Going Viral: Travel Sickness and The Horrors of Illness Abroad:

 

(Not ill, just being dickish for attention)

Being unwell away from home is far worse than at-home illness, for various reasons: the need to keep going, if you’re on a tour; the potential lack of pharmaceutical facilities and recognisable medications; and the absence of your own beloved toilet. It can also be embarrassing. Let me tell you some of what’s happened to me.

There have been self-inflicted sicknesses, such as the rather spectacular hangover I achieved by drinking a bottle of red wine all by myself one evening on a hot and humid boat trip in Goa (didn’t want to waste it; no one to share it with since the lovely honeymooning couple to whom I was playing gooseberry chose alternative beverages, and they only sold red wine by the bottle, so…). Copious concurrent consumption of water just meant I was up in the loo all night, so the beautiful sunrise was a bit spoiled for me. I basically took a photo and went for a lie-down. Diddums.

Oh, yes, and in Huế, Vietnam, there was the fish, the name of which escapes me, which made only a passing acquaintance with my digestive system before executing an upward trajectory into the water closet. I felt quite delicate during my tour of the Imperial City the following day. It had been a long night.

One of my best and ultimately most impressive performances in the illness arena entailed developing tonsilitis whilst in Israel. My throat was feeling progressively worse as our tour group progressed through Jerusalem’s winding streets, surrounded by tourists and pilgrims. The piece-de-resistance came as we visited the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. It was very crowded inside the various chapels, and very hot. I have vague recollections of gold and stone, lanterns, and incense. And then the vomit rose. I later learned this is caused by swallowing all the nasty tonsil bacteria, or whatever. Nice. Thanks be to God, I managed to slap my hand across my mouth and make it outside, where I bespattered the ancient and hallowed courtyard with a glorious technicolour yawn, as bemused pilgrims looked on. It was definitely not a religious or holy experience. I was kindly escorted back to my hotel for the afternoon, which meant I missed the afternoon trip to Bethlehem (I went later that week on my own, travelling from Tel Aviv, and got scammed by a taxi driver who gave me old notes as change, but never mind). The following morning, a relapse meant I missed a whole archaeological site. On the other hand, the extended time I spent there means I can confirm that the lavatories at this location were adequate for my requirements. More details are probably unnecessary. I improved by the end of the week, although most food on the buffet looked rather threatening, and I really had to focus on my swallowing.

Another notable malady involved waking up in Taormina, Sicily with what I later called ‘wonky face’. I had suffered earache for several days, and spent far too much on Ibuprofen in a Palermo pharmacy (shocking prices), but on about the sixth day, I awoke to a surprise. My first glimpse in the bathroom mirror (never edifying anyway) revealed that the right side of my face was well, wrong. It had all dropped, and the muscles wouldn’t work properly. Had I had a stroke, I wondered? I did some frantic internet research, but I felt all right, so carried on for the next couple of days until the end of my vacation. Not brave; I just didn’t want to miss out on what I’d paid for. The only issue of immediate concern was avoiding pasta and wine dribbling forth from my wonky mouth in restaurants. I wished neither to cause a scene nor to waste splendid Mediterranean cuisine. Smiling was also problematic. An Italian man passed me in the street one evening and said something to the effect that I was a ‘beautiful lady’. I soon disabused him of that notion when only half my face grinned back at him – ha! Anyway, on my return to Blighty, I popped to the doctor who advised I had a thing called Ramsay Hunt Syndrome, which is an unusual kind of shingles. Steroids and anti-viral drugs put me right and de-wonked me in a few days, so I was most fortunate.

All in all, I believe I haven’t done too badly in the holiday illness stakes (fingers crossed behind my back at this point, in the hope I haven’t now tempted fate). So, what about you? What are your tales of ailments abroad? Let me know. After all, it’s better out than in.