We barrelled down a gravel road to a steep drop, descending in a terrifying corkscrew. We stepped on to the glacier, took pictures, and knew it would soon be gone.
I get the impression that some people only indulge in their “normal” because everyone they have grown up around has done so, and so they take it as the sole option. That’s grotesque.
Each night I would pore over guide books, plotting routes all over the city, hoping to pluck up the courage to make my way in to any one of the eateries that I aspired to get in to. There was no barrier but my own insecurity.
I was wearing shorts and sandals, and a big sheet of plastic. I looked massively ridiculous and I did not care.
A poster on the bus advertised the heats for the local yodelling festival. Not the festival itself, but the pre-competition to allow people to apply for the competition itself.
We spent the day exploring riverside hides and watching the birds feed. We played “What am I talking about?” and got back indoors before the rain got going.
One of them was asleep on my front; the other one tugged at my hand, slouching her way down the wet, cobbled street. Both were deathly tired.