
at the edge of a volcano.
It wasn't until I was sorting through photos last month at Hannah's house, lounging in the comfiest chair in her living room as the sun went down, that I remembered these pictures.
An early morning in East Java, after the world's worst Southeast Asian bus ride. (And I've seen a few.) I started off at 7AM from Yogyakarta and didn't arrive at our destination until midnight that night, a grueling ride with no air conditioning and horrific traffic. It was another hour up the windy mountain to our hotel, where we managed to get an hour and a half of sleep. We had to be up at 3 to hop in a jeep that'd take us up the mountain, slowly winding our way through sandy dunes in the dense early-morning fog. I remember being deliriously tired, feeling as if we were bumping our way along through some far-off planet terrain.
the great disorientation of returning home from the other side of the world.
I’ve been home for two months now and I still sometimes question if I’m driving on the correct side of the road.
The transition has been brutal, traffic rules aside.
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