The year, 2012. The goal, spring break. The company- my boyfriend of three months, Brett. The other goal: hide your crazy.

I want to first off say that this was not my first travel, but my first cruise. I had trouble with it. You may love cruises. If this blog post isn’t for you, that’s ok!

Brett and I had known one another for a year and a half. We had a bit of a “will they, won’t they”. I never had good boundaries with boyfriends, and after ignoring him for three months and working on my self esteem in therapy, I laid down the law. You will treat me well, you will stay at my house, you will meet my friends and family. And if you EVER get wishy washy on me again, I’m gone. He never did get emo, “not your boyfriend”, “I’m too busy for a relationship”, doesn’t call me for a week straight again. November 12, 2011 he said “All I want to do is make you happy.” And he meant it. We married 3 and a half years later.

I couldn’t ask for a better partner. He’s my co-captain, my travel partner for life, my love song writing, hold me when I’m sobbing, puppy daddy. We’ve been married 9 and a half years now.

But those first three months were precarious. We were long distance, he, in Chicago and me at Purdue. I was waiting for something to go wrong and trying not to get too close. He was trying to show me he was all in. In February 20, 2012 he kissed me to the Get Up Kids song “I’ll Catch You” on his birthday after eating a Nyan Cat cake I had specifically ordered, and waited til my makeup was off and my mouth guard was in to tell me he loved me. I whispered back “I luff syou too”. Bastard. 🙂

So we booked a cruise for spring break. I was still trying to be the “perfect” version of myself in front of him. The “putting on makeup and getting back into bed while he was asleep” person. (Props to Kristin Wiig from the movie Bridesmaids to show this is an actual thing we do). I was trying to be the “cool girlfriend”, up for anything. “Sure I want to listen to your band play music for 5 hours on the one weekend we get together”. I waited til he left to use the bathroom. I hid my mood swings and made light of my disorder. “It’s not a big deal, I just take some pills.”

March 2012 we flew to Miami and boarded a Royal Caribbean cruise ship to Nassau, Bahamas, Coco Cay- a Royal Caribbean owned island, and Key West, Florida. I hid in the plane bathroom taking a Xanax, I turned up the volume on my headphones as loud as it would go so I didn’t have to risk hearing someone be disgruntled on the plane. Why does that bother me? It does, and it’s infuriating. Someone gets shitty and I immediately am on edge. I’m sure they’ll make a scene and I’m terrified to see it. I worry they are mad at me, and I imagine getting yelled at and crying in front of everyone. I empathize with everyone around me and I take on their discomfort at my own. I freeze and I make myself as small as possible…. And we had literally just arrived. Next up was figuring out bag tagging and getting out passports and being herded like cattle with 3000 other people onto a boat. Everyone is impatient, everyone is rushing to the front of the line. You get bumped and rustled. I HATE being touched by anyone, I need to initiate touching expect with a few select people. I make myself smaller. And smaller. And smaller.

The cabin was my safe space. It was tiny and had a porthole and no fresh air. I cried in the fetal position of the bathroom floor, telling Brett I just needed to take a shower. Would this get better?

It did, but cruises are still not my thing. I’ve been on two others, and one was to do a family trip with Brett’s parents who love to cruise, and another to take my mom to Italy and Greece because she’s amazing and has some mobility issues and I thought it would be easier on her. Those stories will come later. There’s chaos in the dining halls, chaos at the bars, expensive drinks if you don’t buy the package and the pools are packed. You have to get to the pool at 7am if you don’t want to fight for a spot. It was also spring break so there were the usual cruise fans and then the rowdy younger crowd. The only way I could cope with people being so loud and drunk was to drink myself. I have since bought Calmer ear plugs (similar to Loop) and they help immensely. And I’ve worked on the alcohol consumption. I learned there is a 30 minute “urge” period. Ride out that urge wave for thirty minutes, and a lot of it passes.

I seem negative. Maybe I am. The excursions were great honestly, if not a little short for the one in Key West. I just don’t like crowds. It’s why we moved out of Chicago after living there from 2013 to 2022. I need space and nature. I figured that out for later trips.

