Sun, sweat and tears…

For any of you lovely readers that haven’t read my biking post…I am currently living in the middle of bloody nowhere. Like Antarctica sort of no where.

Well maybe not Antarctica…France actually…but house-in-the-middle-of-a-field-with-no-neighbours kind of nowhere.

It’s remote okay.

We woke up one morning and Rachel decided that she’d come down with a severe case of sun stroke (nausea, sickness, dizziness the lot). Our employers wouldn’t drive her and so we had to make a medical pilgrimage to the nearest pharmacy.

Two miles they said.

You’ll be there in no time they said.

It took us two and a half bloody hours to reach the little town.

After the last incident we decided to abandon the bikes and proceed bravely on by foot.

We started off trudging along quite happily with our two maps that joined in the middle.

And then the midday sun hit.

It was so hot.

So hot.

I fashioned my top into a kind of crop top (which some lorry drivers on the main road apparently found extremely amusing…and some old grandmas not so much) and tried not to let my legs fall off in long black leggings.

Why I chose to wear them on a long walk in August is beyond me.

In the heat we made it as far as the main road that lead into the town.

Then the heavens opened.

So there we were…two sad looking, sweat-drenched Brits walking along in a tropical rainstorm with abso-bloody-lutely no clue where we were going.

We arrived at the pharmacy looking like a pair of drowned rats.

Thankfully the pharmacist didn’t bat an eyelid so we could be on our way with the medicine and make the long trek home.

This return trip involved many an expletive and laments about a) the lack of a car b) the lack of someone who can drive a car and c) whether we should have carried on walking to the nearest airport and then on to home (screw the luggage and the fact that the closest airport was an hour by car WE CAN DO IT).

We finally made it home by around 4pm absolutely knackered, and drugged Rachel up.

She was fine by morning, and lived to see another day in France.

Oh Rachel the things I do for you.

Moral of the story: don’t apply for summer jobs in remote locations.

In fact don’t apply for summer jobs abroad at all.

Why oh why can I be a normal teenager spend my summer channel surfing on the sofa?

Brits Abroad…

In the last week of May my flatmates and I decided to go on an impromptu trip to Malaga in Spain.

Excellent use of student loan I must say.

Yes yes, I’ve realised that it is currently July. I’ve been busy.

Actually I’ve been lazy but I’m turning 20 in two months and apparently adults are “busy” not “lazy”.

*Stoic face*

*Adjusts wire rimmed glasses and straightens pantsuit*

*Smooths hair tendrils into smart work-appropriate chignon with…*…ok you get the point.

I digress.

^ See adult posh word.

As it turns out it wasn’t quite the typical “lads and ladettes on tour” holiday that you would expect.

Well except for the first night where we decided that buying a massive European priced bottle of Smirnoff vodka between three of us (the others arrived later) and drinking it all as screwdrivers was a good idea.

I drank the most and spent the whole night with my head down the toilet.

“Woo party!”.


There were no late night clubbing adventures (we tried to go clubbing, it was more like a year 9 school disco where everyone was cramped onto a dance floor the size of a toilet and amazing tunes such as ‘Summer Lovin’ were blasted out to a near sober crowd), the alcohol was kept to a minimum….well for me at least, (I have since gained the nickname “pukette”), and there was no sex on tap (well the non-monogamous-long-term-loving relationship type…that’s what you get for living in a flat full of couples).

But we did see a lovely castle which we were given a grand tour of by the famed and internationally revered resident local tour guide (and apparent owner) Mr Abraham (thanks Kolujo 😉 ). And an amazing Flamenco show, and a beautiful cathedral, and we ate some authentic paella and we caught some rays on Malagueta beach and, and….I’ll stop. Haha.



Highlights of the trip included me getting sick (as usual, did you even have to ask) and having to make a confusing and bloody expensive trip to Malaga General Hospital (could we have found a GP? Hell no); accidentally eating at the dodgiest of all dodgy cafés with questionable results; meeting a 30 year old married German man and his best friend on the beach (who surprisingly didn’t try to chat us up but did talk for a bit too long and took a few too many group pictures), meeting som Spanish boys who did try for a bit of how’s your father (with the line “do you like my body”) and arriving at the airport 6 hours to early because we thought our flight was at 6pm rather than 12am.

