It was the best of times, it was the… best of times.

Yeah, there were some bad times, or that’s how it seemed to me at the time. Blistered feet and blistering heat. Splintering cold, I recall Nepal: the mountains stole the breath from my mouth and blast it back upon me, the gelid gall of it. I cried. Rip-off rickshaws and Delhi Belly (not to mention Varanasi belly and Kulathupuzha belly), filth and chaos and pain and squalor and so little love sometimes. I cried. Yeah, there were some hard times.

But. I do know.

Those hard, worst, imperfect, uncomfortable, miserable times were – or will be, one day, in their way – the best of times. That is to say, they moved and emboldened and challenged and changed me. And that is the very best I can ask of travel and any old day of the week.

And, in the midst of those days, there were so many ‘bests’ I can’t even begin to fathom or explain them.

What an adventure. All of life is. It makes me cry.

And the best thing of all was the love by my side, my rambling man – walking with me, taping those blisters, knowing I could do it. Thank you for this time, Ian. The times of our lives. I cannot wait for whatever comes next.


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