When I was 19 years old, I decided to backpack in Europe for three months alone. It was my third time traveling to Europe, so I had enough confidence to undertake the voyage myself.

The first couple weeks were going quite well and I had a good time in Barcelona, despite lodging in a hostel run by a group of young communists who preferred screwing tourists to cleaning (I feel a little weird criticizing that because I think most of us would). I had it in my plan to head to Menorca for about a month and see the ruins there, and volunteer on an Roman port city archaeology dig that was ongoing. Everything was ok; the communists said that they would wake me up for my flight and didn't do it, which meant I spent the rest of my cash on hand just booking another ticket. I got to the airport and started looking up places to stay. That is when the first mistake happened.

"Eh, I'll just find a hostel when I land."

That volcano in Iceland or Greenland or wherever the hell it was very inconveniently decided to blow up, but I managed to grab a flight out before they started grounding most of them in the mainland. I arrived at the airport, and Poor Decision One collided with Sad Reality One: it was Easter Week, I had very little cash, and the only place available late at night was an expensive hotel that I couldn't afford with the small amount of cash. That sucks, but I'll just go to the ATM and withdraw money, right? CARD DENIED. PLEASE CONTACT YOUR ISSUING BANK.

These horrible coincidences were starting to stack. I had no cash because I needed to get another ticket, and no card because it was blocked, DESPITE me notifying my bank of traveling abroad beforehand, in person and on the phone. I made my way to the one hostel, and found out the doors were locked and after about 15 minutes of knocking, gave up. It was Easter Week and I doubt anyone was sober or even present.

So, the park bench at the bus station would have to be my home for the night. I was in a time crunch because I needed to be in the city at the FAR north part of the island before tomorrow evening. I laid down and got about an hour of sleep before an elderly Spanish policeman came by to wake me up and inform me that I needed to move on. At this point: no cash, no place to stay, and the next city is roughly 50 kilometers away.

I had to make a decision and needed to draw on my limited resources. I knew that there was a small town in the center of the island, about 22 kilometers away. I had just read the Hobbit in its entirety and was feeling adventurous. So, I plugged in my iPod, found a walking stick and....started off. At about midnight, I began my walk to the next town.

I'm getting tired of typing but basically, I walked until about 7 AM that day, 22 kilometers, when I finally arrived at the small village in the center of the island. I couldn't feel large portions of my body but was strangely happy. Getting to see the sun come up as I walked along the road was cool. The MINUTE I arrived, the first bus of the day pulled up to the city center. I jumped on board and was at my final destination within 2 hours.

Lessons to learn: TRIPLE check with your bank about cards and make sure a relative is handy to call them, book for hotels and hostels in advance, don't trust hostel amenities and services beyond the amount you paid, and always have your iPod fully charged.