One thing that the movies leave out about traveling alone, is the boredom. You really only tune in for the exciting parts; the parties, the love at first sights, the ever so fleeting romances, and the beautiful views. They always fail to mention the spans of time where you realize you haven't held a conversation with someone; nearly forgetting how to speak your native tongue. You're mouth becomes dry, not from dehydration but from lack of movement.
However, luckily, I have my dog. I play with him on the beaches with the Frisbee and we lay under the stars in Big Sur. When Fredrick the Great of Prussia said that Dogs are a man's best friend, he spoke truth. Not to mention, that the only conversations I had begun to have were because of my dog. People love to pet him, girls, old ladies, hippies, the entire spectrum, except you can tell that foreigners, specifically ones from countries with tons of strays (India, Sri Lanka, Japan and more), don't really hold the same sentiment.
Now, for what they would show you in the movies. One night in a small town about 20 miles south of Reno, I decided to go out to a club. A old time fancy of mine and one I hadn't indulged in for quite some time. Nights that are characterized by how much control you lost, the letting go, the music that permeates through to your soul, and the sweat that stains your shirt the next morning.
I'm not a married man. A woman never fit my career goals, plans, and especially my availability. But that doesn't mean there weren't women. I enjoyed the chase; albeit I was much better in college but you can't teach a dog new tricks. The eye contact, smirk, jokes, they're actually all the same no matter the girl; reuse & recycle. Only thing that changes is the mannerisms.
The night presented a romance, and it was ever so fleeting.
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