I leave Dakar on a sunny morning, catch a glimpse of the light bouncing off the rolling waves below the cliffs on the way to the airport, before being consumed by the sterile airconned world of planes and airports.
(Parenthesis, what is TAP doing flying to Senegal? Half the cabin crew didn’t speak French, ignored several passenger requests, like my neighbour asking for tea – she only got it when I asked for it for her in Portuguese! Crew got openly annoyed with routine hick ups such as people taking a wrong seat or being unsatisfied with the food. Couldn’t help but feeling this was a racist attitude, though I didn’t see anything like it flying TAP to Moçambique. Thoughts, experiences?)
I stop in Lisbon on the way, in the matter of minutes after entering the hostel room I am high as a kite on two glasses of 3€ carton wine provided by the 20 year old German guys bunking in my room. Happiness really is all about the small things.
In London await the warmest of arms, wrapping around me three times after a month on rice and fish. I spend my birthday dancing, with extra sweat because I have a fever. At next day’s social I end up on the couch with a cat and a tea (thanks Giules), it was too soon for Aperol.
Tuesday I spend at the A&E for a malaria test. After three feverish sore hours propped up on a chair in the waiting room I get to see a strikingly handsome and charismatic doctor (#MarriedNotBlind) – WHY GODDESS OH WHY – on this day that I have so many details to relate about my diarrhea!
Of course this guy has done a food documentary on the BBC touring Vietnam. Of course because people this beautiful must be broadcasted for the general benefit of human population. Anyway, he scrolls through his whatsapp to find a list of must go restaurants in Ho Chi Min City to send me, draws 4 little tubes of blood and sends me home. At 00:03 he calls and says everything looks normal “go to Vietnam” he says. You don’t have to tell me twice!
Wednesday morning, merman wakes me up for a heart wrenching kiss goodbye. Goodbye is a motherfucker. Few hours later, skinny as a hell and barely able to swing my pack up on my back, I head to Gatwick. I make it all the way to my hostel at the other end of the world without sticking my head in the toilet a single time. Glamorous.
If Senegal is salty like the Atlantic and London bland like British food, then Vietnam is sweet like a spoonful of condensed milk on the tongue. That’s obviously just memories for me, since I’m lactose intolerant now and that would make me explode with unpleasant gasses and poop. Yeah. Poop for a few weeks and its all u can think about 😀
Promise the next posts will be free of poop content…. 😀