4:30am: I wake up with the same stomachache I went to bed with and run to the latrine. It’s pretty cold outside – harmattan is here. I go back to bed, wrapped in the fleece blanket I stole from the plane over a year ago. 6:30am: I wake up again to the sound of the ground…
Tag: tbt
the skirt
For the first time in my life, funerals make sense. Not that I’ve endured many funerals in all my twenty-seven years but I’ve been to enough to question their existence. For the obvious reasons that I suppose anyone does – they’re boring, expensive, sometimes insincere, but mostly, depressing. Funerals are a drag. Don’t get me…
the painter
A year ago, when I arrived at Morocco’s hidden gem, Chefchaouen, I was halfway through a month-long, solo trip from Morocco to France. I took a bus from the capital city, Rabat, that was full of backpackers who, despite the fact that they were mostly just looking to get stoned in the mountains, all seemed…
biking through butterflies 