Still in Attapeu, still sick January 6
The rucus in my nose seems to have died down, or rather migrated down into my chest. Not as much colored slime though.
I’ve started in on a novel about WWII, which is keeping me preoccupied. It’s called “War and Rememberance.”
When I’m on the bike, I’m drinking roughly 8 liters of water a day. But seeing as I sweat most of it off, it doesn’t really seem like that much.
I wonder if my history of illness, while not at all digestive-related, has something to do with my cavalere attitude towards eating anywhere and everywhere - from food in the markets, to stalls, to roving food sellers. I have yet to be ill with any sort of stomach bug (excluding a day of minor discomfort here and there) but have had numberous bouts of cold and flu.
Now, being sick, and pondering this line of though, I start to notice things I missed before - the baguette woman blowing into the vent hole of the sweetened condensed milk can to push out the last little bit; the girl sneaking a taste from the ladel of a broth; the little girl chucking bits of lord knows what into the soup when her mom’s back is turned.
But you can’t think about it too much. You just have to put it in the back of your mind. For one, I could catch a cold or the flu simply walking down the street. Secondly, there aren’t a whole lot of “safe” food options, particularlly around here.