Delving under the bed for stuff to clear out in advance of my forthcoming migration, I came across a travel journal from March 1988: my first visit to Central America.
I chuckled at my rattled account of a first local bus ride in Mexico: "Horrific". The irony is of course that even back then public transport in Mexico was comparatively safe and civilised. Events in Guatemala last weekend however show just how unpleasant it can get.
Still, in spite of all the rookie rants about developing world conditions, my own words from two decades ago still manage to convey the sense of wonder at the human and geographical adventure, something which has never really left me and has somehow always compromised my subjective quality of life back here in London.