Day 2: When Jet Lag Chooses Violence

There is a special kind of optimism involved in believing you can fly across several time zones, sleep for approximately eleven minutes, and then wake up ready to experience another country.

This optimism is adorable. And stupid.

They say Day 2 is the worst day for jet lag. I don’t know who “they” are, but I assume they are scientists with clipboards who have spent years watching confused tourists fall asleep in inappropriate places, because they were absolutely right.

After finally falling asleep around 6:30 a.m., my beloved husband Tim decided that Saturday morning would be the perfect time to visit the farmers market.

The morning farmers market. On the morning after I went to sleep at 6:30.

Marriage is about compromise. Apparently.

I have no photographic evidence of this excursion because I was technically present but spiritually unavailable. My body wandered through the market while my brain remained somewhere over the Atlantic refusing to participate. Imagine The Walking Dead: Vacation Edition.

That was me. Except the zombies probably had better posture.

The Great Hunt for Kim Snacks

We did manage to acquire what Tim lovingly refers to as “Kim snacks.”

Fruit.

Vegetables.

Basically anything that makes me feel slightly better about the alarming amount of gelato, cheese, bread, Aperol, and ouzo that will inevitably enter my body over the next several weeks.

It’s called balance.

After the farmers market, we wandered through a flea market filled with an impressive assortment of…things. So many things. Things stacked on other things. Things displayed beside completely unrelated things. Things that had clearly survived several decades and were now waiting patiently for someone to say, You know what my house needs? This.

Nothing spoke to us. Nothing whispered, “Take me home.” Nothing even muttered, “You could probably fit me in your suitcase.” So, in an unprecedented display of vacation restraint, we bought absolutely nothing.

Please respect our privacy during this historic moment.

Breakfast Was Not Optional

There are certain traditions that must be honored when we return to Chania, and breakfast at The Red Bicycle is one of them. Partly because the food is wonderful. Mostly because we needed to find our favorite waiter and Greek friend, Makis, and lovingly harass him. This is friendship.

He tolerates us. We return every year. It’s a beautiful system.

After breakfast, however, my body officially filed a grievance. We headed back to the hotel for what I confidently announced would be a “quick nap.”

You already know where this is going.

I woke up at 6:00 p.m.

Not 3:00 p.m.

Not 4:00 p.m..

SIX. IN. THE. EVENING.

Apparently my “quick nap” was actually a full system shutdown.

Jet lag: 1. Kim: 0.

Somehow, We Found Dinner

Eventually I emerged from my coma, reassembled myself into something vaguely resembling a functioning human woman, and we rallied for dinner. If there is one thing powerful enough to drag me out of a jet-lag stupor, it is the promise of really good Indian food. We headed to Namaste in the middle of Old Town Chania, which my favorite Indian restaurant here, and it was still absolutely incredible. Warm spices. Wonderful food. Happiness restored.

For approximately seventeen minutes, we became dangerously optimistic.

“Maybe we should walk to the lighthouse.”

Yes.

The lighthouse.

At night. After I had spent most of the day unconscious.

Jet lag heard this plan. Jet lag laughed. Jet lag said, “Sit down, Kimberley.”

So there was no lighthouse. There was no moonlit stroll.

There was only surrender.

And Maybe That’s Okay

I think sometimes we put a strange amount of pressure on vacations. You traveled all this way! You must DO THINGS.

See everything. Photograph everything. Eat everything. Walk 27,000 steps. Find the hidden café. Climb the hill. Visit the lighthouse. Have a meaningful cultural experience before lunch.

But sometimes your body has other plans. Sometimes vacation is wandering through a farmers market while barely conscious. Sometimes it’s buying fruit. Sometimes it’s visiting an old friend. Sometimes it’s eating curry and deciding that the famous Venetian lighthouse, which has been standing there for hundreds of years, can probably manage one more night without you.

Sometimes the grand adventure is simply going back to bed.

The lighthouse will still be there tomorrow.

Probably.

Unless something happens to it overnight, in which case this blog post is going to age very badly.

Here’s hoping Day 3 shows mercy.

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