Uptown Girl Abroad
Before I left on my OE, I didn't think I was very intrepid.
To be fair, that assumption was largely correct - especially if the criteria is restricted to visiting war zones or going hitch-hiking.
And yes, given the choice, I would choose a sumptuous king- size bed in a hotel room with a view over a squeaky bunk in a dorm.
But I feel I should get some kudos: No matter how small, I'll claim it.
Going travelling is a constant learning experience, and I'm pleased to say I've advanced beyond rookie tourist.
With such limited time in Europe, holders of a two-year working holiday visa are easily sucked into bouncing from one country's big-name destination to another.
And while that's fabulous - here's looking at you, Barcelona - there's so much beyond the places found in your On a Shoestring.
The Bearded One and I are planning a weeks-long road trip around Europe, part of which will take in some of Poland's bigger centres.
But after a friend raved about it, Mark organised a group to head to Gdansk.
The town on the Baltic coast was a place I knew only from old textbooks as the flashpoint of WWII - and only as Danzig, where a group of post office workers defended the building against invading Nazi soldiers and some of the war's first shots were fired.
The scourge of the Kiwi in London isn't the lack of freely available Watties sauce.
It isn't even Infernos in Clapham. (Hangover-stricken expats are likely howling in protest at this as we speak.)
No, the scourge of the Kiwi in London is the never-ending churning of visa expiration dates.
The ebb and flow of life in the UK means you constantly find yourself saying goodbye to mates - mates from back home, mates you've known just three months - all people you share memories of what will be the most nostalgia-inducing years of your life, when you're in the mortgage slog.
(If you're lucky.)
If you hadn't already guessed, I'm not exactly one of life's Great Outdoorsmen - and not just because I'm missing a key appendage.
ABOVE: Beautiful landscapes in Iceland
It's on my agenda, but I haven't tramped the Routeburn.
I'm a decent swimmer, but so far my plans to learn to surf have been all talk.
The success rate wasn't good, but we crossed our fingers anyway.
One of the men I work with had no luck.
Our flatmates didn't see them either.
Then, a glimmer of hope: the week before Mark and I were set to visit Iceland, another friend got a glimpse of the ever-elusive Northern Lights.
Much had been made, in the travel pages of the paper and in weekly deal emails, of 2014's (alleged) viewing ripeness.
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