We were stopped by a police road block almost instantly, just before the ferry. They sprayed our hands and didn’t say anything. We responded by staring sheepishly past their shoulders, as if in a trance. You know, the way your cat looks at birds through the window. The officers just stood there, staring back at us.
Here’s my jet lag strategy: Don’t sleep on the airplane. Instead, watch all the new movies that looked good, but you didn’t want to pay for seeing in the theater. Every three hours get up to stretch by the bathrooms in the middle of the aircraft for 10 minutes. Stay up until at least 9pm local time, take a walk or a run and do not drink any coffee or alcohol. The worst jet lag I ever had was after enthusiastically trying all the local beers at the hostel bar in Iceland.
The checkout lady says “boa noite”. I repeat it back as best I can only to be sized up from over her rims, followed with a blank stare and a cold “hee-ello”. Guess I didn’t quite get it right. Besides the running clothes, I now carry the confident swagger of an American, complete with near-permanent smile. I wish I could simply flip the switch and localize my body language back to Europe, but having been away for so long that is hard to do.
Remember reading something about the ridge being the safest route in snow so I hook a left to find a clear break line I just walked underneath of. Danger now officially not imagined and can no longer be ignored.
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