Dawning on a dream

Like the sleepy child not yet ready to face the day, I yawned into the darkness, shifted my weight on my stone seat, and nuzzled my cheek onto Malcolm's shoulder.  It was barely 5am.  We could hear others shuffling around nearby, out doing the same thing we were doing in the same hushed tones as everyone else.

Once every few minutes, the darkness would be abruptly sliced through by a camera flash or someone checking their time on their phone or using a flashlight.  If I thought it grew imperceptibly lighter, I would occasionally take out my good-in-low-light camera and snap a flashless photo of the darkness.  At least the first five of these shots came out completely black.  But as time dragged on the faintest of shadows began to appear.  Details started materializing n the blind shots I was taking; a palm tree, a wall, a tower.

As the sky grew lighter and lighter, everyone - including me - began to stir and an atmosphere of excitement began to bubble.  Cameras were alive capturing the stupas, reflecting ponds, the libraries and the walkways that the morning twilight was slowing uncovering.  Fifty photos later we were ushered to a new vantage point - it was choked with other tourists eager for that picture perfect memory, but it was because this was the spot to be.

In the moments we waited, we were warmed and jostled to the point where we wondered if this was all worth it--but then, it happened.  The blazing red sun finally broke the horizon and illuminated all of Angkor Wat in all of its timeless splendor.  Cameras went crazy.  But after grabbing a few of those once-in-a-lifetime shots, I stopped to put the camera down and fully savour the moment that.  That moment that I'd always told myself I'd experience was finally upon me and it was breathtaking.  

Bugger

Travelling South East Asia, there was a lot of worry about medications and illness. One of the main concerns was regarding Malaria.  I was really on the fence about taking anti-Malaria pills before and while I was away.  I'd heard horror stories of the side-effects and the price alone served as a fair deterrent itself.  In the end, I decided against it and told myself I'd just be very wary of mosquitoes.

Arriving in Malaysia, my guard was heightened even more by reports of Dengue fever occurring not even just  close to home, but at home.  I became a ninja assassin just to be able to calm my own fears of getting bitten and falling sick to something those insects were carrying.  As our trip carried on, it seemed as though my vigilance was having a positive effect.  Bites were few or non-existent.  I was in perfect health, even while Malcolm came down with a mild fever in transit between cities.  My well-being stayed strong all the way through to our last country - Cambodia.

And then.

Cycling home after dusk from the Angkor Wat temple complex, we could feel the bugs out in full force.  I'd sprayed myself with repellent already and as long as we kept up the pace, the bugs had a better chance of ricocheting off our moving bodies than actually landing a bite.  In fact, we were riding along fast enough that the comment was made that we should exercise a different sort of diligence:

     "Make sure you keep your mouth closed - you don't want to swallow a bug!"

Point taken - I kept my mouth closed...so of course a damned mosquito few up my nostril.

Horrified, I snorted that thing out so fast I'm sure I blew its wings off.  Keeping control of my bike with one hand, I dug out any possible remains with the other.  For the rest of the night, my sinuses took extra precautionary measures and my nose started to run and wouldn't stop (not that I blamed my sinuses - it'd be a total violation of their sanctity and I would have done the same) for fear of anything else getting up there a second time.  But the next morning, my sinuses had reacted so strongly that my nose was still clogged (with snot) and my throat was achingly sore.

All day I was a poster child for congestion, toting a pack of Kleenex through the temples with me, every pocket full of used tissues, pausing every few steps to blow my nose honkingly loud.

The next day my nose had stopped leaking, but now my snot was so thick I clogged my ears each time I attempted to blow it out.  "Excuse me" was insufficient as an apology to anyone who had to hear my brains come out through my nostrils.

It wasn't until the whirlwind part of our trip was over that my nose cleared up and my ears became unblocked and I could breathe again like a functional human being.  And all that time I'd been protecting myself against the danger of mosquito bites.