Not Just another Day II

Not Just Another Day—II

Due to the delicacy of this story, I will try and spare any unnecessary gory details—graphic details.  I am sure that you will be able to effectively fill in any blanks.

I tell this story now for the first time—and only to be fair and true and impartial of the telling—sharing—of some of my travel experiences.  Also, to protect the personal interests of countries, cities, people, etc., I will leave naming specific names out of this story.

“Okay!—ready,” I whisper as I humbly begin.  As you may have gathered from earlier postings, I have been an active traveler pretty much my entire life, and most of my experiences have, for the most part, made my way of life worth not having chosen to have settled down and lead a “normal” domesticated life—most.

If any of you have done much traveling outside the common lifestyle of your childhood, you know that foods can be prepared quite differently than maybe your body has grown accustomed to, and that eating such foods can affect your digestive system quite differently.  I have always advised people to “take it easy” when eating unfamiliarly prepared foods.   You don’t want to simply sit down and start it a seven course meal when you first arrive to a place—take it a little at a time—give your body little tastes so that it can learn to manage the new flavors, spices, cooking forms, elevations (sea levels), etc.

Anyway, once while traveling through this new place—wait!  First I must tell you that I have what some refer to as a “cast-iron” stomach.  I can pretty much eat anything and have it not play havoc with my inners.   Anyway, as I was saying, I was once traveling through the heart of this one city—it is said to be the fourth largest city of this particular country—so it was quite big and heavily populated.   On this day, the streets were lined wall-to-wall with venders selling anything from prepared food—ready to eat—to raw goat meat.  No, not just food, but toys, tools, school supplies—anything that could be sold and bought was practically lined up as large mountains of “stuff” that ran along ever street and on both sides—it were as though I was walking down through the parted Red Sea.

The smells of the freshly cooked, roasted, toasted, broiled, fried, baked, etc., food got the best of my “willpower”—I began to eat everything that was offered out to me—and believe, it was a lot.

Do I really need to go on with this story?  I am sure that you all can figure out where I am going with this. @(-_-)@