A big thanks to Lindsey of Vacations by Lindsey for contributing the following post as the March 15th Travel Instigator. Stay tuned for a feature post and Q and A from a new adventurous female traveler the 15th and 30th of every month.

(Cannes Film Festival - Opening night for "Taking Woodstock")

I realized just how much I wanted to work in the travel industry during a study abroad trip after my sophomore year of college. I packed my bags for a month on the French Riviera at the Cannes Film Festival, hoping to be discovered for my lack of acting talent.

If you’re not familiar with the Cannes Film Festival, you should know that there are certain levels of badges. There’s the I’m-So-Famous-You-Don’t-Need-To-See-My-Badge. There’s the Market Badge, which gets semi-important people into most of the screenings. Then there’s the Cinephile Badge, which I was given.  While most people think the word “cinephile” means movie lover, in French it actually translates to, “You cannot get into this screening, stupide. It is not possible.”

The badge also means you have to take any means necessary to find your own tickets. So, I joined my group of 25 peers on the Croisette with hand-written signs that begged, “Une billet, s’il vous plaît?”. Translated, that means: “One ticket, please.” However, many French men misunderstood this for, “Of course I would love receive payment as your personal escort this evening!”

The first ticket I obtained was by accident: as I leaned down to pick up the sign that I’d dropped, the wind blew my dress up. By the time I composed myself and turned around, an eager guy was holding out une billet to the world premiere of Disney’s Up. The irony that I received a ticket to a children’s movie by flashing someone is not beyond me.

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I admit it: navigating a foreign city by bus and train intimidates me at times, especially when I’m tired, traveling solo, and just want to give my brain a recess from the typical day-to-day concerns of travel.  Sometimes it’s just nice to have someone to do it for you.

(Oslo Harbor)

I flew into Oslo, Norway after an extraordinary week in Iceland navigating the countryside and bouncing around the villages in my little rental car. It was both exhilarating and exhausting and I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way—but I was tired.

I exited the train station to a surprisingly large and buzzing city, pulled out my map in the rain, and tediously traversed my way though the streets with my oversized backpack and tired feet. Hostel, need to find hostel.

Despite my lethargy, I was excited to be in Oslo and knew just what I wanted to see—the same things everyone wants to see in Oslo: Viking ships, the angry boy, and the ski jump. I just needed to figure out where everything was, what bus goes where and what time, how much, when it’s open, and where can I get some lunch. I’m starving.

Or, I could just take a bus tour.  The idea had never really appealed to me—until now.

Did you know that most major cities offer free hop-on, hop-off bus tours or organized bus tours for a variety of budgets? Don’t make your life harder, especially when you’ve got limited time.

I bit the bullet. I took a bus tour. And I liked it. The Oslo Highlights bus tour provided the opportunity to see all of these wonders of Oslo without the worry of self-navigating through a new city.  That’s right, you can put your map in your purse—or man bag. All you have to do is find City Hall, and then sit back, relax, and enjoy a knowledgeable and friendly guide while stopping for just enough time to explore and experience each must-see destination on your own.  Ahhh, simplicity amongst hectic travel. It’s almost better than recess.

I took a tour called the Grand Highlights tour. It lasted approximately 4 hours and runs year round with a live, energetic, multilingual guide; there’s no pre-recorded, monotone soundtrack during off-season.  The buses always meet on the side of City Hall where a tour schedule is posted.

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My dinner consisted of a family-size bag of “Cool American” flavored Doritos, gas station fish and chips, and a ginger ale. I sat in my rental car alone with my not-so-fantastic feast, killed the engine and turned the lights off. No plasticware, no napkins.

My car faced west and sat at the northern most point of the small fishing village in Iceland, wedged somewhere between the sky and the frigid dark ocean. The sky had not yet revealed its intentions—complete cloud coverage or to surrender to the stars. I kept my fingers crossed for the latter. I had hoped to see the Northern Lights.

The moment was both pathetic and peaceful.

With not much to think about and no one to talk to, my mind wandered to the odd predicament I found myself in just prior to parking my car.

I had arrived in the village a couple of hours earlier. My car crept through the desolate streets as I looked for a place to sleep and to grab a bite to eat.

The wind whipped around every corner and the boats rocked in the harbor while I searched for signs of life. Colorful box houses sat modestly hiding the town’s inhabitants. Where is everyone?

A couple children rode by on bikes and stared at me as if I’d just slaughtered their beloved house pet.

Hostels were closed, bed and breakfasts were closed; even the large hotel on the hill had a note taped to the door, “ For accommodation, please call…” (Number provided with no area code). I sat in the empty parking lot contemplating plan D.

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A big thanks to Lindsay Masters of Vows to Travel for contributing the following post as the December 30th Travel Instigator. Stay tuned for a feature post and Q and A from a new adventurous female traveler the 15th and 30th of every month.

The rich history and grandeur of Charles Bridge in Prague is so stunning that I’m quite certain other bridges I encounter in my lifetime will pale in comparison to this beauty.  It’s truly awe-inspiring. Bottom line, it’s bucket list worthy.

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A big thanks to Shannon Guihan of Bannikin Travel and Tourism for contributing the following post as the December 15th Travel Instigator. Stay tuned for a feature post and Q and A from a new adventurous female traveler the 15th and 30th of every month.

I’ve just arrived home from 12 days in London, Oxford, Geneva and Nuremberg. When I left Toronto at the end of November, Christmas was confined to shopping malls, with plenty of time to get your holiday stress on. Twelve days and a few thousand miles later it’s all of a sudden here, or so says the calendar. The shop fronts and streets of Toronto? A little less so.

As a Canadian living in an incredibly multi-cultural city, there’s a fairly constant voice in the back of my head that my duty to be inclusive should trump all else. So I should perhaps feel a twinge of guilt for writing this, but I miss Christmas.

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