(Photo credit: Sara Hillstrom)
Living so close to the sun, a body moves slowly for self-preservation. Lungs expand with effort, making efforts to make less effort. Thoughts persuade the blood that we are cool and calm, we are cool and calm. Slowly is the way. We move with intention. And, we know that we are not alone.
In Namibia, there aren’t many people and there are even fewer cars. Thus, when I needed to go anywhere I relied on fate. I donned long sleeves and a hat, and I set my feet to walking on the sandy road. Without fail, some other traveler eventually crossed my path. Sometimes the driver was headed in a different direction, so we smiled sadly and parted ways. Other times, our itineraries matched up–at least in part–and I hopped into a truck bed or a backseat. Surprisingly often, my automobile-owning saviors transported me for free, especially if my desired destination was on their way, anyway.
Soon, I am going to travel to Zanzibar and a few months after, Namibia. As a born-and-raised American, I had to update some vaccines so my body doesn’t freak out (as severely) when I eat unwashed fruit. C’mon, body, pick your battles. Anyway, in this day and age I did this by asking Google Maps where the closest travel clinic was…and there, I went.
I made an appointment with my Google-recommended destination, and got some preliminary blood work done back in early April. I was grateful for the doctor who usually works about an hour away. He stopped by the Loop office just for my one appointment. Don’t get me wrong, my gratitude lives on. However, my respect for the doctor quickly died.