Here I am in London, where we've only just reached fall (although it’s hard to tell as it's already pouring with rain and freezing) and yet I can’t stop myself from reminiscing the days last winter when I was back in Poland. It's a pretty random place to miss when you think about it, especially as I slept in the tiniest dingy little room with my newly demoted ex-boyfriend, only $200 to my name and without any grasp of the language - or warm gloves. It was a massive culture shock being served vodka and blocks of butter with my lunch, with the flight home consisting of the plane falling out of the sky several times as it fought against a storm with everyone on board screaming. It's the sort of trip most people would look back on and grimace, and yet here I am craving the disorientation, the new language, the beautiful backdrops, and just how everything completely disconnected me from the stresses of home life. If I'm completely honest with you, this one wacky little sojourn introduced me to the wonders of cold countries, and may have even started to turn me from a summer person to a cold, wrap-up-warm-lest-you-freeze-your-arse-off person - and here's why.
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