TROPICAL MALADY: Paracetamol and parasols
Yesterday I returned from 17 days in Burma, partaking of village life. I ate the food that was graciously offered to me and I drank the water and I felt all right—until I felt like hell.
Today I have a full-on tropical malady: fever, chills, soar throat, tubercular cough, Burma belly. To top it all off, my left leg—previously broken—went numb between my ankle and mid-calf during a 17-hour train ride from Yangon to Mandalay. If ever there was a day for giving myself a fashion hall pass and stepping out to lunch in yoga pants, today’s the day.
The best I could do is peel the cool gel patch off my forehead right before these pics were snapped.
And because a security guard at Suvarnabhumi Airport threw my over-ounced Kiehl’s sunscreen in the trash on my way to Burma–the land of pulverized-tree-bark-as-sunscreen–I’ve renewed my fashion love affair with the parasol.
When you feel like shleb, swap out your sweats for yoga pants and you can at least be a shleb with a silhouette.
yoga pants: Lululemon; shirt: James Perse; sandals: Gizeh Birkenstocks; earrings: lava from Burma, made in Laos; Navajo turquoise bracelet: the rez; scarf: Russian Market, Phnom Penh; hand-painted parasol: Ancient Siam
And many thanks to my cell phone photographer for feeding me Paracetamol and putting up with feverish me!
