From a home to another: the aftermath

From a home to another: the aftermath


“Won’t you tell us one more story ?”, asked my cousin, an 8 year-old who was avoiding bedtime.

I told them about how Ali’s bag flew off the tuk-tuk and right next to a puddle, seconds before we reached Babylon. I told them about the Cherry Blossom table, the “if you forget it, it’s ours” rule, the swing, the mosquitoes that were immune to the spray repellents, Ricky and the rest of the lizards. I even told them about the thief, the monkey who ran off with orange juice. Agra and the immaculate Taj Mahal, and trying to keep an eye on 15 people without losing my hat. Continue reading “From a home to another: the aftermath”

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Day 25: Are we there yet ? (1)

Day 25: Are we there yet ? (1)

The railway station stinks. Literally.

“Lia, I hate you already”

We hopped off the train for the third time, looking for 3A. Inside the train? Didn’t look very reassuring. It was a sleeper – but having no trains in Lebanon and having only been in Turkish metros, I didn’t know what to expect. I dragged my luggage (packed by Nick who preached traveling super light) through a narrow alley of Indian feet dangling on the sides.

“Lia, I really really hate you” Continue reading “Day 25: Are we there yet ? (1)”