We are the terrors

tall trees planted in rows in a park, a kyrgyz man with a toque in the far right of the photo

A park’s caretaker, far right, approaches to find out why we are trying to break into a yurt near Osh, Krygyzstan

Generally I narrate my life story back to myself with me as a protagonist. But if everyone’s doing that, the people we meet on the road may cast me as the idiot, the callous foreigner, the terror. They might even have good reasons to do so (1,400 words).  Continue reading