Duluth, Australia

Finding accommodations in Duluth was eerily easy. It required only one phone call as we were driving out of Copper Harbour on Saturday morning. The only difficult part about it was me trying to remember how to drive a manual through the maze of Houghton streets that suddenly emerged while Andy was on the phone making the reservation. He resumed the wheel after we'd stopped for lunch, and we arrived at our hotel early in the evening.

And what a hotel it was. It was gigantic and included a couch, a table and a proliferation of downy pillows such that I'd never seen before (the table and couch proved to be quite useful in eating the waffle Andy made the next morning). After taking in our luxurious settings, Andy went down to the front desk to retrieve an Ethernet cable (old school) so we could research our dinner options. He returned with a pair of surprise gin & tonics, and we unwound from the drive. I tried my best to forget lingering images of the hokey lawn decoration I'd seen just before we crossed the border from Wisconsin into Minnesota. A plot of flowers had been planted between an iron headboard and footrest, and a sign affixed to the headboard had proclaimed, "Yes, this is a flowerbed!"

As far as its restaurant selection, Duluth surprised me by resembling a mini Minneapolis. Restaurants that I thought only existed in Minneapolis, such as Pizza Luce and Hell's Kitchen, also had a location in Duluth. We opted for neither of these, instead choosing to try the Lake Ave Cafe. It was a short walk down the lake shore from our hotel, and the menu online looked delicious. We were initially put off by the emptiness of the place. Only one or two other checker-tableclothed tables were occupied when we entered. But we quickly decided it was everyone else's loss. The food was fantastic, especially after the Pringles and suspiciously-smothered-in-sauce whitefish we'd consumed the previous few days. Our waitress was charmingly unrehearsed with the night's specials, but provided us with warm, fuzzy feelings and some good suggestions for touring Duluth.

We attempted to settle our disgustingly full stomachs by taking a walk to the Aerial Bridge after dinner. It was growing dark, and we stood for a long time marvelling at the bridge from a pair of lighthouses that glowed red and green. We were able to admire the lift element of the bridge up close as we were about to cross it on our way back to the hotel. A device that resembled an old school bell began to clang above our heads and a warning sign blinked red. A disembodied voice told us to clear the bridge, and a section of it slowly started to rise into the air. Like the cogs that powered Split Rock lighthouse, this mechanical miracle absolutely fascinated me. I was stupefied at the enormous counterbalance and the slightly disturbing sight of a bridge that dropped off suddenly and perilously into the water. That event was the extent of the excitement in Duluth that night. But I was so happy to be able to relax with Andy in a beautiful setting.

That somehow translated into a very melancholy Sunday. Not only was the long weekend coming to a close, but it fully hit me that my time back in the US is quickly coming to a close as well. This is a good thing overall, but it's never easy to move country. And this time I have a new factor to consider. I've never before been in a relationship when facing a prolonged period abroad. In fact, the thing that largely spurred me into going abroad the first time was a desire to escape the aftereffects of a relationship that had ended. This is going to be hard. I'm trying not to dwell on it too far in advance, but it's inevitable for me at times. Everything has had a bittersweet quality about it recently. Somber waves often follow in the wake of a carefree moment because I suddenly remember that the time we have left for such moments is short.

I've had an especially difficult time which this element of my departure the past week. Since coming home from our trip, I've had my work visa approved and Andy and I have booked our flights. He leaves for France 23 September, and I leave for Australia 27 September. Having a final, definite date attached to the beginning of my adventure makes it suddenly concrete. It had been a comfortably vague plan up until then. Now I have less than two months to pull all the pieces together and see everyone I care about, including Andy, as much as I can before I leave. It's stressful and it's scary. Sometimes I wonder why I put myself through this.

Then I remember how wonderful it is to travel and how rewarding it is to find your niche in a new place. Nothing worthwhile is ever easy or safe. All the unique experiences and adventures that I had in England and Ireland made everything that went into creating those moments entirely worthwhile. The downs while abroad can be dismal, and there will be no exception this time. I won't see Andy for a year. I don't know anyone in Australia. I've never even visited before. I don't have anywhere to stay. I have no idea where I might work. But the ups are incredibly exhilarating. I'll see kangaroos. I can learn how to scuba dive. It will be summer in winter. The water drains in the opposite direction. I'll invent several excuses for avoiding Vegemite. And it's quite likely I'll muddle my accent again.

I will make it. Andy will make it. We will both make the absolute most of our time abroad. And then we can come back and use what we know when we travel together, whether we're scrounging for lodgings in the UP, luxuriating in Duluth or adventuring somewhere else entirely. It's amazingly scary, but, regardless of what happens, it will be amazing.