The 13th hour

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Nearly time to depart. Trying to fit all my junk, including ski boots, into one bag is an interesting exercise. It seems to have found some way to arrange itself, no doubt so perfectly that I will never again be able to replicate it, and shall return with the exact same contents spread across three bags instead. Such is travel.

I was very successfully tricked by the travel insurance website, failing, consequently, to include the additional medical and baggage coverage I wanted. So I can’t afford to lose anything nor injure myself… leaving my travel insurance good for what, I’m not sure…

Laz has been busy in my stead, making the papers within four days of his own arrival. I had a link, but I ated it apparently. I’m hoping he’s left something for himself to do along with me; he seems to have knocked over a lot of the obvious attractions already. He informs me that the place is crawling with Aussies who’ve been moved on from the ski fields, given the somewhat miserable season it’s been so far. It’s snowing a little this week at least, so I’m optimistic, but we’ll just have to wait and see.

It’s peculiar, the idea that I’ll be leaving the country on a two and a half hour flight. It’s nearly as bad as having to remember your passport when you go for a drive out of San Diego. Countries should not touch each other.. it’s just wrong.

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