So on to what we actually did. Our first stop was in Nassau. We were able to dock at the port, no tender needed. I mentioned in an Instagram post (@theneuroticadventurer) that buskers and people selling things stress me out. I practically ran past the sellers at the port. We had nine hours in port. We chose a snorkeling excursion. I then found out that Brett was not a strong swimmer. We catamaraned past the Atlantis Hotel and out of a beautiful spot. The sea was rough and Brett drank more salt water than he actually swam in. Even I, a strong swimmer, had some issues. But the fish were colorful and the boat was heavenly. I would just recommend for future travelers to take a look at the sea and determine if you can handle the waves that day. They’ll take the boat out if it’s safe-ish enough and will bring in the tourists.

After the tour we cleaned up and walked the town. Nassau is beautiful, but there are certain areas to avoid. “Over the hill” south of Shirley street is one of those areas. We stuck close to the ship, did some shopping and found some bars. We ate conch fritters at the succinctly named Conch Fritters stand. We drank Bahamian beer at Sharkeez and bought Cuban Romeo y Julieta cigars. We debated sneaking a few home, but I’m to a fault, a rule follower. We even walked into the most touristy place on earth, Senor Frogs, and danced a little and watched the strangest sight of a mom pushing a stroller at 9pm at night near the dance floor.

Our next stop was CocoCay, also known as Little Stirrup Cay, Bahamas. It is owned by Royal Caribbean. it is less than a mile long and at the time we had to use tenders to get there. They have since built a port on the north side of the island. There is a water park, pools, beaches, nature trails, and a shopping and food area. There are also a bunch of activities you can book. We chose to have a relaxing day with no activities. We got lunch, a pre set buffet which was mediocre, and then found a less crowded area to put down our towels on loungers and splash around in the sea. We watched parasailers and kayakers go by, and sipped rum drinks. We walked the beach, but not the nature trails, and explored the piers and looked for shells. One side of the island was busy with families and screaming joyful laughter from kids, and the other side a little more relaxed.

On the ship that night we did the captain’s dinner which was actually very fun. I didn’t love sharing a table with strangers but I’ve since gotten better about socializing on later trips. The sunset was breathtaking and we got to dress up and sip wine with our seafood. I was calmer at this point and getting into a groove on the ship. We played blackjack and explored the ship and even peeked into the nightclub for a bit.

The third and final port was in Key West. We were able to dock in port, overlooking Mallory Square and Lands End village. This was our shortest day, only 6 hours in port. But by the time you get off and on the ship in the crowds, it’s more like 4 and a half hours. We first went parasailing. If you’ve been, you know the experience. It’s a fun diversion and a beautiful boat ride and we got to touch our feet to the water. We then went to Sloppy Joe’s bar for happy hour Yuenglings, (we couldn’t get them in Indiana at the time) and then walked up and down Duval Street. We shopped and looked at statues and 6 toed cats and iguanas. We didn’t take the trolley tour and I wish we had.

Here is where we made our mistake. We asked a local for a recommendation for an off the beaten path bar to drink at. We ended up at Pepe’s. I just looked it up on google maps and I can’t find this bar anymore. There’s a Pepe’s Cafe but that wasn’t it. It was exclusively outdoors with flowering trees and shaded picnic tables. They had $1 Yuenglings and boy did we indulge. Then we went up to the bartender to chat and he said “I have all these fresh peaches and I don’t know what to do with them, do you want to sit here and try the concoctions I make?”. Big Mistake. We of course said yes and promptly got hammered. I threw up in the restroom and we nearly missed the boat home. I practically carried Brett back to the ship, which we got lost trying to find despite it being the massive thing in the sky in front of us. We were the last ones on the boat and everyone was pissed and hooting and hollering off the decks at us. We scurried to our room with our heads down and continued to get sick and pass out.

Instead of Pepe’s, which may be gone or renamed, I recommend After Deck Bar at Louie’s. It’s got good reviews, an outdoor space and views of the water and sunset. It will likely be more touristy than what we experienced though.

The next day was tough, I was hungover and sure everyone’s eyes were on me. I hid in the room except to get lots and lots of water and caffeine and was thankful we reached Miami quickly. BUT, we forgot to put tags on our bags and put them out in the hall. So they got hauled down late with no tags and we ended up waiting for our luggage for over an hour in the cruise terminal baggage claim. Mess.

We had a few hours to kill before our flight so we found media noche sandwiches and bloody Mary’s and pretended we were Dexter Morgan, living it up in Miami. Then we got on a plane home and I was asleep long before I had time to worry about everything that had plagued me on the flight down. So there’s that at least.

