Germs, Sunshine, and Literary Travel to Russia

On Friday I felt quite 'woozy' at work, and even lay down on the sofa in the lounge. Then I had a sore throat for two days over the weekend, and presumed more or less that this would be the end of it. But the past two days I've had barely any voice. I think part of this is due to little sleep — the last time I had this much trouble feeling sleepy was in around 2012, so I've been spending a great deal of time reading and listening to audiobooks. Which, of course, has certain compensations, i.e. feeling rather smug about how much contemporary non-fiction I'm reading. I've also finished listening to The Hate U Give, a young adult book about life in the suburban southern US, and found it tremendous, and today I began listening to On the Come Up by the same author.

Yesterday afternoon I decided that it would not be kind to risk spreading the germs by exposing my colleagues to them for eight hours. So I attended work only during the first half of the day, and in the early afternoon set off in direct sunlight to go for a walk and take the train home two stations further. I wasn't fragile as a result of the cold, I told myself, although it did take about 20 minutes' walking time for me to begin feeling good with the exercise and the fresh air. There was so much to see: construction workers, the river, brick buildings, concrete buildings, cyclists and joggers, trains and trucks, birds and railway maintenance workers, and trees and old houses half-hidden amongst them.

I feel chipper anyway, even if my voice is horrendous whenever I manage to growl out an intelligible word. A host of co-workers and family have brought me hot drinks and cough candies, expressed boatloads of sympathy, deluged me with friendly advice, avoided (whenever they could) asking me anything that would force me to speak, and altogether been terribly kind. As many people are sick lately, I'm surprised they can spare the energy!

In the train, I've begun reading Die Russland-Expedition, the account of Alexander von Humboldt's travels to Russia in the early 19th century. It includes letters by Humboldt that paint almost everything in cheerful colours, while a person who accompanies him contradicts this sanguinity by painting grim scenes of acres of mud, slushy rivers, ice, collapsed boats, and so on and so forth. They haven't even travelled past modern-day Latvia yet.