The Best of Ecuador

Kory & Ramiro

Balthezar

Julietta & Chico de Pacheco

Emilio (Butterfly whisperer)

Andrea

Dany

R, Washington, Danielle, Yolande

Panina and Chico

Cantinero

Not photographed, but really wish I had: Jorge, Leslie, Alex, Victor, Indy, Cecilia.

The Secret to M’s Revenge: so long and thanks for all the germs

Well, reader, this is it.

In just over an hour I’ll go to the Quito Airport, where I will try to mail your postcards. I’ve heard a few different things about the postal service here. First, it might be dissolved. Second, it might cost me $8 per postcard. Third, there could be a post office at the airport, which might be the only one left.

I spent the last day and a half recovering in the ecolodge where I started this whole adventure, Zaysant, (http://zaysant.com/language/en/), 20 minutes from the airport. A small gated paradise run by a herd of 12 chihuahuas. There are also 30 chickens, a sheep, a ram, now a lamb that’s 5 days old; 6 peacocks from the neighbors, a duck that supposedly has ducklings but she won’t let me look at them. Nine children. The Epidemiology Shaman Poet, Balthazar, is still here. When I arrived, Zayda was my hostess, but this time Cecelia -Z’s friend – is playing matriarch. There was a spiritual messenger from Ohio, Indy, who accidentally ended up here for a week. I was lucky to catch her the day before her flight. 

Some might say being REALLY sick for the last half of a solo vacation in a country where you don’t really speak the language would be a bad thing. They would be correct. But, no mud, no lotus, right? 

To pick up from when we last left our hero: she it was convalescing in a beautiful apartment (https://abnb.me/9dYjds7L6nb) feebly using her last ounce of strength to write postcards she will probably send from California. 

To get from one paradise to the other, the next morning she got in a car with someone named Angel. Angel did not speak English, so she sat quietly for approximately 5 hours while A did various errands on the way to Quito. He picked up 2 different documents, then 2 people…Now that I understand the Ecuadorian Postal Service, it’s possible Angel might also be an underground mailman.

I got to Zaysant at 2pm, feeling better. Good enough to even eat half a cup of rice, a few stewed vegetables, juice. I met Indy and Cecilia. B was still there. Could this recovery and reunion be the Ecuadorian hug goodbye I was hoping for? I OPTIMISTICALLY texted a few people I’ve met to let them know I would be in Quito the next day. Made tentative plans for socializing, souvenir buying, museum going, post office hunting.

BUT NO. 

Montezuma is a JERK. The evilest and final phase of his revenge is tricking you into thinking you’re better when the worst is yet to come… Keeping my promise, no gory details.
I‘ll just share one word: BLOOD.

According to the CDC, the WHO, several travel health websites, plus a review article from the year 2000, there are approximately 1,783,495 possible causes for this affliction. For each cause, there are between 6 and 12 remedies. Each remedy has an estimated efficacy of between 20% and 99%. Damnit. 

Here’s what I did:

• Stopped drinking clay (yuck + not helpful) 
• Opted out of antibiotics from the 1960’s, even though I bought them as a back up bc the pharmacist recommended them and they didn’t have cipro or loperimide or pepto
• Told the shaman epidemiologist (who also was a GP for a few decades in Buenos Aires), who provide the following:

1. 500 mg Cipro BID X 5 days, I opted in
2. Oregano tea, made by Cecilia
3. Very diluted chlorine dioxide (Tasted like pool water. I drank about half, then decided cipro would be enough)
4. Ironing: He said, “come with me, I am going to iron you out!” I hobbled behind him into the massage room. He had me lie on my back, fully clothed, then put a thick towel over my sweatshirt, plugged the iron in, and got to work pressing heat into my intestines, sternum, and then my back muscles and the soles of my feet, all while telling me stories about when he did this for patients with metastatic cancer as part of their palliative care. Sure enough, all the muscles – smooth AND striated – in my abdomen relaxed. My G.I. system gurgled thank you noises. When I get home I will find the best iron money can I buy. (Note: This is purely for my health. My clothes will look exactly the same). I’ve heard from a lot of doctors here (n=3) that after medical school everyone is required to spend one year in an underserved or rural health setting as part of their training. I think this is incredible. Imagine if Joel Fleishmann of Northern Exposure was the norm. What would healthcare look like? B explained that was where he learned about more traditional medicine, including using an iron to straighten out (haha) his patient’s discomfort. ”I had the knowledge, but didn’t have any resources, so… You have to learn new things.”

