Hiking through the dark jungle, something sounded off in the distance. Jesus. What IS that? A low, guttural roar echoed out of the black night, like a cross between a lion roaring and a demon snoring. There could be anything out there.
And then in that moment, the axolotl spasmed violently and squirted straight out of my hand. Shit! SHIT! The axolotl popped a few inches into the air, then back into my hand. Whew! That was clo- Then he immediately wriggled hard again and squirted right through my fingers like that proverbial bar of soap, this time shooting several feet straight up in the air, over my head. AAAAAAAAAHHH!!
Jordan. A country so deeply enraptured by the NBA that they named themselves after His Airness. Jordan. A country whose main export is Air Jordan sneakers— no, I’m kidding it’s probably dates or some shit.
I said goodbye to the giant ominous Oryx, the giant ominous clam, the giant ominous Tamir the Glorious and whoever the guy was who didn’t kidnap me on the way to the airport. Thanks Qatar. I’ll always remember you like the fever dream you were.
Standing outside the ruins of the Great Temple of the Aten in Amarna, a small Egyptian boy greeted our bus. “Hello Bullshit.” What? “Hello Bullshit.” Some killjoys in our group (Andy) insisted that he was just attempting to say “Hello, Bonjour” but I will never believe this. If that’s the world you want to live in, you can have it.
I’d taken the unusual step of hiring a guide and a driver for my time in El Salvador, mostly because I knew that on my own I would accidentally drive into a gang stronghold blaring Juice Newton and this would end the gang conflict forever and American politicians would have no one left to project our fears onto and we’d have to start dealing with our own shit, which is terrifying.
