It’s six women lined up like ducks along the brim of a rice paddy. Squatting in a row with eyes screwed shut and milk-white bums bared at the Himalayas. No one is game enough to break the silence and everyone is laughing over our military-style piss procession, and how it feels to have frost snatch…
It’s 15 minutes into my debut of solo travelling, and I’ve successfully sweated through a slimily thick layer of Men’s Sports 48-hour deodorant. I’m crouched in the corner next to the Student Flights booth with my head stuffed between my knees, I’m hyperventilating like a broken fan, and my vision’s sparked out into a swamp…