• Slept for 3 more hours uninterrupted. 

For the rest of the day, I took things very very very slowly. Snoozed during podcasts, half-wrote texts, sipped flat Fanta. I did a virtual COVID-19 test with my iphone and 2 people who certified I do not have COVID-19 so I can come back to America. Dinner was soup and half a cup of rice. I opted out of Indy’s activated charcoal and turmeric.

It’s interesting what goes through your mind when you’re sick. Besides bacteria, viruses, parasites, and a vindictive Aztec ghost-king, B explained this affliction could ALSO be caused by: 1) Chakra misalignment, 2) loneliness, 3) fear, 4) resentment, 5) sadness, and 6) estranged relationships, especially with family members. Maybe all of this isn’t really “revenge”, maybe it’s my body – with the help of some very evil pathogens – purging things that are deeper than my intellect. Getting rid of all the crap.

Today I feel a little better. As I’m writing this on my pocket computer, I am in the pen with lots of animals. The baby lamb is playing with a chicken. There is a horsedog in the background. The peacocks are making noises like those obnoxious horns at stadium games. 

On that note, my faithful and thorough reader (did you actually get to the end of this?) it’s time to hug Ecuador goodbye. Thanks for all the germs and hospitality ❤

Andes Report: I’m probably sleeping.

Hi. This is my last day in the mountains before I head back to Quito.

I’m sick. Montezuma has taken revenge. I’ll do my best not to over share, over explain or give TMI. Keep in mind, I do several anal exams every week (for work!) (in a clinic!!), so I’m more comfortable with this subject than most people; but I’ll spare you my extensive GI vocabulary. You’re welcome.

Bottom line: after a lot of deliberating between 6:30AM and 8:30AM, mostly in the bathroom, I called in sick to vacation. No jungle tour today, $5 down the drain. 

Instead I will do the following: 

1. Spend a lot of time on quordle.com 
2. Sleep
3. Finish the hitchhikers guide to the galaxy on audiobook.
4. Sleep
5. Write postcards 
6. Sleep
7. Eat Ecuadorian Froot Loops. Thank you, yesterday-me
8. Sleep
9. Try to upload photos here
10. Sleep
11. Try to walk about 10 paces 
12. Sleep
13. Drink a gross sweet clay juice called Smecta. Thank you, yesterday-pharmacist
14. Sleep
15. Go down the Zelensky online rabbit hole.
16. Sleep

I don’t enjoy this. I also don’t not enjoy it. It’s boring and somewhat uncomfortable, but I’m safe and dry and have a beautiful view [which I will show you when I figure out this photo upload thing]. Not a prison, Not a fancy meditation retreat. 

Ok. Back to sleep. 

Photos to come, maybe.

If you want a postcard, let me know your address. 

Re: traveling alone in a country where you don’t really speak the language

Hola hermosa lectora y hermoso lector,

I’m in Ecuador. Not a lot of blogging until now. I journaled like a mad woman, just in case my chronicles are discovered one day so they will rival Darwin’s notes in unearthing an otherwise overlooked truth about our natural world — one that can only be discerned through my keen observations. Just kidding, I jot down things like a. what I had for breakfast and b. who I met and c. what my opinions are of them. (More on that below).

