“We don’t know where you parcel is” the post clerk is telling me. It’s a brisk sunny Tuesday morning in Manhattan and I’m leaving the city in 9 hours to catch my plane that will eventually take me to Madrid, where I’m meeting Jakob.
“What do you mean you don’t know where the parcel is” I ask? I have a delivery notice and a tracking number. Isn’t the point of tracing parcels to know where they are? The last piece of equipment arrived from England a day before and I just need to pick it up from the post office. A trivial task, one would think. One hour in the post office and two hours on the phone later and still no parcel. It contains our backpacks, in which we are supposed to carry all our equipment as well as food for one week in the desert. I am rather anxious to get my hands on it. Read more