In 2007 I was 22 years old, had just finished uni and had a huge European adventure planned. The day after my graduation ceremony I got on a plane, landed in Rome and travelled around Italy. After a few months I washed up broke in London, ready to start my work holiday visa.
It was the classic Aussie plan: do some temp work, live cheaply and travel as often as possible. By mid-2008 I’d been in London for a year and had saved up enough money for one last big Euro summer jaunt before heading home to Australia.
I started with a few weeks in Portugal and was in Lisbon for a one-night stopover en route to Greece when a chance encounter changed my life.
Because it was just a brief layover, I’d booked a bed in a six-person mixed dorm at a hostel. I had dinner and hopped into my bunk, hoping for an early night. About an hour later a group of British boys who’d been drinking in the common area came in and started rustling around for their wallets. Noticing me in the bed they said: “Hey, girl that’s sleeping. Why don’t you come out with us?”
Their banter was good, the vibe was right and I didn’t take much convincing. Once we hit the streets it didn’t take long for Adam and I to gravitate towards each other. We shared a kiss and in the morning, with little to no sleep, he walked me to the station so I could head to the airport. We exchanged numbers and parted ways. I was hopeful I’d see him again but didn’t like the odds.
A few months later, in Croatia, I was sitting in an internet cafe when I saw that he’d messaged me on Facebook. One thing led to another and, before I knew it, I was in London spending a bank holiday weekend with him. We got this chance to see what a normal weekend might look like for us as a couple and I was feeling pretty blue about heading home.
Not too long later my time in Europe was coming to an end. My parents had come over to meet me and we were spending our final weekend in Paris. They were surprised but intrigued when I told them a “friend” would be coming to meet us.
I was so excited to see him and introduce him to my parents but the day Adam was supposed to join us from London there was a fire in the Eurostar tunnel. No one was getting through.
I was devastated and had pretty much given up any hope of seeing him before returning to Australia. But by the afternoon he’d sent me a cryptic message saying he was on his way. I didn’t know what was going on but, as I moped at dinner with my parents, he texted to say he was headed for a metro station nearby. I couldn’t believe it.
He’d spent the entire day rerouting his journey, caught a bus from London to Dover, jumped on a ferry and somehow got down to Paris in time for digestifs!
I left Mum and Dad at the restaurant and legged it the three blocks to École Militaire station. As he crossed the road towards me, a rucksack over one shoulder, limping slightly from a soccer injury, it was the moment I knew: “I’m into this – I’m into you!” No one had ever done something like that for me before.
From that moment on we were a done deal. Any trepidation I had about going long distance (which we did for almost three years), Adam always soothed me with the same can-do attitude he brought to that day, finding his way to Paris and to me. He brings this go-getting confidence to every part of our lives. I call him “the maximiser” – he will get the most out of absolutely any situation. Sixteen years and three kids later, his optimistic determination is still one of his most winning qualities.
I’m not a very woo-woo person but sometimes I think of all the hostels in all the cities on all the dates, how lucky I was that I ran into my person.
