Regrettable Tattoos & A 24-Hour Solo Trip
How a series of choices in Australia led me to Canada for a night.
I just went to Vancouver, British Columbia to get a tattoo.
Not just any tattoo — a cover-up for something I got only 2 years ago.
I got the original tattoo near the end of my Australia trip, on a week-long bender of a date that ended with getting tattoos together. Because yeah, that’s a normal thing to do. At least they weren’t matching.
Now that I’ve piqued your interest, let’s start from the beginning. About a month before getting the tattoo in question, I met The Miner at the local pub in a town of 200 people in North Queensland. I’d ended up at that particular spot because I saw it as a free place to camp on the app that I used to find campsites. Commenters mentioned you could get a hot shower in exchange for buying something from the pub. Easy.
I parked the van in the field in the back with about 20 other groups of campers dispersed throughout. I went into the pub with the intention of getting something to eat for dinner, but I walked out with a date for the next day.
On what I dubbed my personal Eat, Pray, Love, I was unafraid to chase short-lived romance. I was 6 months post-breakup, exploring the world and myself to the fullest extent. And sometimes that meant pursuing strangers because it almost always ended up in a wild adventure.
And end up in a wild adventure it did. That night, I didn’t tell him I was sleeping behind the pub (cuz safety) but agreed to meet him there the next day to go hang out at the river. The next day we did the same thing. The day after that, he left for the copper mines for two weeks.
We connected almost instantly. The banter was great. He was weird and endearing and I felt an ease and comfort around him. When we said goodbye for the first time, I didn’t understand how someone could impact me in such a short period of time, especially when I’d felt it was easy to just leave most people with a simple “goodbye, see you probably never.”
After our first 48 hours together, The Miner and I parted ways but talked every day. Sometimes through scattered bursts of texts, sometimes through hour-long phone calls that felt like 15 minutes. At the time, I wasn’t able to recognize love bombing for what it was, but my phone was suddenly full of flowery words and affection. It felt incredible, because it always feels good to be desired, but verbal affirmation was also something my last relationship severely lacked.
I’m terrified because you could find at least 100 different versions of me over the course of a year but I would have to spend an entire lifetime of being disappointed looking for glimpses of you in others if things went south. And that’s fine, I mean it’s totally fine, nothing is guaranteed and I am completely fine with the fact that this could change at any moment but I don’t think you can fully understand how terrifying it is to know that nothing is ever going to be the same again. It’s just so, so hard to convey. And it’s not even just in a romantic sense. Like my God do I want to be your lover but just in the sense that I never heard from you again or. I don’t know. You are life changing in a way that excites me and terrifies me at the same time, Carly Jean.
-A text from The Miner
Spoiler alert: there DID come a time where he never heard from me again. But we’re getting there, OKAY?
He asked if he could come out and see me during his time off. The mine would fly him anywhere to go “home”, so he could fly to wherever I was. I said yes, enthusiastically. I was excited to see him again. We spent a few days together traveling the Blue Mountains region of New South Wales. On our way down from the mountains, we heard a popping noise and the van stopped accelerating. We pulled over to check that it wasn’t a tire and then limped our way to the nearest shop in town. THANK GOD we were near a town and not in North Queensland anymore.
The shop kept the van overnight for two nights while we found ways to pass the time in a town called Wollongong. We browsed vintage shops and grabbed burgers at a beachside shack and spent endless hours sitting at the beach talking about everything and nothing at the same time.
“Wanna get a tattoo?” The Miner asked as we were walking to the beach on the day we needed to pick up the van. We needed to waste another 5 hours anyways, and what better place to do it than a tattoo studio?
I wanted to get a memento from my time in Australia, as I’d gotten one in New Zealand (that I ended up liking a lot better). I decided to get the phrase “She’ll be right” on my wrist. It’s a frequently used phrase in Australian and New Zealand culture to express the belief that:
"Whatever is wrong will right itself with time"
I still do like the meaning of the phrase, but I no longer wanted it permanently on my wrist two years later. Why? Honestly, two reasons.
One, I feel like in American English, the phrase reads as something different, something more like “she will be correct” or “she’s always right”. I found myself embarrassed when I saw people looking at it, and I don’t really want to have to explain it to everyone.
Two, because that whirlwind romance crashed about as hard as it started.
Love bombing is a type of emotional manipulation. It’s a tactic that is trying to force your trust and dependence, so the love bomber quickly becomes the most important person in your life. Later in the relationship, it’s easier for them to devalue or discard you, or even make you feel like you’re the one who has been doing something “wrong”. You’re more likely to bend to their will (by compromising your own boundaries), or do things you don’t want to do to “win back” their affection.
That description pretty much sums up what happened in the proceeding few months. I don’t really want to air all the details of this surprisingly painful kind of heartbreak to the internet. It ended badly, he was cruel, I was shattered. I felt like I was the crazy one, even though with time I’ve come to realize that although I am not perfect, stepping away from that situation was ultimately the right thing to do for my own well-being.
I’m mad because you ask stupid questions you don’t want the answer to and start trouble when there is none. I’m sick of you villainizing men and living in the digital world 24/7 as if it means something. You think you’re all high and mighty and for what? So you can sleep easy believing people actually like you? We can talk tomorrow, but I don’t think this conversation is going to end well.
