Even the offerings of three different types of olive oils at the Naples Airport condiment station could not keep me there another day.
I’ve never been so excited to leave Europe for a developing continent in my life. It’s pretty bad when you will tolerate food poisoning and fly for ten hours to get somewhere, but that’s what I ended up doing yesterday. I chose wisely.
My hotel for two days. I woke up, opened the curtains and said “wow”. Then I went back to bed.
Before I abandon the whole topic of food poisoning forever (or at least for this post), I note the high irony in the fact that I consumed more than my share of raw seafood product, only to be felled the following day by the great American innovation of fast food. I deserved as much for making such a culinary blunder while in Naples. I would say that the only upside of the entire experience was the amazingly good-looking Italian “doctor” who was sent to my hotel room in the middle of the night (add your own scandalous suppositions here). He looked like he was straight out of a daytime soap opera, and his scope of knowledge seemed to confirm this observation.
So I’m awake now, and am very slowly rejoining the world’s eating population. What I’d really like to do is get out and explore the city a bit, but sadly my body isn’t ready to be mobile for any extended amount of time. It’s too bad, because I immensely enjoyed myself amongst the chaos of the Dakar airport last night, and I had fun cracking jokes with the driver who came to pick me up and bring me to this hotel. Even though I was sick and just wanted to crawl up in a ball, I felt like I was finally in a place where I’d be okay.
I feel like Simon from the Saturday Night Live skit, where the small child talks about the all the countries he has visited, via the view from his hotel room…but here’s another shot taken from my balcony (before I locked myself out on there and had to be rescued by the hotel staff)
In the distance on the hill, you can just make out the President’s latest connerie, the Monument of the African Renaissance
So voilà a few anecdotes for you. I still feel about as lucid as I did during my stop in the Azores, so hopefully I’ll have something more entertaining or insightful to tell you about once I feel revived and am out on the town. Really, the last thing I want to do is barricade myself up in this anonymous hotel, but I also don’t want to push my luck just yet. On second though, maybe I do, because the Senegalese population no doubt has its equal share of very fine looking médecins, who no doubt dress a whole lot better than the stretch leather and heel-fabulous sheen of the Italians.