Since 2003, every couple years I travel alone for a few weeks in a country where I don’t speak the language. The 2003 trip wasn’t intended to be solo. I just couldn’t convince anyone that central Europe in December would be as interesting as (where were my study abroad friends going again? Paradise I think?) so I went on my own. In Vienna my backpack melted on a hostal’s radiator, which  I patched up with a blue and white striped washcloth. I was alone on a ski lift in the middle of a snowy Hungarian forest and I screamed to hear an echo. No answer.

By 2011 self-honeymoons had become as necessary and unintended as growth spurts. I just get a STRONG craving [food, exploration], answer it without thinking too much [eat, buy tickets], and then become more of myself as a result.

Sidenote: my growth spurts were never dramatic. I actually don’t remember having them, hence my inability to reach every top shelf on the planet. 

Right now it’s pouring rain on a hacienda in a national park and I cannot see the volcano that is looming over us. Every afternoon it does this, so it’s important to do hikes and horserides in the morning. You read me right! I rode a horse!

Things I like about traveling alone include:

1. I like that I have not shaved ANY body hair for six weeks (but, Roz, you’ve only been traveling for one…)
2. I like that I have hours to talk to myself and hike alone on very poorly marked trails while wearing a red jacket that could attract a bull. This is a true story. This morning I walked as far as I could toward the volcano, and the rangers would not let me go further because there were wild bulls and my Red trenchcoat could provoke them. Where in the world is Carmen San Diego? Not in Cotapaxi National Park, for sure.
3. I like spending quality time with my headphones to listen to books on tape.
4. I like the fact that I don’t know what I am doing and somehow I manage to figure it out anyway because I can. That feels amazing.

The best part about traveling anywhere is meeting people. Shout outs to a several spectacular human beings: 

Zayda, thank you for welcoming me to Ecuador and being my first hostess at Zaysante Ecolodge

Balthazar (Epidemiologist, poet, possible shaman, Zayda’s brother in law) thank you for showing me the chickens and the duck who might have hatched ducklings by now

Kory and Kory’s dad (my colleague Joanne’s cousins), thank you for showing me around the old town on my first day here and then making sure I got an Uber back safely

Alberto, thanks for keeping me company over pizza in Otavalo, for explaining why there are no bookstores and telling me about the history of this town, which I actually love a lot even if I couldn’t find a journal to replace the one that I left on the bus.

Andrea, an amazing cook/hostess/woman! Thanks for the Simon Bolivar lesson plus the backstage pass to the river in the cloud forest plus lovely company

Emilio (Andrea’s son), I know you are only 8 years old and you can’t speak English, so you probably will never read this, but I couldn’t have asked for a better person to teach me about how butterflies hatch. I will try Duolingo, as you suggested.

Julietta (Andrea’s daughter, Emilio’s big sister) you are surprisingly good at cards for a 10-year-old… Thanks for showing me a great time last Friday night. Also, for introducing me to the puppy and kitten at the farmhouse.

Dany, I really appreciate you teaching me several helpful Spanish words. Thank you for finding me in Quito and getting me to the Hacienda safely. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who still likes Whitney Houston and Céline Dion.

Alex and Leslie, it was a breath of fresh air to hang out with you and talk about the American embassy and HHS  my first night at the Hacienda. Good luck in Quito! 

Danielle and Yolanda, you two are rad! I will try my best to remember how to say “Ek is lief vir jou maar ek het nie geld nie” if we ever hang out in South Africa.

Washington, thanks for patiently teaching/convincing me to mount a horse.

Jorge, you are awesome! Best of luck with your new job at the Hacienda, I am so glad we became friends here. See you on facebook.

Also – back in America – THANK YOU to Julia, Eric, and Joanne for making this trip possible, and my lovely housemates for keeping my living things alive. I’m so glad I get to come home to you all. 

Photos: coming soon, whenever I figure out how to do that from my phone. This blog post on its own is a personal triumph.