Overall, we made it. I had a few snippy moments, a few tears, and Brett got me through it. He didn’t leave me, he embraced me. Find a travel partner like that.

I started a blog post and got so far in and it deleted itself, because I’m a WordPress novice. So here’s the short and sweet summary.

I may not write about all my trips in order. My first international trip was at 18 in 2005 but I’m starting with a trip in 2012 in my next blog post. I’ll try my best to get all the names of hotels and restaurants and dates accurate, and if a place I went isn’t still open, I’ll note it and recommend something else. Some of the pictures will be from old iPhones and blurry. If you see an error you can tell me!

Hey if this blog makes money someday that’s great, but it’s mostly a travel journal for me and for my friends and family. Not everyone wants to read about mental health, they might just want some photos and a list of places to see. That’s fine!

Here’s a list of countries I’ve been to: (sometimes multiple times)

Ireland

Great Britain (Wales and England on one trip, Scotland on another)

Argentina

Brazil

Bahamas

Dominican Republic

Mexico

Jamaica

Haiti

Germany

Spain

Portugal

Canada

Costa Rica

St. Lucia

Italy

Montenegro

Greece

Norway

Sweden

Poland

Here’s a list of upcoming trips planned:

Thailand

Japan

Vietnam

Cambodia

Panama

Aruba

France

Namibia

This is a hard one, just fyi. Trigger warnings for depression, self harm, death of a pet.

Did you know there are elephants in Namibia? Desert dwelling elephants that currently only reside from Mali to Namibia. We are planning a trip to Namibia in 2026, and I can’t wait to see them.

But that’s not the elephant I’m writing about in this post. The elephant, is the elephant in the room. The 23 pound fluffy black and tan little man that takes up all the space in my house and my heart. My 13 and a half year old Pomeranian, Calzone.

Every trip, I wonder- is this our last snuggle? Is this the last time he snorts in my ear and licks my face (he always goes straight for my lips no matter how I try to deter him). Is this the last time I disappoint him as I walk out the door with a suitcase and no leash for him?

Time never ceases to turn, and he’s not a young man anymore.

We adopted Calzone when he was six years old (guesstimate) in December 2016. I had been having the worst year of my life. I was 29 and the return of Saturn was doing a number on my sanity. The pills stopped working, I could barely get out of bed, I couldn’t keep a job, or shower myself, or stop thinking about just sleeping through the rest of my days (if not worse). Self harm and alcohol were involved. Brett was desperate to help me. I asked for a dog.

We went to PAWS and found in a room full of excited little pups a sound asleep fluff ball that had no interest in jumping at the window. I met him and he pawed my hands and curled up at my feet. I was done. I had found my man.

I had dreamed for a while about naming a dog Lemon. 30 Rock is my favorite tv show and I imagined yelling “Good God Lemon!” at a dog doing something exasperating. He didn’t “feel” like a Lemon though. Brett suggested the name Calzone as a half joke. It’s his favorite food. I laughed more than I had in months. He was to be Calzone.

I can’t currently write in detail a history of the time with my perfect dog, I will lose it and never finish this post. He’s still alive and happy and healthy currently. He sees a vet more than I see a doctor and that’s saying something. He is a preening, confident, well kept little gentleman. But he’s getting older. And I keep traveling.

In a preposterous turn of events in July 2016 our tortoise, Giles, (Buffy fans unite!) “ran” away. We went to the Dominican Republic on a friendscation and he stayed with a vet tech. She kept him outside during the day in a pen, and he escaped under it and disappeared. We found out in the airport on the way home and I was distraught through the worst entire plane ride of my life. We went to search for him for hours, he was gone. He wasn’t my first tortoise. I had Betty years before and she died of an infection. I purposefully left him with a vet tech during our vacation because of what happened to her.

This was my fault. I was cursed, a terrible pet parent, a terrible human being. I sank lower into the darkness that had been creeping in for 6 months. I can still barely talk about it.

Cal was our light. We brought him home 6 months after Giles disappeared and I started new meds and a partial inpatient program for my bipolar. I fought through wave after wave, fighting to swim instead of sinking. In a longer story, I even scooped him up and ran down a Chicago alleyway running from a husky that broke loose and was crouched like a tiger ready to pounce on him. I went outside to walk him after days of laying in bed and I raced him to the emergency vet when he managed to grab on to half a rack of ribs someone dropped on the parkway by the United Center. I cooked for him and sang to him.

