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The real life of the East is agony to watch and horror to share.
One of the three greatest joys in life is swimming naked in clean tropical sea.
We need a root of personal experience from which to grow our understanding. Each new experience plants another root; the smallest root will serve.
The lethargy of compounded discomfort and boredom is the trademark of the genuine horror journey.
That state of grace which can rightly be called happiness, when body and mind rejoice together. This occurs, as a divine surprise, in travel; this is why I will never finish traveling.
Loving is a habit like another and requires something nearby for daily practice. I loved the cat, the cat appeared to love me.
As for me, the name Surinam was enough. I had to see a place with a name like that.
Stinking with rancid coconut butter, the local Elizabeth Arden skin cream.
You define your own horror journey, according to your taste. My definition of what makes a journey wholly or partially horrible is boredom. Add discomfort, fatigue, strain in large amounts to get the purest-quality horror, but the kernel is boredom.
Bali- a museum island, boringly exquisite, filled with poor beautiful people being stared at by rich beautiful people.
No sight is better calculated to turn anyone off travel than the departure lounge of a big airport.
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