I will use this for everything from now on

What I doodle during Zoom meetings —

Recreational Dilation, Recursive Islands and Lakes, Travel

Reader, if you’re a long-time Plotzk-er, you know this blog was my coveted study break in med school. I CARED about my stats. When my mind wandered away from physiology, it was wandering toward the entries I’d write/edit/write/edit/write/edit/edit/edit/post that evening when I needed to procrastinate. Entries were shorter and near-daily.

Now – older slower blogger that I’ve become – it’s TBD if this will be weekly [do old people like routines?] or if it’s just a matter of time before writing is habit forming again.

Anyway, the highlight of last week was Thursday. I went to the optometrist. Have you ever considered how luxurious it is to hire someone to spend an hour taking care of one specific part of your body? Like getting a manicure (which I did yesterday) or a haircut (which I did Monday) or, best of all, tending to your eyeballs? Sure, haircuts and manicures last after the appointment, while optometrists seem to just renew your prescription. It doesn’t sound very exciting. They might tell you your eyes’ lenses aren’t as supple and stretchy as they used to be (just like your skin and your blogging muscles and your brain), even if you don’t need reading glasses. Yet.

BUT THEN: you get DILATED. The whole world GLOWS. Every pinpoint of light radiates hair-fine spokes of brightness that culminate into a heavenly halo. Streetlamps, the moon, Christmas lights all become little illumination-photon-miracles.

Designer drugs? No thanks, my irises are paralyzed already.

The best place to hang out when your pupils are blown wide open is a lab full of lasers. Shout out to my friends in the Berkeley physics department [Yy, Mdl, Jk, A, BP, and S] who let me loiter among the mirrors and vacuums for a few hours after my optometry appointment. These guys are so cool. In addition to teaching me about the rivalry between people who like Cs atoms and people who like Rb atoms, I also learned about Recursive Islands and Lakes: an island on a lake (which can be on another island, on another lake, on a third island on a final lake); OR a lake on an island (on a lake on an island on a lake on an island). They are all over the world!

Speaking of the world, I’m >hopefully< traveling soon. If I stick to the weekly schedule, the next entry will be from a whole new time zone. Do you want a post card?

Hi, sorry we lost touch.

Hi beloved reader. I didn’t forget about you. It’s been a weird couple years. Without beating around the bush: I did a fellowship about STDs. Who knew syphilis could begin so many friendships? I live in a beautiful home with four human roommates (A,S1,S2,&J) two felines (Dr. M and S3, neither are mine) and a bunny/fish duo I named after my great-aunt (Estelle) and great-uncle (Joe), respectively.

It’s extremely tempting to write a pithy recap of everything you missed, dear reader. It would be a montage set to quirky music from an upbeat indie band. [Cue scenes of cafes, parks, bus stops, bars, offices with people in meetings, a clinic with colleagues coming in/out of its exam rooms, airports with crowded gates, BART subways, MUNI buses, Amtrak trains, medical conferences, the northwestern coastline, HILLS, 3 different kitchens I’ve shared with housemates. Two cats (again, not mine), a bunny, a fish.]

But, instead, here’s what I did today: This morning I looked up how to defrost a frozen bagel. Last Sunday I’d looked up how to freeze a bagel; you make your bed, you lie in it. At 10:30, a close friend and I met at the Asian Art Museum to see my two favorite things there. One is a very beautiful puddle of water, and the other is an immersive psychedelic TeamLab installation. The first time I saw the installation I was alone and forgot to breathe for a bit, then had an overwhelming feeling of euphoria as if I were falling in love but I wasn’t completely sure who with. This time around = as good. Next, I ate a pastry that tasted like sunshine, which is digested and part of me now and I’m a better person for it. Finally, tea with a friend in Mission Dolores park – San Francisco’s worst kept secret.

I’ve missed this blog. It’s nice to be back. On a final note, shout out to my housemate A – happy birthday 🙂

You can’t always get what you want, General Hospital, Sephora, N, and the moon.

