Hannah walks into the Waldorf Astoria hotel in a shimmering, floor-length gown. Her makeup and hair are perfect and she flashes a dazzling smile to the waiter as she states, “Why yes, I’ll have a champagne, thank you!”
NOPE. That is so far from any sort of reality on this trip it is a pipe dream.
“You better be eatin’ salad!”, yells Hannah, my wife, from the budget hotel shower. You see, we have one spork and a collapsible tupperware, our only plate and utensil. This means that we have to eat in shifts. Truthfully, I am a bit relieved she is in the shower, else it would feel a bit like Gollum and the One Ring from Lord of the Rings. I hear her gutterly cough from the shower, it may not be a far off analogy. I shake myself from my daze and scarf down my salad before I have to pass off the fork.
Farmer’s feet is a newly coined phrase. Hannah keeps calling her heel pain “planter’s fascitis” (it is spelled plantAr). It seems to get worse when she is dehydrated. It is probably gout. Who knows. 30 is the new 60.
*Musical chairs ensues in the room, but it is with electric sockets* “Well, did the Kindle charge? Is it my phone’s turn? Or did your computer not finish up yet? How about the mobile battery pack? Which one is next? Should we switch it out in the middle of the night”, so goes my wife’s line of questions on an almost daily basis with only 2 converters and sometimes even fewer wall sockets. There is never enough time, or apparently power, as we, like our electronics, feel slightly under-powered each day from an exhausting pace.
“Well, the best description is every time I am in the shower, it is like washing a spoon in a high power sink” I explained to Hannah’s parents over Skype one evening. She had just explained that the bathroom is always soaking wet in strange places after I shower. It is true. The water ricochets off my body and sprays the wall, ceilings, sink, toiler, and every surface imaginable. In some countries, Hannah hid the toilet paper so that it doesn’t get wet. I am a big man in a small area, I can’t help it. The tubs and showers are often small and only partially covered by glass or a curtain. Being large, it sprays water everywhere.
Every morning, we shake the bed sheets out. Hannah wears socks to bed and loses them every single night. She hates hardwood and tile floors at our Airbnbs because dirt gets tracked into the bed from barefoot.
We keep a bag that we have dubbed a “foodbag”. It currently contains 1 shot worth of polish vodka from our friend Jan, 2 small packets of vinegar, 2 tiny tubs of Nutella, a shaker of cayenne spice, 1 ready to make Tom Kha soup packet, 1 Nesquick packet, and finally some taco bell sauces.
It's A Ritch Life 