I hate that when I travel, I go back home to my best friends and my family, and no one has shared any of my experiences with me. I can´t reminice about the time that we were on a bus for seven hours through the bumpiest road ever and how badly we had to pee starting at hour five. No one back home knows just how scary it was to go to sleep in the jungle and how you had to pick crickets the size of your hand out of your bed by candlelight. And they don´t get why it would be funny to mention casually that ¨Norweigan hearts aren´t meant to be broken.¨
And you make all these friends that you will surely keep in touch with, thanks to myspace and e-mail, but that you´ll probably never see again. That kind of sucks.
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