Published: April 24th 2010April 11th 2010
Sunday, April 11
Have you ever woken up and felt dead?
That's how I felt after the previous night's debauchery. I knew I was awake, but felt like I counted more with those in the crypt of Murcia's cathedral than with the living. Oy vey! My head hurt, but more than anything my stomach was churning. It was noon, and Lola was getting us up because this afternoon we were supposed to drive to her family's restaurant and eat paella--a traditional Spanish rice and seafood dish.
Rejane and I slowly got ready. Cyntia seemed to have bounced back incredibly well, though. The guys came to pick us up in Pierre-Jean's car. After five minutes in the backseat, I told Rejane I though I might need to throw up. Pierre-Jean is known for his liberal application of the gas and brake pedals, and this was not helping at all. We pulled over and they put me in the front seat, because that's better for car sickness. My stomach was getting seriously topsy-turvey, and I had a Ziploc bag I'd pulled from my backpack just in case I threw up.
I asked how long it was until
julien at lola's
we got there, and Pierre-Jean said it was about thirty minutes away. I'll tell you--that was the longest thirty minutes of my life! Luckily we had to stop to wait for one of the other cars about half way there and I got out and paced around, holding my stomach.
At the restaurant the last thing I wanted to do was eat. They brought out salads and then the steaming pans of paella. The black paella seasoned with squid ink was next to me, but just looking at it made me feel more nauseous. Let's just say that in the three or so hours we were there, I took about 15 trips to the bathroom. In the rare times I was actually at the table, I nibbled on some crackers, and was the subject of photographs by the adults, who were cooing over how cute I was when I looked like a pale squid slumped over at the table. Meanwhile we were celebrating Cyntia and Fanny's birthdays, and I tried to manage enough energy to clap after everyone sang. At the end of the meal, the waitress brought out three different bottles of liquor. I was literally disgusted just
by the sight of alcohol. Julien thought it was funny to dangle the bottles in front of my face and watch me wilt even more. If I'd had the energy, I would have sucker-punched him.
As they were finishing up the meal, I asked for the keys to Christine's car so that I could lay down. I had consumed a lot of water throughout the morning, and I thought I just needed to sleep it off. In the car, I reach over from the back seat and put the key in the ignition so I could roll down the windows. Being someone who does not know how to drive a stick shift, I wasn't aware that turning the car on makes it move! I yelped at the car lurched forward several feet and quickly turned the ignition off. It was lucky that there wasn't a car parked in front of us...With the windows rolled down I took a short nap, and when everyone came out to the car, I was feeling a little better.
Back in the car, I felt less ill. We drove to the beach, when the adults went for a hike, and the Amigos de
Vacanzia! collapsed on the beach fully dressed. So it turned out that I wasn't the only one feeling it! We languished on the beach for two hours or so while Pierre-Jean (well-accustomed to Spanish parties) sprinted up and down the shore for exercise.
As I started to feel more alive, I became hungry all of the sudden, but I knew I needed to eat something light. Pierre-Jean and I went searching for a snack and ordered some tapas. I ate a little bit, but my appetite disappeared.
We went back to the apartments, but I wasn't really able to eat much for dinner but plain rice. (When my digestive system gets thrown off, it can take a little time for it to right itself.) I hit the sack early in the night, hoping that my hangover from H. E.-double-hockey-stick would be over the next day.