo- the small town that i stayed in while shooting the wedding last weekend- i stumbled upon this little graveyard while out on a walk one night into the city. i decided that before i left Mexico i would return there and do some personal photography.  i’ve never been to a graveyard with so much love, so much vibrance, where i could actually feel the presence of not only the people who had passed, but the people who had lovingly adorned the places of rest.  i imagined the heartbroken mothers trying to make their dead children’s final resting place a space of love and happiness.  the poor man’s wife’s unmarked grave, with only a small bouquet of flowers in half a cut-off plastic bottle.

it felt like love, and hope.