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we’re home. MY OWN BED. MY OWN TOILET. MY OWN CLOTHES! How I’ve missed you, everything that wasn’t the ten days’ worth of close I took for a two-week trip. (I did a lot of laundry in hotel bathtubs.) (Somehow we still came home with unworn clean stuff I have to wash anyway because it smells like the smoke you get when you burn dried cow dung, which is what they did in the yurt stay to heat the yurts.)
There’s no food in the house, no milk, I have so much laundry to do and it’s rainy, but I’m so glad to be home. I’m also sad, of course, but.
And like midnight last night the other guy in my department is like “oh i just saw on instagram that you’re home, i don’t remember if you were planning on coming in tomorrow?” and I’m like “N O”
I have now compiled all my little video updates into two Highlights on Instagram Stories (Istanbul has the first and last parts, Kyrgyz Republic has the middle), so that’s done with, and those will remain visible ongoingly. I was pretty pleased with the use of Stories as a storytelling tool, because they actually display chronologically and let you know if people saw them.
The way I used them was by taking 14-second videos on my phone and then later uploading them manually through the Instagram app when I had wifi, adding captions and making it into a narrative if possible. I feel like that actually works better in the moment, and I also like that it saves a copy that doesn’t have whatever text you add or whatever, but it fills up my phone and also a lot of times I’m later like “why the fuck did I take a video of this.”
It has taught me, though, that 14 seconds is really probably long enough for whatever video you’re taking, and nobody sits through anything longer anyway. (Honestly they probably tap through after six, Vine was right.)
I worked on a whole really deep post in my mind while I was lying in bed but then I got stuck scrolling and never wrote it and now I don’t remember what it was about so like whatever.
My chest is full of goo, I dunno if I’m sick or if I just have yak poop in my lungs or what. (Really, the cow dung fires at the yurt camp seemed inoffensive at the time, possibly even pleasant from time to time, but as soon as we were in the capsule hotel in Bishkek we were like “oh holy shit what is that stench” and now that I’m home I’m like “fucking gross man” so there’s your takeaway: wood smoke smells pleasant out of context and cow dung smoke really does not, and maybe wear a filtration mask to sleep in a cow-dung-fire-heated yurt.) (Some of it might have been yak poop. The hostess didn’t have good enough English for me to chance trying to ask her about it.) (She had very good English but as I repeatedly discovered throughout Kyrgyzstan, when you talk about weird things people’s vocabulary tends to fail them when your sole language is like their fifth or sixth.)
(Your picture was not posted)
we’re home. MY OWN BED. MY OWN TOILET. MY OWN CLOTHES! How I’ve missed you, everything that wasn’t the ten days’ worth of close I took for a two-week trip. (I did a lot of laundry in hotel bathtubs.) (Somehow we still came home with unworn clean stuff I have to wash anyway because it smells like the smoke you get when you burn dried cow dung, which is what they did in the yurt stay to heat the yurts.)
There’s no food in the house, no milk, I have so much laundry to do and it’s rainy, but I’m so glad to be home. I’m also sad, of course, but.
And like midnight last night the other guy in my department is like “oh i just saw on instagram that you’re home, i don’t remember if you were planning on coming in tomorrow?” and I’m like “N O”
I have now compiled all my little video updates into two Highlights on Instagram Stories (Istanbul has the first and last parts, Kyrgyz Republic has the middle), so that’s done with, and those will remain visible ongoingly. I was pretty pleased with the use of Stories as a storytelling tool, because they actually display chronologically and let you know if people saw them.
The way I used them was by taking 14-second videos on my phone and then later uploading them manually through the Instagram app when I had wifi, adding captions and making it into a narrative if possible. I feel like that actually works better in the moment, and I also like that it saves a copy that doesn’t have whatever text you add or whatever, but it fills up my phone and also a lot of times I’m later like “why the fuck did I take a video of this.”
It has taught me, though, that 14 seconds is really probably long enough for whatever video you’re taking, and nobody sits through anything longer anyway. (Honestly they probably tap through after six, Vine was right.)
I worked on a whole really deep post in my mind while I was lying in bed but then I got stuck scrolling and never wrote it and now I don’t remember what it was about so like whatever.
My chest is full of goo, I dunno if I’m sick or if I just have yak poop in my lungs or what. (Really, the cow dung fires at the yurt camp seemed inoffensive at the time, possibly even pleasant from time to time, but as soon as we were in the capsule hotel in Bishkek we were like “oh holy shit what is that stench” and now that I’m home I’m like “fucking gross man” so there’s your takeaway: wood smoke smells pleasant out of context and cow dung smoke really does not, and maybe wear a filtration mask to sleep in a cow-dung-fire-heated yurt.) (Some of it might have been yak poop. The hostess didn’t have good enough English for me to chance trying to ask her about it.) (She had very good English but as I repeatedly discovered throughout Kyrgyzstan, when you talk about weird things people’s vocabulary tends to fail them when your sole language is like their fifth or sixth.)
(Your picture was not posted)
