Kept awake by goats...

As I lay awake in my yurt in the foothills of Turkmenistan's Kopet Dag mountains, dangerously close to the Iranian border and, therefore, within range of Trump’s and Netanyahu's missiles which might at any moment rain down accidentally upon me if the ceasefire doesn't hold, I can hear the gentle sound of bells tinkling quietly and likely coming from a herd of goats either passing through or simply milling around a few yards away. It's early evening, the sun has yet to go down and the noise, if you can call it that, has the desired soporific effect. At some stage I fall asleep and when I find myself awake an hour or two later, the bells are still there but now they are becoming irksome and I wish they would stop. I am lying on my back staring up at the conical roof of my albeit temporary home, but when I turn my head to the right and notice police siren blue lights I remember that I am only yards away from PNC Park, the Pittsburgh Pirates' stadium in, yes, you guessed it, the Residence Inn by Marriott in Pittsburgh PA.

All week I have enjoyed the delicious sleepiness brought about by jet lag which has seen me in bed by nine o'clock every night, waking briefly, perhaps, in the early hours, but then eventually drifting off and regaining consciousness at a decent hour; but not tonight. The bells are non-existent and so are the goats and while Pittsburgh isn't London and the sound of traffic is not the issue as the streets of this city are empty, I know for a fact that as the flight-induced sleepiness of the past few days has gently lessened, the reason I am restless and awake has plenty to do with sugary drinks, greasy fries and oversized portions which I have been subjected to, a far cry from a delicate mushroom risotto or a dainty plate of Indian dahl and rice, my usual midweek cuisine.

Where the bells are coming from, I didn't know until I started an investigation which led me to the hotel room's bathroom; it might be dripping water or it might be something to do with the pipes, that I don't know and if I'm honest I have gotten rather used to it: there's nothing better than a subtle distraction to send me off to the Land of Nod.

All week I have succumbed to everything the doctor says is bad: the fries, the fatty burgers, the sugary drinks, the oversized portions, and today was arguably the breaking point. As always, it starts with breakfast (on disposable plates, not exactly showing off the Marriott brand in a good light). Pork patties, scrambled egg, custardy pastries and a nod towards healthy eating, a banana.

At lunchtime in Pizzaiolo Primo on Market Square, a place where I thought I would be safe, the portion sizes were ridiculous. My lunch companion ordered the calamari as a starter and I'm kidding you not, he was presented with a plate piled at least 10 inches high and looked at the waitress flabbergasted as if she must be mad. My polpette arrived next and there were easily 10 meatballs when five would have sufficed, it was a starter for heaven's sake! I made matters worse by ordering a sugary soda (as they call fizzy drinks in the USA) and then another when, to be honest, the bottle of Pellegrino would have been enough, but I enjoyed the former a few nights ago and decided to relive the experience. When the main courses arrived, both were extra-large portions and once again, my friend came off worse. I can't remember exactly what we ordered, but both dishes were chicken-based and mine had an unpleasant vinegary after taste. We left roughly half of what was on our plates.

I have visited Pittsburgh half a dozen times over the past 10 years and what I can say is that, on a good day, it's a great place if you like walking. This week, I have notched up a daily tally of between 15,000 and 20,000 steps and I'm sure that, combined with the jet lag, those steps have been a contributory factor to my aforementioned delicious sleepiness.

The strain was beginning to show yesterday when I ordered, foolishly, a burger and chips from an upmarket Pittsburgh restaurant, Eleven. I should have known better having spent most lunchtimes in Bill's, a lairy sports bar inside the Westin Hotel, but then I did order from Eleven's Tavern menu, no doubt reserved exclusively for the proletariat. I can't even mention or think about Bill's without grimacing as every day I've had a burger and fries of some description. Every day! And bear in mind that back home I NEVER eat burgers and I avoid fries like the plague and as my week here has progressed I added insult to injury by consuming something else that I NEVER touch back in the UK: fizzy drinks! So now, as my week in Pittsburgh draws to a close (and don't get me wrong, I love Pittsburgh) I find myself in bed wishing I was in a yurt listening to the goats in the foothills of the Kopet Dag mountains as they gently induce much-needed sleep, but I'm brought down to earth with a bang when I realise there are no goats, I'm not in Turkmenistan and the reason I'm totally wired is the cappuccino, the two large English breakfast teas from Starbucks in the Strip region of the city and, dare I even mention it, a fried chicken sandwich and a sickly bottle of root beer made with cane sugar.

It's 1240hrs and I should be in bed, but, feeling wide awake, I decided to get up and pen this article in the hope that, by now, the effects of my food intake today might have subsided and that I could now head back to the Kopet Dag mountains and get some sleep.