Food Fight

Insofar as this is, ostensibly, a 'travel blog', I've got little to report. This is because I've left our apartment only twice in the last three days; once to walk to the local medical clinic, which purported to open at 9:30am, and again to return the afore mentioned clinic, when it actually opened, at 10:30am. The explanation for this discrepancy, so far as I can tell, is "because the man behind the booth said so". From a Western perspective, where anything put into print immediately is understood to be irreversible gospel, this is a national modus operandi I am looking forward to learning to be at peace with. Currently, however, I am finding it marvellously infuriating. The Buddha is giggling on a plane I can't access.

The reason I made these trips to the local medical clinic lies in the intense discomfort I have been enduring for for three days. Allow me to both euphemize and hyperbolize at once: I have felt, in a nut shell, as though my enteric system has been trying to dispense with a can of shaving cream. Suffice it to say, my love of spicy food stops at my palette. Below this point, I have proved to be awash in antagonism. But a charming, sensitive, intelligent and curious doctor carefully, patiently discerned my condition, and with almost prophetic skill, predicted the problem, the solution and the corresponding time course to within hours, all for about $3.50 CAD. By experiences with Canadian doctors have seldom been so comforting. Thus, I am on the mend, and have in the process discovered that the peanut butter here is significantly better than at home. Samosa's, meanwhile, are currently a prohibited item.

I will post more when I'm able to cross a kilometre without diapers.