After months in the desert, seeing the lush green land was a sight for sore eyes. The huge puddles of water and marshes, however, were eyesores.
From my seat on the second-story of the bus my squad (again) over-filled for 42-hours, I looked down at the tree-trunks-turned-bridges leading to one-room houses. Some of them were built on stilts. Others were constantly threatened by the water consuming the front yard.
As I watched the locals hang their laundry, wrangle their cows, and harvest their bananas, I realized—once again—that this is poverty.
After living in the third world for the last five months, it’s easy to become immune to the unstable housing, the constant fight for purified water, and the street food wanting to battle your intestines for the ultimate victory.
Despite the beautiful mountain ranges, vast deserts, and endless cornfields, the romanticism of the World Race is long gone by Month 6. Reality has hit: this is hard.
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