Being Heartbroken While on Travel

No, this isn’t some glamorized version of how my friend and I “Eat, Prayed and Loved” our way through Italy. Rather a more truthful—some might say heart wrenching—story to those travelers who connect with an inanimate object only to have it taken away. It sounds silly, until it’s you who’s crying your eyes out in a public place, with no end in sight as to when you can grab your breath, your friend simply watching you have a complete meltdown.

My one prized possession while traveling, besides my camera of course, was my Hydro Flask water bottle. It was tall and had a beautiful silver coating, and not only did it keep my water incredibly cold, it held memories and trinkets from all the places I had traveled to. In 2015, I began to collect stickers from places I visited, like each National Park I camped at, or every new country I entered; even to commemorate momentous occasions, like jumping off a bridge.

@rainaroundtheglobe Last photo of beloved

Our last day in Italy, we were off to the Vatican city to see the Pope. We walked into the old city, cobble stones at our feet, with herds of people all walking towards the same destination. Fun fact: before entering St. Peter’s Basilica, where the public has a chance to watch the Pope give his weekly speech, you must go through a metal detector. While walking through, I set off the alarm because my bag was filled with lenses and (you guessed it) my water bottle. The security guard told me I had to leave my bottle at the front, with all the other forgotten and dingy bottles that were just laying there. I looked around, and pleaded with him to let me take it in. I told him that this water bottle wasn’t like the others, it told a story, it held memories, and I wasn’t comfortable leaving it on the streets. There was no budging; he was polite but stern. I remember those words so clearly, “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you take that in. You can try to leave it behind that pillar, in hopes no one will see it. But we (the guards) are not held accountable for your possessions.”

We were in St Peter’s Basilica for a little over an hour. We explored the church, heard the Pope speak, then headed towards the exit. As I was walking, I looked at my friend and told her, “I just know, I can feel it. It’s gone.” We went through the metal detectors, which coincidentally all the guards had left, and I approached the pillar where I’d left my bottle. I looked around, seeing if maybe someone had simply moved it and it was playing hide and seek. But no—it was gone.

The feeling that came next rushed over me, which I didn’t know could happen outside of Hollywood. I excused myself to a corner, leaned over to place my head on it, and the stream of tears poured out uncontrollably. My friend asked me what she could do, and if we should cancel our trip to the Colosseum so that I could properly mourn my loss. I told her no. I just needed a minute to sit in my sadness.

Shortly after my casualty, I picked my head up and we walked to the train stop. I’ll never forget that last day in Rome, and not because of the incredible architecture or the history we learned, but because I had never felt such heartache since Rose let go of Jack’s hand, floating in yet another version of ice-cold water.

**It was two months before I was able to replace my bottle. And although I couldn’t replace the stickers, I placed flags at the bottom of my bottle to commemorate those lost in traveling.

Get your very own Hydroflask to help reduse the use of plastic, and start collecting your memories today https://www.hydroflask.com/

@rainaroundtheglobe The new love