The Myth Of The True Traveler
“Up top,” the old man said. He demonstrated, opening wide to reveal his tongue touching the roof of his mouth. “Easy, see?”
Sure. Already the tiny hut was hot. We sat in a half circle around the rusted oil drum, five Americans and the old Aleutian. Inside the drum a fire torched, causing sweat to run down our naked torsos. A rough ceiling hung inches overhead. Heat and sweat.