The glamorous life of a foreign correspondent

Bed sharing, fried ants, yak’s milk and dodged bullets… Carol J. Williams writes in the Los Angeles Times about her time as a foreign correspondent. It isn’t always this grim, is it?

Only weeks into the Bosnian war that began in 1992, shellfire had blasted out the windows at the Sarajevo Holiday Inn. We referred to the rooms as “air-conditioned,” and, during the couple of hours there was electricity each evening, learned the fine balance between powering up laptops and heating water in our hot pots for bathing. We ate in a bunkered dining room where the noise of the generator overpowered conversation and, during the worst of the siege, the only fresh offering was stewed goat. link