To be fair, the next three nights were spent in a luxurious hotel resting my head on excellent pillows.
As the days passed I learned the truth of the tourism business. It was great not having to make plans or worry how to get anywhere, especially in a country where English wasn't widely spoken. I was also aware of how economical the trip turned out to be.
On the other hand, there were the seven a.m. wake-up calls followed by head-whipping rounds of sightseeing that continued until eight at night. At which point I could have slept in a tent. On rocks.
And a practice I like to call: Cram them in a room, lock the door and sell them stuff.
Our first day we shuffled through a jade factory, a cloisonné factory, a tea factory, a silk factory, a pharmaceutical factory, a medical institute and a foot massage center. In every case, a professional gave a lecture, then we were escorted around a corner into — how fortuitous — a showroom with legions of salespeople ready to pounce.
At the medical institute, a doctor took my pulse and shook his head. His face was etched with grave concern as he diagnosed me with a weak immune system.
That's not good.
I didn't want to appear skeptical and listened to his analysis. When in Rome. Also, What the hell is going to happen to me?
The doctor's translator handed me a sheet of paper listing illnesses and their remedies. She circled the doctor's prescription. Foremost among the conditions it treated: PREMATURE EJACULATION.
That's not good.
The translator pointed down the hall to the convenient pharmacy, where I could buy the cure. I chose to stay flaccid and politely declined the herbal compound.
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