Around the World in 80 Dinners - Bill Jamison [7]
The one allowed exception, definitely American in tone, is what Bill calls his “bulletproof blazer,” a TravelSmith sport coat that’s completely indestructible, wrinkle-free, and machine or hand washable. It’s as shiny as an oversized flagpole at an auto dealership, and almost as suspect in character, but he needs the jacket on flights and in airports because it contains an array of secret, zippered pockets to securely hold our wad of airline tickets, passports, cash, and credit cards. The downside of the portable safe is the risk of losing everything at once if Bill leaves the coat behind somewhere, certainly a possibility in untoward circumstances.
Nothing can prevent stupid mistakes, but we seek protection from actual pilfering on the streets by leaving all valuables at home, wearing cheap watches and costume jewelry, and taking big manila envelopes to seal up things placed in hotel safe-deposit boxes, which will always include our passports, plane tickets, one of our ATM cards, extra credit cards, and ten one-hundred-dollar U.S. bills. For identification when we’re out, in the unlikely event it’s ever required, we’ll carry a photocopy of the main page of both passports on a single sheet of paper. The wallet Bill carries in his back pocket serves only as a decoy for pickpockets, holding just a little local money and some fake credit cards. With the real goods stashed unobtrusively in a zippered front pocket, the simple ruse saved us from disaster once in Barcelona, when a thief in an almost empty bathroom “accidentally” splattered Bill with urine and pretended to help him clean it off while cleaning out his back pocket instead.
Next, it’s essential to get as much protection as possible from strange diseases. Our doctor for many years until his recent retirement, Don Romig, an internist with a distinguished reputation in infectious diseases, devoted a half day of his office schedule each week to emporiatrics, a rather obscure term for travel medicine. In our old, trusty Random House College Dictionary, the only similar word is “Emporia,” denoting a city in Kansas, so we’ve always figured Don invented the specialty and named it for the precautions you would want to take in visiting Emporia or any other similarly exotic destination.
The doctor who bought his practice, Mary Ellen Lawrence, reviews our medical records and notes that we don’t need the shots for hepatitis B, taken for previous trips, but wants us to get boosters for tetanus, diphtheria, and polio. Then she pulls out a world atlas of maladies, showing precisely where every dangerous microbe hangs out. “Let’s check yellow fever,” she says, comparing the maps and our list of destinations. “You’ll be okay with that”—a relief to Cheryl since yellow doesn’t really suit blondes—“but malaria will be a concern.”
At a dental cleaning a week earlier, our hygienist asked Bill, “Want to hear a cautionary tale about malaria?” She knew he did since she had him sprawled out speechless on his back with his mouth propped wide open. “A pal of mine relied on some of our popular Santa Fe–style ‘natural medicine’ for protection in Africa against malaria, which she caught and barely survived. She was an awful mess for a long time.”
When the hygienist finally released his jaw and he could talk again, Bill quickly reassured her. “Some of our best friends are drugs.”
Dr. Lawrence gives us a prescription for malaria pills and also a onetime dose of something to combat typhoid fever. Continuing to write, she says, “Now let’s get a generous supply of an antibiotic to control diarrhea.