With renewed energy and excitement for life after a year of near nonexistence, we booked a trip to Scotland for May 2017. We were going to drink scotch and hike highlands and explore castles! Then came a tiny voice in the back of my mind. “What if it happens again?”

We have traveled countless times since we got Cal almost 8 years ago. Each time is the same. Yay! Trips, adventures, good food, photography, romance! And each time a nagging little thought that doesn’t go away. “What if…?” The night before a flight or a weekend away I don’t sleep. I take two klonopin and I lay awake and try to distract myself with games and books and Reddit. I lay my hand on my baby’s belly and I feel the rise and fall of his breathing. I say things to him like they are the last time I will say them.

He’s always fine. He stays with grandparents and gets spoiled rotten. They feed him ham and steak and greenies and let him sleep in their rooms. We face time him nearly daily and he sings for us. We ask for regular photos and updates. I always leave a detailed list of his daily schedule and list of vets and emergency contacts. He greets us when we get home with running and wagging and rubbing his face against ours. Then he immediately demands the treats he’s become accustomed to.

We’ve had some health scares recently with Cal. He’s fine for now, great health for a chubby pup his age. But that time will come. And it could be when I’m away. Each year that passes, it gets a little harder to walk out the door. A FaceTime every day. A few extra texts to grandma about how he’s doing. A few more klonopin when those responses don’t come quick enough. More belly breathing and talking through scenarios and laying out of the facts and only the facts in my head. more mental preparation for what ifs and plans for just surviving the trip home if the worst happens.

He’s got a personality the size of an elephant. I’d never travel again if it meant he’d live forever. We’d spend our days on walks with his stroller, barking at the UPS guy, and laying on the couch watching Bender yell “shut up baby I know it!”. so Namibia may happen in 2026. But if I got to keep my elephant at home, I’d skip the real thing in a second.

My name is Rachel Davis. I’m 37, with no children, living in the Chicago suburbs with my husband Brett, my mother Stephanie, and a fat and sassy 13 and a half year old Pomeranian named Calzone.

I have bipolar 1 disorder and generalized anxiety disorder. These were diagnosed for me at ages 19 and 22, respectively. They offer unique and sometimes unfun challenges to daily life, like for many people out there. I take a regime of medication daily, see a psychiatrist monthly, and a therapist weekly. I also do ketamine infusions for ptsd and depression.

I also love to travel. I’ve been to 37 states and 23 countries. In December/January 2024-2025 I’ll be adding three more countries to that list. Those will be incredibly interesting, because it will be my first time in Asia, and in incredibly populated cities that are very unlike what I’ve been to before.

We returned home yesterday from Nova Scotia. It was an amazing trip, and while I was there I purchased a travel journal. I am constantly taking photos on my travels because I studied photography in high school and took a few classes in college. But I was never great about keeping written records of my trips. I have scraps of notes here and there, ticket stubs and receipts. But I wanted a place to put it all down as a record for me. I also thought others might be interested in it for travel purposes, and because I can offer my perspective on what it is like to travel as a person with a mental disorder.

So many people suffer from a condition that requires medication or therapy or any other type of technique that allows grounding and finding peace. Sometimes we aren’t our best selves when we travel. Sometimes we desperately miss home and are stuck 8000 miles away. Sometimes we embarass ourselves or overschedule or, like me, have a manic episode in New Orleans and buy $200 worth of macarons and drink bloody Mary’s til dawn.

I wanted to write about what that has been like for me. The good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly, and the unique. Travel opens us up to new people, things, ideas. It also is a lot of work, mentally, physically and financially, and sometimes we just need the comfort of home. Sometimes we need to take our pills to make it on to the plane to the next destination, or use grounding techniques and 4-6 breathing so we don’t cry in a museum in Sevilla.

I hope to impart some of the practical and philosophical wisdom I’ve gained from my travels here. I’ll also provide recommendations for places I’ve been. Please remember that each thought is my own, maybe you’ll love a destination I didn’t, or hate a restaurant I loved. Gather as much information as you can on a destination, and go be brave and explore.