As we took time out in our hotel room today, escaping the tooting horns, construction noises, free-running animals and general mayhem, I was homesick. Missing the feeling of walking in a bathroom without flip-flops on, yearning for hot water and fruity smelling soaps and lotions. Thinking wistfully of my memory foam mattress as I struggled to find a position that didn’t aggravate my aching bones - a product of the thin mattress and wood underneath.
Yet when I thought a little harder, I recognized that most people outside the hotel don’t have a bed to sleep in or the privacy of a room at all… let alone one with connected bathroom that has “almost hot” water.
Last night Osman and I ventured down a side street that seemed to be filled with candlelight. As we drew closer we realized what we were seeing was a makeshift (or permanent?) home for some of the people that, by day, were street venders. They had pulled their carts down the alley, placed them against a wall, covered the fronts with plastic or sheets, and crawled inside. The lights we saw were little fires. The fires consumed all sorts of garbage and the people who lit them sat mere inches from the flames, their legs wrapped around them. They probably dreamed of a dirty, cramped hotel room with clean-ish running water… as I dreamed of a three bedroom house with central heating and memory foam bed.
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