Hyperactive Jetlag

I’m here. I am so out of it. My body does not have any idea of what time it is, nor what state is should be in therefore is compensating by just being exhausted. I want to walk around. After nearly thirty hours of travel time, I never want to sit again. I want to curl into a little ball and sleep for the next three days. I want to cram everything there is to do in London into three days. I can’t wait to go exploring.

I wanted this, my first entry from a new country, to be interesting and exciting. I wanted to tell you about the fully-veiled Muslim women I saw in KL airport, about the Egyptian men in turbans, how there was three distinct smells between the plane and the customs desk at Heathrow (detergent, sharp and overly clean in the halls; curry-stuffy and hot in the line up for passport check, surrounded by Indian women in sari’s; and an exotic perfume that wafted by me in the wake of a hidden Muslim woman). But I am too tired for length and eloquence. I just wanted to let you all know that I am here and I am safe. Tonight, I sleep. Tomorrow the adventures can begin.