there are few things in this world that smell as rank as a suitcase full of bog-mud socks, sea-soaked pants and towel that's been wet for a week. tent vomit comes to mind. also rotting flesh...
home from scotland! heard bagpipes, saw kilts and 'helian coo', tried black pudding.
forced-marched natasha up a mountain. played chicken with the north bay at night, or as close as they get to night in those far reaches of the northern hemisphere this time of year. had a chit-chat with nessie and an allergic reaction to a hostel.
ran out of money. then travelled five hours to a township with 400 people and one cash machine.
one broken cash machine.
lived for three days on bread and strawberry jam and biscuits.
which isn't really all that different from normal.
but done with a backdrop of castles, sand dunes, cliffs and white-sand beaches. I love scotland. love it.