On Sunday at 1pm I picked up Georgia at her home. We have been friends since January, when she was in the middle of 3rd grade and I was in the middle of my 3rd year of residency. Last summer we had a brief interruption. I went to Asia and she went to camp. I brought her back an elephant key chain, and by now we’ve agreed we will be friends forever.

Despite November, reliably the most depressing month of the year, the sky was blue and the temperature was not as cold as it probably should be. Georgia and I walked on 36th Avenue toward the subway holding hands.

“Where are we going???” 

“I can’t tell you. It’s secret.” 

“Ugggggh”

“Okay. A hint. It’s in Manhattan.” 

“… Oh my gosh, are we going to Staples?!” 

“I can’t tell you.” 

Georgia frowned. “I hate the subway.” 

“It’s worth it. I promise.”

We went into the same Dunkin Donuts we always go to, so I could get a coffee and she could get hot chocolate. I have explained that coffee stunts your growth, which is why I am only 5’2″, and why she can’t have any until she is done growing.

“But my mom drinks coffee.” 

“Your mom is shorter than me.” 

We waited on the platform for the N train, sipping, talking like the old friends were are destined to become. Yes, I told her, I voted for Hillary. I was very sad she didn’t win. Georgia slurped thoughtfully, swallowed, then lifted her chin with a very precocious amount of confidence. Well, Roz, you can’t always get what you want.

The N train pulled up. Doors opened. We sat together on the blue plastic benches, and her pink puffy coat made a squish while my brown leather jacket let out a groan.

“So, Georgia, I need your advice.” She looked intrigued. “What TV shows should I watch? I haven’t watched anything in forever, I don’t even know what’s on anymore.” Without missing a beat she answered, “General Hospital.” I widened my eyes. “YOU watch General Hospital? I love that show. But I haven’t seen it in years… Is Sonny still on it?” She nodded. I was relieved that certain things will never change. “He’s still on it. He was a gangster, but then he became a cop, and pretended he was in a wheelchair at a wedding so that he could arrest the guy who was getting married. He was the real bad guy,” she explained. “You know,” I said “I used to watch that show everyday. It’s why I became a doctor.” She responded with a very precocious eyeroll.

We stepped off the subway at 14th Street. Up the stairs, reemerging into the daylight and foot traffic of Union Square.

“Does Donald Trump own this?” 

“No.”

“Good.” 

Now that she has gone to summer camp, I’ve decided to give Georgia more choices. Her first choice: a) Barnes and Noble. b) Crowded playground. c) Sephora.

Within 5 minutes she was racing through an isle of age-defying lotions, while I explained the rules: 10 minutes. No more than 4 perfume sprays. If she had a question, she had to ask one of the sales associates. Devin – who had on heavy red lips, impossibly long eyelashes, and a black apron – explained how to try on lipstick. Georgia took a magenta gloss and got to work in front of a big round magnifying mirror. The feminist in me felt like a parent letting her teenage child get drunk for the first time “as-long-as-it’s-under-my-roof.” Finally, ten agonizing minutes were up, and Georgia went back to being a nine-year-old.

The next two hours we ran around the Museum of Math – MOMath, for those in the know. Imagine a video game arcade, infused with geometry lessons. My faithful reader, would you believe me if I told you I rode a bicycle with square wheels that was once ridden by Bill Nye the Science Guy? Yes. It happened.

The sky started to blush, the air was chilly. Everyone was tired. We walked up 5th Avenue holding hands. Georgia said unexpectedly, Roz, how are you going to be my mentor when you leave New York and go to Atlanta?

We went into a deli, where it was warmer and lighter.

Well, first off: I don’t know if I’m leaving New York. I will be your mentor for the rest of the school year for sure. And I have lots of friends who don’t live here – we talk on the phone and on Skype and they visit me sometimes. If I leave, you and I can do the same thing. But, like I said, I don’t know yet.  I’ll know more soon, and I promise I will tell you and your mom everything as soon as I find out. 

