I wouldn’t go there if I were you (Why where we choose to travel matters)
The landline rings. I immediately know it’s my mother calling. From the way she says ‘hello’ I know something else—that I'm not going to like the conversation. I'm tempted to feign a poor connection and hang up. ‘A woman was kidnapped in Uganda', my mother says, her voice measured, with frantic undertones. 'At gunpoint’, she continues, ‘alone, while on safari.’ ‘I'm not going to Uganda for four months, Mom', I say, my voice measured, with annoyed undertones. ‘And, I'm 49 years old. I'm a grown-up.’...
