Wanderlust Wednesday is a series on the blog where we discuss travel blunders, tips, and my insatiable wanderlust. So pack your bags and let’s get wandering.
Today’s episode of ‘Travel Blunders’ is brought to you by my wanderlust, shame, humiliation, and formerly swollen ankle. I shared this post last year when I first started this blog. However, because I now actually have readers, I thought I’d share my humiliation all over again. Plus, what better confession for Kathy’s link-up than an embarrassing story.
The year was 2009 and I was lucky in love with London – the city of theaters, endless street markets, rich history, and millions of museums. (Okay. Maybe not millions. But after the twentieth museum, it definitely seems like millions.) I was just so ecstatic to be living in the center of such a cultural mecca. And what would any cultural enlightening experience be without a trip or two (or tons) to the local bars, pubs, and clubs? (Hey! I was in college!)
After a particularly long week of classes, my friends and I were ecstatic for the arrival of the weekend. Eager to take full advantage of London and our temporary scholastic freedom, we decided to check out Garlic and Shots, a Gothic themed bar/restaurant in the heart of Soho that boasted a menu of a whopping 101 shots, including the Blood Shot. I agonized over the perfect outfit, applied my makeup with careful precision, and attempted to do something with my unruly mess of a hairdo. Finally, when we were all primped to perfection we knocked back a couple of drinks and headed out for a night of adventure.
When we arrived we strutted our way into the restaurant like it was our own personal catwalk (or maybe that was just me) making note of all the interesting features of the restaurant and keeping a look out for any possible eye candy. After carefully maneuvering through the crowd, we stood at the top of the staircase leading down into the bar.
Leading the way, I began my descent into what I hoped would be the start of a great night. That’s when it happened. My world came crashing down. And so did I! I fell harder than Humpty Dumpty. One moment I’m sashaying through the place like I own it. The next I’m tumbling, skirt overhead, arms flailing, grasping for something. Anything. Meanwhile, everyone looked on in horror, mouths gaping, frozen in place, wondering, I’m sure, what kind of person falls walking INTO a bar. What can I say? I like to make an entrance.
After what seemed like an eternity of falling into a black hole, I managed to grab the railing (with only one more step to go). I stood up, laughed (and winced), carefully arranged my clothing, and reassured everyone that I was okay. Then I hobbled into the bar to self-medicate and ease my wounded pride. Leave it to me to turn walking into a bar into such a theatrical and acrobatic event. To this day my friends enjoy reminding me that we should avoid venues where my coordination may be challenged by stairs. They’re always so sweet to think of me.
Despite my embarrassing fall from grace, that night would go down in the books as one of the greatest nights in London! But that’s a tale for another day.
Do you have any horrifying or embarrassing tales to share from your travels? I’d love to hear them!