It’s not the days, honey, it’s the mileage.

Whew, I am departing Lanquin far more battered and bruised than when I arrived. How? Glad you asked: thumbs blistered from hanging onto the back of a pickup truck for two hours, splotchy stomach sunburn from tubing, skinned elbow from falling out of a hammock (when am I going to become graceful in these things?), screwed up pedicure tromping in the caves, scrapes up and down my legs from scampering around who knows what, and two particularly badass bruises of unknown provenance on my left bicep and right thigh.

Oh, and all while wearing a giant grin from ear to ear.

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