So. About 4 days ago Morocco became a past event and I began my slow return to the western United States. Currently I am in Scottsdale, AZ at the house my lovely lovely friends Fernando and Kyle. But let us back up from here.
Lets go way back, before the 17 hours of plane travel, the few hours of metro, bus and car travel that brought me to where I am now. Before I went through 6, yes 6, security check points in Dublin, before I threw out, yes threw out, outfits, books, toiletries to appease RyanAir, before beer in Ireland...there was Morocco. And, as Fernando pointed out, still is Morocco ("people live there!").
Which story first? The dramatic break down of my poor health luck? The knight in shining suit from Fes? My Boston family in Fes? My Moroccan brother? My could-be-if-only-I-say-yes Moroccan husbandS? The cheese massage? The dreamy hammam? The night on the dunes of the sahara? Moustaffa the CD making camel guide who gives crappy hand massages? The mountain tagine to die for? The beautiful winds of the port-side Essaouria? Countless nos-noses and the a la menthe? Near death bus rides on the snowy, icy mountains? Oranges, the sweetest orangy-est oranges I have ever had? Karima, and all her infinite wisdom and friendship?
Well. Let's just start at the beginning. Let us start in the shadow and then we will move to the light. Sickness it is.
My first week and a half of traveling (CA, AZ, NC) found me to be 'happy, healthy and wealthy' (to quote a certain grandma of mine). As soon as my parents, Axis and I made our way to GA, things started to go down hill for me. I caught, what I thought, was a bit of a cold, which I was trying to down play so I didn't think I could get anyone else ill. Well. Back in NC all health broke down, and my parents and I, with different yet intense, illness fell to our respective sick beds. I pretended I had a cold, but spent each night unable to control my body temperature, and a chunk of each day blowing my nose and feeling nauseous.
Well. To NY. A nauseating plane ride (swooping over the lake to wait out heavy, snow-dense, winds) back left me thinking that this 'cold' was not going to go away. The cold turned into the flu, and fevers, headaches, dizziness, weakness, nausea, loss of appetite (the only symptom I enjoyed), and a general inability to feel in control of how I felt racked my for the whole week. Along with the flu--guilt and anger that my only time with my friends, and all I could focus on was me. Me. Sick. Ouch. Ugh. Gasp. Grrrr...Me.
A car ride to NJ, a long plane ride to Dublin and the finding of the hostel couch. Sick, and unable to cover it up, I flopped on the couch of my hostel to await my room. After a 5 hour nap, I tried to get ooot and abooot in Dublin... but could not walk without stopping every few minutes to steady myself. A cup of tea, a yogurt, and back to bed.
Paris. Oh Paris. Oh Jo. Sweet sweet Josselin, the stellar boyfriend and hopefully soon fiance of my sister. I stayed with him in his family's 15 arrondisement apartment. Fevers, and sleepless nights led to days in bed and yes, every one's favorite, tag along disease: tonsillitis. With difficulty swallowing, but meds in hand (thank you Jo and thank you french health care) I bumped my way to Marrakech. Few days ill, and then light on the horizon of health! YES!
Four days of good health (minus some pretty gnarly blisters... biggest I have every seen). Then again the sun set and, as Jo had warned, I had an allergic reaction to the meds for tonsillitis. Hives anyone? Mildly twisted my ankle in Fes. Hives and a limp, anyone? The meds caused other bodily imbalances, but all related affects from the meds cleared in about three days.
Clear. Clear. Clear. Healthy until NYC where the 24hr stomach bug took my time and much of the city's toilet paper. A string of sneezes and a runny-nose sidekick on the plane, and bam, here I am... healthy (yes, yes, yes I am) in AZ.
That's the first story, and that is where I stop for this post.
No comments:
Post a Comment