Don’t travel during Spring Festival

It figures our last major journey would end trapped on a bus, riding through a bumpy construction site along with with the stink of 50 different breath smells, a dirty diaper spilling urine all over the floor, and a woman next to me slinging endless wads of flem into a bag — its been that kind of week — but some 900 kilometers and seemingly unending miserable hours in stations and trips on trains, boats, and automobiles later and we’re finally in Wuhan and back on the grid. I’ll have an update up soon.

I think we’ve learned a lesson: Don’t travel during Spring Festival. Just don’t do it.

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