I’m sitting in the airport in Glasgow, sipping black coffee, and reading Vogue magazine. When did I turn into a grownup? I just spent the last three months studying the bible in England and teaching English in Spain and stopping at every Starbucks in every city along the way. It has been an excellent, one of a kind adventure and now as I slowly make my trek home I’m starting to freak out. I haven’t freaked out about any of the hiccups that have occurred just in the last 13 hours since I left London, but going home is freaking me out. Let me do a little rabbit trail here and tell you about how my traveling has looked so far. Lets start last night. One hour before I needed to leave for the bus station, I check my email. By the grace of God I decided to glance at my spam just incase there was something important there. Sure enough there is an email marked urgent from the travel agent from STA who helped me change my ticket. Apparently, she had overlooked an extra fee for changing my ticket. Because she is nice and wanted me to be able to get home she had STA pay the fee for me trusting that she would be able to get a hold of me to pay it. (I must now insert here: Emma Walton, I’m sorry for all the calls I assume you got from STA.) However, I now have to pay an extra 120 pounds. Had I known about this fee before I had changed my ticket it would definitely have effected my decision to go to Spain. I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about this. Fast-forward a few hours to 3 am. I’m in 1,000 degree bus, gridlocked in traffic and it smells like a porta-potty. Good times. Thankfully after we had our break at 4 am the bus driver turned on the a/c, but needless to say next time I’m taking the train. I don’t care how much it costs. So no I’m in Glasgow and I go to catch the bus to the airport. I thought the bus cost 4 pounds. It costs 4.50. I have 4.30 and their credit card machine is broken. I should have begged more for 20p, but I was too sleep deprived to be thinking clearly. Plan B: the train station where I can get the ticket for 2.50. I go to the train station and by a ticket to the airport, but the there is no train that goes directly there. I have to walk to another train station all while dragging my suitcase (I think I’ve probably dragged that suitcase about a mile so far.) I get on the train, ride for a bit, and stand waiting for another bus that will then take me to the airport. And glory be, I made it to the airport! Then I decide its time to get some coffee and lo and behold there is a Starbucks. So I decide to get the cheapest thing on the menu (an Americano.) I go to slide my card and declined, declined, declined. And this is the point in the story where I need to make an announcement: STARBUCKS WORKERS AT GLASGOW ARE THE NICEST PEOPLE EVER. The lady gave it to me for free. That’s right: FREE. I love you Starbucks lady. You are the bestest. And that brings me to right now. I feel so old, and responsible. I guess the last three months have kind of forced that upon me, but what is home going to be like now that I’m a grown up? To be continued in Amsterdam…