Montana, they said. A serene float trip, they promised. Little did I know that my boyfriend’s idea of a romantic getaway involved more survival skills than sweet nothings. Picture this: Bozeman, the so-called “Beverly Hills of Montana,” a playground for Angelenos seeking a slice of rugged luxury. A perfect blend of breathtaking nature and upscale charm—at least, that’s what I thought.
We arrived at a picturesque lodge, nestled amid sprawling landscapes that could have been pulled straight from a postcard. Bozeman boasts an intriguing mix of wealthy celebrity residents and down-to-earth locals, creating a unique blend of sophistication and laid-back vibes. My anticipation was palpable as I envisioned cozy dinners, scenic tours, and maybe a celebrity sighting or two. Little did I know, my adventure would take a turn for the primitive.
The first sign of trouble was subtle—my boyfriend’s conspicuous lack of detailed planning. “It’ll be fun,” he assured me. “Just go with the flow.” I should have known better. Our float trip down the river began with an ominous absence of modern amenities. No toilet. And, of course, because the universe has a cruel sense of humor, I had my period.
