Hot in the City

It is hot. Very hot. In fact, it is so hot I may just have to use a capital H. It is Hot. I am sitting at my laptop, the fan going like the clappers above my head, trying its best to cool me down, but it is not working. I feel clammy and even the cool air the fan is sending my way isn't deterring the moisture from rising to the surface of my skin and settling in an oily slick. It is 9am. This does not bode well for the rest of the day.

Yesterday morning I knew that the thirty minute walk to the club wasn't going to be fun when I could feel a trickle of sweat working its way down my spine before I had even left the flat. I was proved right as soon as I stepped out from the shade of the building and out into the glaring heat of the sun in a cloudless sky. Before I had even reached the end of our street the one droplet of sweat I had felt in the flat had multiplied and by the time I was on the main road even my legs were damp. Walking past the meteorological centre, I noted the temperature on the digital display. It read 33 degrees centigrade and a whopping 90% humidity. Of course, despite the reasonably high temperature, it was the latter that was causing the unsightly and extremely uncomfortable perspiration. A high humidity level makes 33 degrees centigrade feel like 50. I couldn't have arrived at the club soon enough and, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror in the changing rooms, I had to do a double take. I looked like I had just jumped in the pool, which was ironic as that was exactly what I craved at that moment. I was dripping. It was not pleasant.

I am about to make that same journey but this time I am prepared - loose, breathable cotton top: check. Bottle of ice cold water: check. Cool flannel: check. Hat: check. It's amazing the preparation that goes into a thirty minute walk in a tropical country!