July 2nd: We woke up at 6:30am, both of us feeling an overpowering temptation to just fall immediately asleep again– but we had a flight to catch. At about 7:40, ten minutes behind schedule, we went downstairs and checked out of the room.
The night before, I had spoken to the woman at the hotel desk about arranging a taxi to take us to the airport. “What time do you want to be at the airport?” she had asked. I replied 8:30. “What time is your flight?” she inquired. “10:30,” I said, “but we want to make sure to be there very early.” I asked her how long it took to get to the airport. “Oh, I think… about an hour,” she replied. “The roads are… very difficult.” I had no idea what she meant by that cryptic description, but I asked for a driver to pick us up at 7:30, and she confirmed that she would make the call.










