Avid readers of this blog (if, indeed, such a thing exists) may recall that my travels first began in the dim and distant days of the Nineties, back when luxuries such as blogs were yet to be invented. In their stead, in those dark and distant days, your average scruffy backpacker recorded their meanderings in some mangy old dog-eared scrapbook. To a man we pretentiously referred to these as our ‘journal’, imagining in our own little world that one day our pointless ramblings would be scrutinized and dissected by scholars, keen to eek out any morsels of wisdom that may have somehow found their way onto the page. What they’ll no doubt find odd is that our thoughts were recorded not by the dainty tap of digits on touch-screens, but by the intricate spiraling gyrations of
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