The Aral Sea

We headed to the Aral sea, the obliteration of which is one of the greatest environmental catastrophes of all time. Today a sandy, teratogenic wasteland despairs where once a vast sea sustained a vibrant ecosystem and thriving fishing industry. Just past the old shoreline, forsaken on the desiccated seafloor, sits a graveyard of moldering fishing vessels. We waited until dusk, then pitched our tents among the corpses.

Never underestimate the stupidity of smart people. Jan (whose helmet size is XXXL by the way) had somehow made it all this way without using a camp stove. I explained its operation, then watched as he lit the stove while holding the fuel canister in his other hand, rather closeby. I saw this, and said nothing. The spark of flint, a wisp of flame, and a colossal fireball. He hurled the flaming canister away, and I watched in slow motion as napalm dripped through the air. It was hardly past its apex when I was up out of my chair chasing after it. It landed at the base of the largest ship, made of metal thank god, because the boat on the other side was wooden. I doused it with sand, and all was well.