She drank her soda. Ok.

It was almost dark. November is still reliable for somethings.

“Now where are we going?”

“34th Street”

“Why?” 

“I can’t tell you.” 

“Uggggggh”

“Do you still have the $10 your mom gave you?” We approached Staples. “You have 20 minutes to spend it.” And with that she vanished.

Back on the N train, squish/groan, I held on to Georgia’s plastic bag. It had a tub of model clay, and a roll of hot pink tape. She took charge of my phone, which is now inundated with selfie videos.

It was dark by the time we got off the train.

Georgia, check it out!

From the 36th Avenue platform we could see the moon above the row homes in Astoria, – full, bright, and closer to the Earth than it had been in either of our lifetimes.

 

 

 

100 days, and then

I finished 100 days of meditating and writing in a journal. July 24 – Oct 31. It was tumultuous. Not much blogging (see below). I’m glad to have a few scratches of a record to make up for my increasingly inadequate memory. Journal entries are dehydrated ideas, preserved at their bare minimum, to be resurrected much much later; not unlike the jar of lentils in my pantry. They are not ever as good as fresh reality – only ingredients for relivable snapshots (at best). Someday I’ll read the lentil-sized stories I wrote in August, and let them simmer in my proverbial pot of hot mental-water. I might not actually be in Asia at the Red Cross, but it damn well might feel like I am. For just a moment.

But first, a quick summary since last August, to get you and I back on track….

August: I wrote a lot when I was in Bangkok. Nostalgic Reader, if you want to reminisce with me about preventing HIV, or transgender health, or ordinal logistic regressions, just ask.

September: back in the states – there were a few endings. Some hurt more than others. I have a secret affection for the angsty painful moments in life – the sour ones, the bitter ones, the flavors that flesh out what an experience means, or meant.  I am not a masochist. A friend once said I take comfort in discomfort. Kind of. In that growth-from-struggle way. Anyway, sometimes not getting what you want is the best thing that ever happened.

October: the pendulum inevitably swung the other direction. The spaces the endings left behind were filled with beginnings. The tension resolved with release. It always does, doesn’t it?

November (1st week): I started a new journal. It has orange zigzag stripes.  Still meditate daily. Last weekend I went to an Ashram. My favorite reset button. Om. I am in disbelief about the election results. Also over-saturated with everyone’s responses on social media.  Maybe I’ll save my two cents for another entry.

NOW -3:48 EST – I am sitting in my kitchen. I finished lunch (lentils), and am working on coffee. I am procrastinating because I don’t feel like studying spanish. I need to learn it quick. I will work in Puerto Rico for two months this winter. More to follow when that happens, or upon request.

¿Usuario útil, hablarás español conmigo?

 

“It could have been worse.”

According to the Kabbalah, the three most intense weeks of the year started on July 24^th, and came to a grand finale last Saturday – on the anniversary of the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. As my friend the Kabbalist put it, “It’s like for three weeks there’s no ozone layer…. Sunlight is good, but you can get burned if you aren’t careful.”

my weekend. jesus h.

I didn’t want to overstay my tourist visa. The easiest way to do that is to duck out to Kuala Lumpur – we’ll call KL – for a weekend.

I planned to take it easy in KL. Clear my head, maybe meditate or catch up on sleep and watch a stupid British TV series called “Peep Show”. It’s funny. Strong recommendation.

The woman who I stayed with we’ll call SS. She picked me up at the airport. She’s a beautiful 58-year-old Indian yogi, and occasional Uber driver. Her apartment is a clean, small, 2br on the 12th floor. My room was simple: a twin bed, a glass night table, a single shelf, white marble floors. Everything you need to sleep and meditate. When you look out the window, you see very tall lanky trees, and then skyscrapers the distance.

