I have an endless list of travel memories lodged in my mind.
> Getting stitches in a dodgy hospital in Agadir at night.
> Sleeping on the roof of a camper van/meth lab outside Groningen in The Netherlands.
> Squatting an abandoned beach bar in Peniche, Portugal.
> Being introduced to Pessoa by a book trader in Lisbon wearing straw hat and vest (major impact).
> Being trampled by a dear in the woods at 2 am in a sleeping bag.
> Getting almost fatally lost in the Gothic Quarter in Barcelona.
> Teaching a Portuguese toddler to speak by reading to her in a language I don’t understand.
These and many more.
I started writing them down, and one by one, they are adding to a road novel in bits and pieces. A mix of diary, questionable memories and tall tales.

I have an endless list of travel memories lodged in my mind.
> Getting stitches in a dodgy hospital in Agadir at night.
> Sleeping on the roof of a camper van/meth lab outside Groningen in The Netherlands.
> Squatting an abandoned beach bar in Peniche, Portugal.
> Being introduced to Pessoa by a book trader in Lisbon wearing straw hat and vest (major impact).
> Being trampled by a dear in the woods at 2 am in a sleeping bag.
> Getting almost fatally lost in the Gothic Quarter in Barcelona.
> Teaching a Portuguese toddler to speak by reading to her in a language I don’t understand.
These and many more.
I started writing them down, and one by one, they are adding to a road novel in bits and pieces. A mix of diary, questionable memories and tall tales.

I have an endless list of travel memories lodged in my mind.
> Getting stitches in a dodgy hospital in Agadir at night.
> Sleeping on the roof of a camper van/meth lab outside Groningen in The Netherlands.
> Squatting an abandoned beach bar in Peniche, Portugal.
> Being introduced to Pessoa by a book trader in Lisbon wearing straw hat and vest (major impact).
> Being trampled by a dear in the woods at 2 am in a sleeping bag.
> Getting almost fatally lost in the Gothic Quarter in Barcelona.
> Teaching a Portuguese toddler to speak by reading to her in a language I don’t understand.
These and many more.
I started writing them down, and one by one, they are adding to a road novel in bits and pieces. A mix of diary, questionable memories and tall tales.

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Some long quote with the words of a woman and her mother who were in a similar position and were not married and they had no idea how much of an issue that would have had

and some more text to send out and they had a great relationship