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People will tell you when we travel getting to where we’re going is supposed to be half the fun. On my way to visit my little brother in Toronto I spent close to five hours in the public bathroom of a moving bus dry heaving into a tiny hole filled with all the chemicals they couldn’t find in Iraq.
Everything that happened after that was kind of mixed.
I’ll write about my brother’s wedding and the week leading up to it later, this post is about the lessons I learned in transit.
The plan was to sleep the trip away on the bus. It’s generally a five-hour ride, and thanks to everyone in the world (except me) owning an MP3 player I don’t feel guilty about snoring in public as much as I used to, so I stayed up around the clock the night before leaving. I put together a post, packed and put together phone numbers I’d need while in Toronto.
























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