Hot and cold.
It did not look next to impossible at first. But as the day draws nearer, things would fall either into place, or apart. With or without magic.
Work matters explode like mushrooms overnight. Schedules and timetables start to run increasingly haywire. Availability of plane seats become sorely limited. Waitlists double up as tools of torture. Prices skyrocket to figures out of this world. Best laid plans are recklessly put to the test. Mad scrambles and last-minute rescues follow next.
“It’s Murphy’s law at work,” someone told me.
I realise now that having only one month to properly plan for a “vacation” to two countries is absolutely not something I would want to wish on my dearest enemy.
I remain convinced, however, that all this could be solved with the mere invention of teleportation. That, I think, is certainly better than having to get on eight different planes within a period of two weeks.