The Glamour and Excitement of International Travel. Yah. Tell Me About It.
I poked the small shot in my butt and took a sharp breath.
OW. I plunged the relief-giving Imitrex into my bare rear, and waited a few minutes. There was a line half a mile long outside my bathroom door, endless women pushing and shoving for a toilet stall. Fights break out when folks cut the line.
Didn’t care. I was in the middle of a full-fledged migraine attack, and there’s only one way to get it under control. My backpack was braced between my legs, my souvenir bag flopped over.
Ow.
Slowly the pain receded, and I was able to haul the pack back onto my sore shoulders, adjust, and slip into the one-hour-long security line.
Addis Abbaba, 9 pm, Monday. I’d just completed six hours of what would be thirty or more in transit. Six more hours before my plane takes off. Wifi minimal.
Glamorous my perforated butt.
About an hour later I copped a bench, which is treasured territory. The flights were jammed, and people rarely use deodorant. If you have a sensitive nose (and I do) this can be overwhelming at times. Interestingly, however, this is situational.
While climbing Mt. Kenya just last week, we all stank to high heaven after four days. When…