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My daughter: How’s the India trip going?

Me: Good and bad. Yesterday I had what I’m sure was a 32-hour flight to Dubai, during which the gentleman seated next to me decided he would be most comfortable if he crouched on his knees on the seat, his feet poking into my thighs beneath our shared armrest, while he hunched forward with his business end approximately level with my face. But I also had what Dubai Airport considers an iced coffee.

Iced coffee, probably served with insulin chaser. [No, I didn’t get a picture of the contortionist in the next seat. My guardian angel—in the uniform of an Emirates steward—reminded him that they needed to be able to see his seatbelt. Grumbling, he abandoned his attempt to channel his inner simian.]

Today I had two root canals in Mumbai. But I also had fabulous masala papad in a roadside restaurant that looked like it just landed from Oz right after they discovered Technicolor.

No, I didn’t get a picture of myself apres root canal, face swollen and drooling. Some things must never be seen… [image credit, Janine Smith ©2020]

Tomorrow I’m thinking if I sprain my ankle, maybe I could also have incredible parathas…

Roadside parathas, which I will eat when I can feel that side of my face again.

NOTE: sadly, the double root canals aren’t my first experience with medical tourism. [See: Delhi Belly: a level of hell that Dante missed.] In 2020, medical tourists are expected to come to India to spend over nine billion dollars on world-class medical expertise, exotic locations, and parathas.