Sole Support

When we left home two weeks ago, I donned my trusty Puma slip-ons (they're soooo street) for the 23 hours of travel between the great Midwest and Dakar, Senegal.  I have walked hundreds of miles (literally!) in these shoes with no ill effects, so I felt comfortable I would survive the trip with my feet unscathed.

Unfortunately, I did not and developed a huge blister on my right heel.  My first purchase in Dakar was bandaids and anti-bacterial cream.  Because I'm certain there is some bacteria around here. Possibly even bacteria I've never been exposed to, although that would be a rare bacteria.  

It healed, but there was a bit of gimping, whining and complaining going on.  But, being the tough cookie I am, I overcame.  

During our palatial stay at the Dead Club Med, I was traipsing around the grounds, stepped on something sharp and punctured the bottom of my right foot.  After performing DIY surgery, I thought I had retracted all things foreign, but two days later this injury reared it's ugly head again and it was back to the pharmacy for rubbing alcohol and a razor blade for surgery aux duex. It's still a little sore, but I'll live.  I hope.

Sunday, I pulled on my reliable Footjoy golf shoes for our round of golf.  Again, shoes that have seen thousands of holes of golf and never felt the need to bite back.  Within the first three holes I had a bona-fide blister of mammoth proportions.  On my LEFT heel.

I'm such a delicate little flower.

Yesterday, FM and I went to the beach for a little R&R.  I played and splashed in the surf, and of course acquired sand in every crevice.  After we returned home and were beautifying ourselves for our nightly meal I noticed my newest blister looked. . . well. . . green!

Upon further investigation I found the blister sac (?for lack of a better explanation?) must have had a small hole in it, which then filled with sand.  Not being in the mood for another round of surgery last night, I left it till this morning.  

Traveling with a man who goes to work everyday doesn't give me many people to share such things with, so you, oh great and powerful internet, get to see this!

It's now been flushed with alcohol, rubbed with anti-bacterial cream and covered with bandaids.  My attentions can now be returned to avoiding malaria and severe sunburns.

But if you see someone gimping around Almadies, it's probably me.

This post was in no way sponsored by Puma or Footjoy, much to their great relief.

It's a WHAT?

One of the pitfalls of our kind of travel is adjusting to the "norm" in every country.

After three weeks in Montevideo, we finally found an apartment, had our cable television and WiFi installed, procured a coffee maker that, however slow, does produce drinkable coffee every morning and possess a "fully equipped" kitchen. So I can cook. And save a couple dollars. You know how I like to do that (save money, not cook)!


Our landlord, Daniel, is a very helpful guy who's English is about as good as my Spanish. We correspond via email using Google Translator, which can make for some very hilarious conversations. I got an email from him the other day regarding an extra key on my ring that said, "don't worry, the garage is undrinkable". I still haven't figured that one out. But, good to know, I guess!


But, my first day here I decided I would make some tuna salad. I started searching through the cupboards looking for a can opener. I saw this rusty, nasty THING and figured it was a broken can opener piece. So, I emailed Daniel and asked him to bring me a can opener. He emailed me back saying, there are two there. Hmmmmmm.


He arrived later that afternoon to bring our WiFi router, and I asked him to show me the can opener. He pulled this apparatus out (see above pic. I KNOW. It doesn't look like a can opener). Instead of admitting I'm an idiot and don't know how to use it, I just nodded and hoped FM had seen something like this before.


Turns out he had (it must be VERY old - LOL), and he proceeded to show me how to use it. It's not that easy. And very antiquated. But, it does open a can. Eventually. (FYI - I looked at the local supermarket for an upgrade, you know - like the one that's in YOUR drawer at home? $25. For $25 I can BITE open a can.)


Point being, traveling for extended periods of time makes you into a fairly adaptable person.

Or a person who just wants to go home. I'm opting for adaptation.

Other issues I'm struggling with:

• WHY WHY WHY do we not have hot water in our KITCHEN. Seriously.
• Our brand new updated bathroom shower? Dribbles water on you like an camel spitting.
• I so hate not having a clothes dryer. Kirsten has one. NO FAIR.
• That empty lot next door to our building? Never thought about it two weeks ago. It's now a CONSTRUCTION SIGHT. And the dudes showed up at 6:45 AM this morning. So peaceful.
• Can't find feta cheese, an integral part of my diet.

BUT. The wine is fine, the steaks are always on the BBQ (this whole town smells like a BK - in a good way), the beer is lovely and every night I get to watch the sunset off my balcony.

I guess I can struggle with canned goods for a couple months.

Out with the Old, In with the New

Yesterday, I stepped out on the front porch to have my first ciggie of the day, and found this "gift" laying on the steps.

Of course, my initial reaction was EEEEEEK! I have a SNAKE! Living near my house!

Which of course, is insane, because we are surrounded by woods, ponds and other flora which promote snake-life, so the idea of a SNAKE actually living in this woodland paradise isn't that far-fetched.

Nor is it exactly comforting, but whatever. In the 4.5 years we've lived here I've never seen evidence of a snake, until now.

And you know what they say about snakes. If you see one, that's ENOUGH! LOL

But, in the interest of laziness, I've left the snakeskin lying (laying? hmmm) out there, and I've spent a fair amount of time outside in the last couple days, so I've seen it more than twice.

I got to thinking about that snake. I'm sure it's not an exactly pleasant experience to shed one's skin. And, I'm sure he picked the concrete, a rather less comfortable place for a snake than say, the WOODS, in order to facilitate this process.

Which led me to thinking about FM and my life right now.

Although I don't think we are as creepy as snakes, it may be time for us to shed our own exterior skins in exchange for newer, brighter, better fitting ones.

It may be painful for a while (I'm actually quite sure it's going to be), but in the end we will walk away with a fresh new skin.

Thanks Mr. Garter Snake for the life lesson. I'm glad I didn't immediately throw your old protective covering into the trash, but instead let it sit there and remind me that sometimes change IS for the better.

I'm afraid of my underwear now

At the grocery store checkout this morning I noticed this sign.

And now I'm afraid.

Are my belongings staging a secret revolt?

Will I wake up with my bra holding a knife to my throat?

Will they all just cry mutiny and skaddadle out of my apartment?

Has my computer already started the revolution and about to recruit my cell phone and camera?

What do the Chinese know about my belongings that I don't?

The horror. . . oh the horror. . .

Try Not To Cry

In preparation for the onslaught of tourists to Beijing for the 2008 Olympics, the government has "encouraged" people to quit spitting, learn to queue, allow people to actually exit the elevator/subway/etc before trying to board, and to clap for athletes from competing countries.



The newest campaign? Remove dog meat from the menus of restaurants around town.

Although I've been known to eat some odd things (scorpions, beetles, ants, octopus) I'm quite against eating dog. I'm also kinda against eating food that was prepared in the same kitchen as dog.

In fact, I would just as well not know people eat dog. But that's a little like burying my head in the sand.

Regardless, if you're coming for the Olympics and have a adventurous palate, you probably will have to apply some extra effort to finding dog on the menu in Beijing. I, for one, am not heartbroken.

oops

Apparently, I CAN upload images. I just needed to allow for popups.

So here's the sign. Anyone?

I asked a gal last night who's been here 10 YEARS and she didn't know.

No starting your car on fire? No car bombs? What?