The first few days of any significant overseas trip, I’m a jerk. It’s not just the jetlag that’s poisoning my attitude; it’s the lack of context. I get twitchy when I don’t know where my stuff is. Combine that with the fact that no one is speaking English, there are two toilets in the bathroom, and I have no idea what time it is, and you can begin to understand why I’m in such a foul mood.
Three days in, I’m sleeping, I know it’s called a bidet, and I’m working hard on my Italian “R” and “U” sounds. I’m having fun, but I’m still thinking about my lack ...
