After a restful holiday, I took a flight that lasted a little over 6 hours, a train ride of about twenty minutes, a tube journey of half an hour and then I sat on a bus for another thirty minutes to arrive home bleary-eyed and feeling as if had been run over all these vehicles. Although I was greatly tempted to drop my bags and to jump under the duvet for a much deserved snooze, I followed the advice dolled out by all good travellers: get in step with local time as soon as you land and the jetlag will magically evaporate (or last less than a week). Muttering away, I started unpacking but just transferred all the content of my bag to the bed, then I started making breakfast but left my eggs in the pan while I sorted through the mail and ran a shower that I didn’t get into right away because I had started too many things and suddenly found myself trying to scramble eggs while folding clothes and looking for the shampoo.
Normally a powerful multitasker – yes I can talk to you on the phone while painting my toenails and watching a film – when in the grips of the effects of jetlag, I found myself utterly useless: a danger to myself and others. I came to terms with this fact in time to turn everything off, slip into inconspicuous sunglasses and head to the Turkish café around the corner. There, a lovely gentleman proudly wearing the thickest moustache I had ever seen promptly brought me a piece of cake (actually, two pieces separated by a mound of whipped cream) and a strong coffee. I was saved. What with the coffee being a much needed source of fog dissipating stimulant and cake being such a good source of… cake, I was able regroup long enough to make a list: Top-up Oyster for public transport journeys of the upcoming week, buy fruit and vegetables at the market (still not bored with my market…) wash holiday clothes, mend jacket for meeting tomorrow. One by one, I tackled these apparently mundane tasks, abnormally proud to tick them off my list. By about 5h I was more or less back on London time, but only thanks to a few Turkish minutes.
Normally a powerful multitasker – yes I can talk to you on the phone while painting my toenails and watching a film – when in the grips of the effects of jetlag, I found myself utterly useless: a danger to myself and others. I came to terms with this fact in time to turn everything off, slip into inconspicuous sunglasses and head to the Turkish café around the corner. There, a lovely gentleman proudly wearing the thickest moustache I had ever seen promptly brought me a piece of cake (actually, two pieces separated by a mound of whipped cream) and a strong coffee. I was saved. What with the coffee being a much needed source of fog dissipating stimulant and cake being such a good source of… cake, I was able regroup long enough to make a list: Top-up Oyster for public transport journeys of the upcoming week, buy fruit and vegetables at the market (still not bored with my market…) wash holiday clothes, mend jacket for meeting tomorrow. One by one, I tackled these apparently mundane tasks, abnormally proud to tick them off my list. By about 5h I was more or less back on London time, but only thanks to a few Turkish minutes.
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