Two Degrees South of the Equator
19 341 feet: Kilimanjaro Part VI
The sun rises out the plane window. The wrong side of the plane, mind you. Seat 37-J is still in darkness. I still can’t see Africa out there.
Claire is asleep. She sleeps through breakfast. She wears a face mask, which we all must wear, and an eye shield, and ear plugs. She is dead to the world. She would hate the picture I just took of her.
I ordered a sprite and water, Claire ordered a white wine and water. Then we trade, so that Claire has a White Wine Spritzer, and I have water and water. It works for both of us. I’m sober; she’s not. Or as Claire would have it: she’s fun, I’m sober.
Traveling is a game. A game in which one endeavors to keep one’s devices charged at all times while simultaneously combatting jet lag, exhaustion, and disorientation. Then you have to convert currencies in your head from Canadian to American, to Qatari Rial and then finally to Tanzanian shillings just to make sure you’re not getting ripped off for that coffee and chicken sandwich at 39 000 feet. If you land hungry, tired, and overwhelmed: congratulations! You’ve won.
