Even mangoes that fall on your head and cause concussion. Where were the flowers and sandy beaches? All I wanted was a leisurely drive to some waterfalls in a white convertible. Instead I found myself cringing, ducking, and watching where I put my feet.
But before I could even say “Whew,” we found ourselves being pushed off a cliff with only a flimsy film of nylon and some string preventing us from crashing to the rocks below.
After that, there seemed to be endless dangers to entrap and harm us—boiling mud, fatal amoeba waiting to crawl up our noses, fast drivers on one-lane bridges. Wild boars. Do all tourists in New Zealand feel as threatened as I did?
In Europe, people have been relatively safe and sound since the end of the Crusades and demise of the Inquisition. Yet even there, where I am currently minding my own business being an average tourist, those red and yellow warning signs seem to be popping up in my path. And I’m having a tiny problem with those darn southern France no-see-ums. Again. Just like in 2015. 24 bites this time.
I won’t even bother to describe the nautical hazards Pope and I have endured on sailboats. If you’ve been reading my blog, you already know. It can be exhausting.
Maybe it’s just my nature—or my karma—to encounter danger, and I should just accept and absorb.