Like a glove

After nearly eight months of travel, my money belt feels almost like a second skin. Always on my person, nestled in the small of my back against my skin, the belt has almost taken on a life of its own.

And like any good albatross, I have developed a bit of a love-hate relationship with the belt. On the one hand, it is undeniably useful for keeping my passport, credit cards and cash relatively safe. On the other hand, it can be quite constraining after a big Argentine hunk of meat.

And there are many times it has gotten a bit gamy as we have traveled through some of the hottest, most humid places on Earth. Needless to say, after many months of near-constant wear, the belt has taken on a life of its own. In the morning, I need only whistle and it leaps to my midriff, ready for the day, wagging like an excited dog.

So as the end of our long journey approaches, I am faced with a range of emotions: gratitude for this opportunity, excitement to see friends and family, only a bit of melancholy. Yet unquestionably, I am ready to get this f%&$ing belt off me. My belly needs to breath again.