SS speaks slowly. Despite the age difference she makes you feel like you can honestly open up to her. She was married twice, but never had kids. She teaches Hatha yoga. This weekend she finished a writing workshop. She has 3 friendly cats – we’ll call W (white) B (black) and O (orange).

Saturday Morning SS dropped me off in Little India. I saw a Hindi temple, got a dosa for breakfast, ended up in an art gallery where they let me charge my phone and use the wifi. My friend, we’ll call YC, is going to KL today… I left a note for him in the gallery, and emailed him instructions where to find it.

The afternoon was hot. People gave me ambiguous directions, I got lost in multiple parking lots. Eventually I gave up, had a blueberry latte in air conditioning, and mooched more wifi. I thought about being alone; if I would end up twice married and childless after menopause, with 3 friendly cats like W,B,&O; and, whether or not that was such a bad fate.

Status post latte, I went to a city-forest. As good as central park, but not better. Saw a cathedral, bought a cheap yellow scarf at a market, then took a subway to a mall where I bought a ticket for a taxi

THIS IS WHERE THE DRAMA STARTS.

The taxi driver, we’ll call TD, took me to a Chinese temple (why I needed the scarf). It was 4:30pm. I got out of the taxi, and asked TD to wait while I check that I had everything. Sure enough, my wallet was gone. I could have sworn I looked at it when I got into the taxi, to make sure I still had SS’s card with her address.

We checked the car. Nothing. I asked if we could drive back to the mall, to the counter where I bought my taxi ticket. That was the only other place it could be. We went back. I told TD I could pay him when I got my wallet, and I was so so sorry.

At the mall, TD decided to go to the taxi counter with me. No wallet. Then to the mall’s lost and found. Nothing. The mall security. Nothing. The auxiliary police. Nothing. TD did all the talking. He was the same age as SS. At this point, he had decided I was his responsibility. I felt incredibly helpless, and also grateful, plus guilty that I had no way to adequately thank him. By the time the auxiliary police said “No wallet” I started to tear up. I realized I was completely alone in a foreign city with no money or ID. I just happened to be very lucky.

TD drove me to the police station to file a report. My first ever Malaysian police report. I had SS’s phone number, so we called her to explain. TD waited until I was finished, then took me to SS’s house. by then it was 6:15pm

On the drive home, I found out his name is actually Mr. Selapan. He has 4 children, the oldest is a doctor and is getting married this fall. He offered to take me to the airport in the morning. I thanked him profusely.

SS lent me money to pay Mr. Selapan. I remembered I had packed a spare debit card in my bag. I was so relieved I hugged SS. I canceled my other card. She drove me into town so I could get cash. Meanwhile, she got a bottle of wine, asked if I would have dinner with her at home. I thanked her profusely too. We had wine on the balcony. After dinner, we watched the Daily Show, then a British talk show, then I went to bed.

SS was up before me in the morning. Coffee was ready. She told me that when I called her from the police station, she drew a not-tarot-but-something-like-it (we’ll call it NTBSLI) card for guidance. It was the Gratitude card, and she decided it meant I was a grateful person. (So true!)  We hugged goodbye, Mr. Selapan picked me up. We talked about family and palm trees on the way to the airport.

I had weird dreams on the plane. First, a toddler was sick and I nursed him back to health. Next, I was being wrapped in a golden fluffy cocoon. I decided to hide in my room and watch Peep Show season 4 that evening. My housemates invited me out for dinner, but I was in for the night, asleep by 9.

Anyway, that’s everything, Two more weeks in Bangkok. Here’s hoping for some calm.

 

EPILOGUE

• YC found the note.
• SS reviewed me on AirBnb: “Rosalyn is a great guest; despite her losing her wallet, she kept a calm composure and ‘went with the flow’. It could have been worse as she put it! I was happy to host Roz.”
• According to the Kabbalah, the anniversary of the fall of the Temple will also be the birthday of the messiah. I don’t take things like that literally… let’s just interpret it to mean that destruction and renewal tend to happen at the same time.