my oyster is red

I’ve too much time on my hands but seem content to remain unproductive. Found this site, though, that charts one’s travels and justifies the collection of 12 used passports that lies piled amongst unused airline tickets, annotated phrasebooks and unsent postcards. It seems my mortal memory cannot contain the wonders of Istanbul’s mosques, nor of breakfast on the Bosporus. The sight of gas being flared in the middle of the Romanian countryside, as a heavy fog envelopes the midnight air, and the bursts of blood red clouds that colours the terrain. Or speeding on Ghanian roads while dodging metre wide craters. Or the beggars who press their infant’s faces on car windows as you stall and snake your way through Jakarta’s mean streets.

Try it, courtesy of World66. My preference would be to show cities visited as opposed to the entire country; after all, countries are but names, while cities are the actuality of countries, displaying the life-blood of their inhabitants.

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    Ibergekumene tsores iz gut tsu dertseylin (Troubles overcome are good to tell) — Yiddish apophthegm

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