tears

The Hell-Fired Pizza.

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I want to establish from the outset that I am not a wimp when it comes to spicy food. Indian, Asian, Mexican… I love it all.

For lunch today, my husband ordered a meat lover’s pizza with chilli. It was delicious – until I bit into the hottest fuelled-by-all-the-power-of-hell piece of chilli I have ever experienced.

What I experienced at that point in time was way beyond taste, pleasure, or delicacy. It was excruciating.

My mouth was on fire.
I lost sensation in my lips, then almost passed out.
My eyes were streaming.
I was using bad words, but slurring them terribly.
My dear man thought I was just being funny. I wasn’t. This was one of the rare moments in my life where being a comic genius was not something I had in mind.

That supercharged little sucker burned my mouth, throat, oesophagus and stomach for at least an hour, only moderately assuaged by milk. I have had a persistent stomach ache for 9 hours, and my mouth and throats are still sore.

And now, the assault continues as the nugget of hellfire works its way through my system.
N e v e r  in my  e n t i r e  l i f e  have I experienced anything like this.

Suffice to say that while the volcano is not erupting hot lava,  it is definitely shooting out dangerous levels of sulphur and brimstone.  It’s probably worthy of an official health and safety warning.

At least there is one thing of which I can be certain: this, too, shall pass.
And that, my friends, is going to hurt.

pizza

Edit: On reading this, a friend sent me an article about two guys in New Zealand making someone eat a Fijian Bongo Chilli, which had exactly these after effects. He was suing them for assault.
I don’t blame him. 

Departure #2

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Today we are on our way again. We. Are heading for Charleston, West Virginia.

I’ve just left behind a very close friend who was one of the main motivators for the US part of my trip. In the years that I have known her, we have helped each other through physical pain, illness, grief, insult and having to deal with idiots on a regular basis.
Spending this weekend together was wonderful. We talked, laughed, cried, hugged, shared meals, drank coffee, indulged in treats and gave each other keepsakes which, like the memories, will remain precious for the rest of our lives.
Her parents and brother have welcomed me with generosity and love. They have been so generous and sweet, and I know I am now a member of their family.

It was incredibly difficult to say goodbye this morning.

I know one thing: I am definitely coming back, and we are going to spend much more time together.
Then I might kidnap her (is it even possible to kidnap the willing?) and take her back to Australia with me.

Cold morning.

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Steady, soaking, cold rain. 
It takes its coldness from the ice.
That chill is unmistakeable. Inescapable. It burns.
It’s hard to breathe.
I suppose I was a fool to not expect that.
And so the rain continues: I wonder if it will ever stop.
What started as a surprise downpour has become an all-pervading bleakness that feels like it will never end. 
I long for the sunshine; I long for its kiss, the warmth of its touch on my skin, its heat radiating into my soul. 
But it has departed and all that remains is the misery of winter.

I am heading for warmer weather, but part of me will remain frozen in this moment.

I don’t believe that I can ever be the same again.

Just when it was all going so well, too.

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OK.
Things so far have been pretty darned good on this trip. The flight from Melbourne to Los Angeles with Virgin was fantastic. I am definitely going to fly with them again.
When we landed in LA we cleared immigration and customs quite easily. Nobody asked me about my large stash of medications. Thank God for that. (Who has that much time when you have to make a connecting flight?) Nobody frisked me or made me take my boots off.
Then I turned on my phone and iPad to contact the people who were waiting for us at this end. No go. The deep sinking feeling in my stomach grew stronger as I realised that the free wi-fi at LAX would not connect for me, either.
I cried. Not because I was being petulant, but because I knew people were waiting and anxious to hear from me and would be worried.
I felt so cut off. Isolated. First time in a new place and no way to contact anyone.
On top of that was the sense of injustice. I had prepared everything I could for this trip, including buying those SIM cards and getting the assurance from AT&T that everything was done and all I had to do was put them in and they would work.
My pain levels shot through the roof and I stood in the middle of LA International airport and cried like a baby.
All the glamorous and good looking people around us pretended it wasn’t happening, which was rather sporting of them, really.

We made our connecting flight easily. Now waiting to board Delta flight 1706 to Detroit.
A lovely lady loaned me her phone so I could send a message to the people waiting to hear from me. I felt so much better when I was able to let them know I was safe. Another lady with impeccable makeup and a Disney princess pink bow in her Snow White styled hair saw that I was upset and offered me her iPad to do the same thing.
How nice that in a huge airport on my first day in the US, one can still be met with kindness in strangers.