Now we’re sitting in the back of a taxi, heading to what I hope is a hotel. I’ve just been on autopilot all day, following wherever Karlsson has led. Somewhere in all the chaos, I lost track of my duffel bag. Did it even make it off the plane? Am I going to be wearing this underwear for a week? Shit, my head scarf was in the duffel too. The taxi pulls over, and Karlsson says a few words to the driver, flashing his phone on the card reader to pay for the ride. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I step around the taxi and up onto the curb. “This doesn’t look like a hotel.” Karlsson is
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