Published: August 23rd 2007June 18th 2007
Of course Gene would insist that we catch the first ferry out at the crack ass of dawn. To top that, Nervous Nancy
felt the need to set the alarm clock for 5:00 a.m., two hours prior to the departure of the ferry for Spain. Good thing my husband is so punctual - we arrived at the port promptly at 6:00 a.m. to find the ticket office closed. The look on my face said it all. Gene, ignoring the fact that we didn’t have so much as a place to sit, suggested “we” grab some coffee (I don’t drink coffee) while we wait for the office to open.
Gene began to grow fidgety in his rickety folding chair as the clock ticked past 6:30 a.m. and nobody had opened the doors to the ticket office. More interested in a cold war than a full on battle, I sat silently next to him, staring at the cracks in the asphalt. In the meantime, Gene pondered every possible rationale for the ticket counter being closed. My voicing that perhaps we were supposed to buy our tickets in advance only added to the tension. Thank God we got here so early.
was 7 o’clock when the doors were finally opened. Happy to leave me outside with the luggage, Gene ventured inside to purchase tickets for the ferryboat. Disgruntled when he reemerged, he informed me that the first ship out wasn’t until 9:00 a.m. and that it was a slow boat
, meaning that the ride would take 3 hours as opposed to the other ferry companies who advertised 35-minute ferry rides.
“The schedule on the internet said that there was a 7:00 a.m. ferry. I’m positive!” Gene defended. Suuuurrre.
“Well the last thing that I want to do is wait another two hours for a boat that takes three hours to get to the port. For a five o’clock in the morning start, that will get us there…what…7 hours later?!?!” I threw salt into the wound.
“Well, what do you want to do?” Gene retorted.
“I want to purchase tickets for the 9:30 a.m. fast
boat and go back to our hotel, which we have already checked out of, to nap.”
“Fine!” Gene retaliated.
My nap was not all that I imagined it would be.
It was so nice to finally step foot into
a metered cab, even if the flag drop was 4.50 Euro. The port city of Algeciras, Spain, is home to the major port linking Spain and Africa - thus, Gene and I opted for the cheaper method of traveling to Europe by sea through the Straight of Gibraltar.
Having no desire to explore the port city and pay the inflated cab fares to make our way around, we spent the day at our hotel where we ate lunch, got wine drunk, napped, ate dinner, got wine drunk, and spent the remainder of the evening playing on the internet and phoning friends and family.
The sun was just making its way down at 10 o’clock at night and Gene and I were wide awake. We knew that, from that point on, our sleep schedule would be thrown off kilter due to Spain’s long, sunny days. On the other hand, we couldn’t complain.
It always hits you after you turn out the lights and crawl into bed -having taken a sleeping pill was only an added plus. My stomach started to churn. Afraid that I would end up puking in my sleep and kill myself, I struggled to stay awake. Unfortunately, my first round of vomiting was loud enough to stir Gene from an Ambien-induced sleep. When Round 2 came upon me, I didn’t know which end to acquaint with the toilet first. Apparently, I had picked the right end because my head was soon in the bidet next to me.
Gene groggily opened the bathroom door to check on his under the weather wife. A bit embarrassed, yet soothed by his presence, I looked to him for words of comfort. Stupidly, he would ask, “Awwww, why would you puke in there
?!!? Glued to the seat and unable to strangle my unsympathetic husband, I fired back, “Because I’m shitting my fucking brains out. That’s why!”
We were quite the sight.