-Another text from The Miner. It’s giving deflection!
I share this specific part of the experience because I’ve seen far too many of my friends fall victim to love bombing and other emotionally manipulative behaviors. It feels innocent at first, sometimes even amazing, like the love you deserved all along. But at a certain point, the fake gold starts to tarnish and you’ve found yourself deep in a relationship with someone who gets off on manipulating you, whether intentional or unintentional. And that shit’s hard to get out of.
So then that tattoo became a constant reminder of that week-long bender of a date that ended up in a lot of hurt that took years to work through. You can’t blame me for no longer wanting to see that every day.
The Miner did have a great philosophy when it comes to dating that I still use to this day, though.
“I’m too young to settle, but too old to waste my time.”
Fast forward two years, and I’m in a much better place and in a clearer state of mind to make a decision about the art that I want permanently etched into my body. I found an artist on Instagram whose style I liked and asked if they’d be interested in helping me with a cover-up. They agreed and I booked my 24-hour trip to Vancouver, where their studio is.
Vancouver, BC is only a 2.5-hour drive from my home, but I’d never been.
Here’s how I spent my quick trip.
Day One
7 am: Depart Seattle
9 am: Arrive at Customs & Immigration
9:30 am: Arrive in Vancouver
10 am: Stop at La Grotta Del Formaggia to grab a sandwich. I can’t go to a tattoo appointment hungry. At this adorable (and somewhat famous) Italian deli, I got the “Fresco” panini, which had prosciutto, fresh mozzarella, tomato, spinach, sun dried tomatoes, pesto, balsamic vinegar and olive oil. It was a top tier sandwich indeed.
11 am: Park in Gastown, walk to The Drop to see the mountain views from the waterfront. Walk to the tattoo studio.
12 pm: Experience a few hours of pain for a lifetime of looking cool.
2 pm: Walk through Granville Island, an indoor/outdoor market with produce, prepared foods, gifts, art, and more. It reminded me of Seattle’s Pike Place Market, which I love to browse occasionally as a non-tourist.
3 pm: Check into Airbnb.
I failed to read the entire description (which was vague to begin with) but didn’t fully understand that I was staying at a dude’s apartment… where he lived… in the spare room without a lock on it. Cool cool cool.
My solo-female-traveler red flags immediately went off. So I decided that the best course of action was to try and befriend him by asking if he wanted to have some tea together. We sipped tea and small talked, me, a small woman in an unfamiliar city, him, a 7-foot-tall man with a thick Russian accent. It was sort of awkward, but it helped deem him harmless. After that, he seemed more scared of me than I was of him.
The only interaction we had after tea was a quick goodbye when I left for dinner, and a frazzled interaction in the hallway when the building’s smoke alarms went off at 2 am.
6 pm: Try for a walk-in seat at St. Lawrence. This fancy French restaurant came recommended by a friend, and I figured it could be fun to dress up and feel a little fancy and experience their tasting menu.
One of my favorite things about traveling by myself is that you can almost always find a seat for one at a busy restaurant.
8 pm: I wasn’t ready to go home right after dinner, so I headed over to the 515 Bar for a nightcap. I’m not super enthusiastic about alcohol in general, but I’m especially not very motivated to drink by myself. Which is probably good, overall. So I ordered a mocktail and enjoyed the vibes of the bar and read for a bit before going home.
Day Two
9 am: Check out of Airbnb. Thank my lucky stars that the host was chill instead of, ya know, a murderer or whatever.
9:30 am: Breakfast at Maxine’s Cafe & Bar. Again, I lucked out being solo because the place was packed but they were able to squeeze me into a spot at the bar. Here, I met Kitty and Bill, the couple that sat next to me. Kitty started the conversation by saying, “You’re alone, that’s brave.” I explained that I was visiting from Seattle for just 24 hours, but I traveled by myself quite often. We talked the entire time, so much so that the waiter put us on the same bill at the end thinking we were together. I ended up getting their phone number and an invite to their property on Vancouver Island, which I may or may not take them up on someday.
10:30 am: Depart Vancouver and head back to Seattle. It’s about a 2.5 hour drive, plus a stop at Customs & Immigration, which took a lot longer going back.
I always love the random little connections you make along the way when you’re traveling solo. The way that being on your own might get you out of your comfort zone and talking to people you wouldn’t normally talk to. Like The Miner at the bar or the couple at the breakfast cafe. And it almost always leads to a silly little adventure.
While I could have done without the emotionally manipulative whirlwind romance and questionable tattoo, I wouldn’t go back and change my experience either, as it led me to explore an entirely different place several years later. I want to live a life so rich in experiences that I recognize it won’t always be sunshine and roses. But tattoos can always be covered up, your mind can change, and the lessons will stick with you forever. And you’ll probably get a kick-ass story out of it.
💛 CJK
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Love this perspective. As a fellow victim of a whirlwind romance that turned scary as quickly as the “love” happened, I wouldn’t change that experience. I’m grateful for the perspective it gives me now, the ability to know how to recognize dangerous behavior, and how to stick up for myself in the future. Grit, or whatever. Proud of you 🤍