All in all a very successful adventure, don’t you think?

Greece anyone?

PS, Malaga is wonderful you should definitely go and visit, we stayed in a lovely flat in the heart of the city centre using which was a steal for the location and price! A big cheers to my flatmates for the best holiday ever :).

Spoke too soon…

If you saw my first post, you’d know that I touched a little on the horrors of travelling travelling, namely from a health standpoint (read: Delhi Belly). As I see what I’m doing more as travelling-staying-still-ing, I didn’t expect to come down with anything.

Perhaps that was a bit too optimistic. If someone in South Africa so much as sneezes in the general direction of Britain, I catch it. Such is the magnanimous fortitude of my immune system.

Since I got here, and thanks to sick beeble no. 1, I have been con constipado. 

No, not constipated, thank you very much, I’ve had a cold. That’s just the lovely Spanish word for it *pulls face*.

In the second week, it then progressed into full blown acute tonsillitis, to the extent of me being unable to swallow and having massive great big welts on my throat…TMI?

I had a course of antibiotics, and the family were nice enough to give me the a day off to recover (it was a Friday and so I had the weekend also). I thought I was all in the clear.

I arrived in Laredo with the sniffles, okay, fine I thought, a bit of fresh air and I’ll be peachy.

No such luck. At around one and a half weeks in, I came down with Gastroenteritis.

I have never, ever in my life, felt so ill. And thats saying something because just over 3 months ago I was in hospital with appendicitis (or maybe that was worse…time is a great healer and eraser of pain…). After being up all night I caved and begged to be taken to the doctors which, looking back, was in general a greatly embarrassing experience.

You see, the problem is, when you’re suffering from Gastroenteritis, you don’t give a flying fuck who knows about it. You feel so awful, you’d quite happily call the pope and tell him every little nasty thing your body is doing to try and rid you of this illness.

In hindsight however, I see that trying to explain my symptoms to the doctor in broken Spanish, and having to sit with my pee bucket (they don’t use little test tubes here they use tubs) in my hands while waiting to get it tested, were both very embarrassing things to be doing in from of the dad I was staying with. If you don’t know the symptoms of Gastroenteritis google them, I dare you. Read the horror stories. They’re a little to graphic for even me to explain on here, and that’s saying something (have you read my post: Talking crap…?). He later admitted to me that he and two other of the family members had had a bit of an “upset tummy” and was trying to work out if we’d eaten anything bad…but it didn’t hold a candle to my illness.

The good doctor gave me antispasmodics to help with the pain, and a diet of Aquarius lemon water (which, by the way is amazing if you do ever go down with this, I think it’s what helped me recover so quickly, even though the last thing you want to do is drink), and BRAT….bananas, rice, applesauce, toast. No fruit, no dairy, no salad. I ate nothing, and then a little cooked rice and carrots with fresh lemon squeezed over it (again with the lemon). Within 48 hrs, I was feeling pretty ok except for a mild stomach ache. I was lucky. In some people it lasts for a week…

Aside from being hard on me physically, which dear god, it was, it was almost as hard emotionally. I conclusively did not want to go and wake up another family member, this kind of thing is best handled alone when in a house of near strangers, and there was nowhere in the world I more wanted to be than back home with my family.

In fact, when I called my mum at 6am crying, we almost decided to book me a ticket home and cut the trip short. It was that bad.

One good thing to say about Gastroenteritis, is that once the virus is out of your system, recovery is near instantaneous. So when I felt better, I called home and said I was going to tough it out.

Here’s hoping I made the right decision…

P.S. Though the word embarazada may sound like the Spanish for embarrassing, I can promise you it’s not. It means pregnant. Which can cause much confusion, especially at the doctors. The word you’re looking for is vergonzoso.

P.P.S. Bucketful of soz to anyone who did find the site with the Gastroenteritis horror stories…but better to be safe than sorry right…?