Tuesday, March 17, 2009


Having lived in a malarial hotspot for over a year now, I have developed a strong preference for the type of mosquito net that hangs from four corners, like the ruffled canopies on the bed some of my childhood friends had (and I coveted).

Guesthouses seem to universally prefer the one-hook variety that radiate from a central ring. These are annoying because no matter how much you try to stuff the sides under the edges of your mattress, invariably the net (which invariably smells like secondhand hats) ends up sagging in your face or draped across your feet, allowing mosquitoes access to your delicious blood. It's like trying to pitch a non-freestanding tent in sand.

Still, our room here in the guesthouse has a fan, which whisks away the possibility of mold, whereas our hut in the village has mud walls reeking and rotting from being saturated with months of constant rain. And the beasties chowing on our roof beams and thatch shower a constant dusting of who-knows-what funkiness on our bed.

I am appreciating the relative luxury; I can live with a few more bites.

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