Normally, I sleep like a colicky baby. I get maybe four hours of sleep on an average night. Throw jet lag into the mix, and you have the makings of a treatable insomniac.
For example, by the time I arrived in Barcelona late Friday afternoon, I had logged a total of two or three hours of sleep in the last fifty or so. When Carolyn and I traveled together, she worried I wasn’t getting enough sleep. “You’ll hit the wall by the aftenoon,” she would tell me, full of concern I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the day. Never happened. Now that I am traveling alone, the only person I can cause worry with is me, and I’m not bothered at all. I simply use the middle of the night as productively as I would the middle of the day. For instance, I’m writing this at 3:30 in the morning.