Not under THE weather, but under-the-weather, as in being ill.
There is no better way to set into stone the fact that you're going to become ill than to jump into 18 hours of flying while feeling *slightly* sick.
Rest assured, (or don't) when you emerge from those horrific 18 hours those slight symptoms will have developed into a raging case of the bubonic plague. It's scientifically proven. Or something.
Flying makes everyone more susceptible to sickness. It's all the recycled air. The best thing you CAN do to prevent getting sick (if you're feeling well to begin with) is to point the air vent straight at yourself and turn it on as high as you can stand. Truly.
But if you are like me on my way to Israel a couple of weeks ago, you're doomed. Doomed, I say!
On the one hand, I knew I was getting sick. On the other hand, there was no way I wasn't going to Israel, unless of course the whole terrorist war thing got more out of hand than it already was.
So I stocked up on Kleenex. Packed Tylenol Cold & Flu, and boarded that flight.
And the first few days in Jerusalem were straight up misery. Fuzzy-headed, sore-throat-ed, nose-dripping, feverish misery. One stop at a small, local pharmacy just below Damascus gate with a heaven-sent woman working the counter who spoke English beautifully and understood better than I did what I needed for my cold. A packet of Pseudoeffedrine and some fruity, numbing throat lozenges later and I was in business! Ready to take on the world... well, at least ready to take on the streets of Jerusalem with my two very compassionate travel companions.
Jaw-dropping views and tons of walking and hiking and life-changing-ness ensued. And I will never forget that merciful, headscarf-clad angel of mercy at the pharmacy.
The moral of the story: Don't get sick on vacation. And if you do, be kind enough to yourself to have gone on vacation to a place where they sell REAL pseudoeffedrine, not the fakie stuff they sell anymore in the US because some crackheads were making meth out of the real stuff and ruined cold relief for the rest of the United States.
The End.
(Until I came home and got the cold again from my Nephew, AKA, the Carrier monkey in which the cold had mutated just enough to get me sick again this weekend... And this time I didn't have any real pseudoeffedrine... UGH.)
Oh. And here are some photos from our first venture outside of the convent walls into the old city:
There is no better way to set into stone the fact that you're going to become ill than to jump into 18 hours of flying while feeling *slightly* sick.
Rest assured, (or don't) when you emerge from those horrific 18 hours those slight symptoms will have developed into a raging case of the bubonic plague. It's scientifically proven. Or something.
Flying makes everyone more susceptible to sickness. It's all the recycled air. The best thing you CAN do to prevent getting sick (if you're feeling well to begin with) is to point the air vent straight at yourself and turn it on as high as you can stand. Truly.
But if you are like me on my way to Israel a couple of weeks ago, you're doomed. Doomed, I say!
On the one hand, I knew I was getting sick. On the other hand, there was no way I wasn't going to Israel, unless of course the whole terrorist war thing got more out of hand than it already was.
So I stocked up on Kleenex. Packed Tylenol Cold & Flu, and boarded that flight.
And the first few days in Jerusalem were straight up misery. Fuzzy-headed, sore-throat-ed, nose-dripping, feverish misery. One stop at a small, local pharmacy just below Damascus gate with a heaven-sent woman working the counter who spoke English beautifully and understood better than I did what I needed for my cold. A packet of Pseudoeffedrine and some fruity, numbing throat lozenges later and I was in business! Ready to take on the world... well, at least ready to take on the streets of Jerusalem with my two very compassionate travel companions.
Jaw-dropping views and tons of walking and hiking and life-changing-ness ensued. And I will never forget that merciful, headscarf-clad angel of mercy at the pharmacy.
The moral of the story: Don't get sick on vacation. And if you do, be kind enough to yourself to have gone on vacation to a place where they sell REAL pseudoeffedrine, not the fakie stuff they sell anymore in the US because some crackheads were making meth out of the real stuff and ruined cold relief for the rest of the United States.
The End.
(Until I came home and got the cold again from my Nephew, AKA, the Carrier monkey in which the cold had mutated just enough to get me sick again this weekend... And this time I didn't have any real pseudoeffedrine... UGH.)
Oh. And here are some photos from our first venture outside of the convent walls into the old city:
Mourning Dove
Our convent was located in the Muslim quarter. The Moorish influence in some of the architecture is just incredible!
Visiting the Pool of Bethesda along the Via Dolorosa. This is supposedly where Jesus healed a man who was unable to lower himself into the pool to access it's healing properties. I only say supposedly because I question the location, not the bible story.
People from all over the world can be seen walking Via Dolorosa. In the photo above: Africans, Americans, Europeans and a Russian Orthodox priest.
A franciscian friar, I think.
And then there were the Texans...
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