Dozing in and out continuing along a Bolivian pothole filled road, secretly glancing over watching the silhouette of the first season of Breaking Bad on an Irish blokes laptop screen. It’s the early hours of the morning

The only chance of a toilet pitstop is approach to a checkpoint, another bus or truck being checked for who knows what. The bus opens its door as it moves at a slow pace, you have to jump out and run to the side of the road. Your old fella says g’day and whilst concentrating on him, you’re also concentrating which of the hundred buses is yours as it continues being punished by the Bolivian potholes. Pop him away and make a run for it as quick as you can for one hundred, two hundred metres depending how much water you drank. Jump back onto the moving bus feeling like Hollywood as the door closes.

This is an example of the obsessions of a traveler that many don’t understand are what we thrive off. Knowing on the other side we discover the mystery of a pronoun that has been bouncing around in our heads for minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, even years.