Sick Break

Illness. It’s inadvisable. But unfortunately inevitable, especially while studying abroad. I remember how during one of the mandatory information sessions with the study abroad office, students related past health mishaps while the study abroad office parentally warned us that we would get sick. At the time I shrugged it off, figuring that getting sick, although always a possibility, was just a tool for the study abroad office to scare us into getting all of our health insurance information straight before departure. More or less, I’m usually a pretty healthy person. Generally speaking, I tend to go a relatively along time between illnesses, not counting the occasional mucous-y sinus headache in the spring, but when I do get sick, I get very sick. (Shudder back to mono memories from senior year in high school.) But, given my fairly healthy track record and well-established practices of not eating and drinking after others and consciously avoiding infected people, still, I didn’t worry too much when I heard second-hand about escalating rates of ill-health among ASE students. Practically everyone on the program was on his or her deathbed. And Wednesday at Oxford when I woke up and my throat felt like sandpaper on fire all I could think—hysterically—was ‘NOT OKAY’, along with a few other unmentionable phrases. Getting sick at home is one thing, but getting sick abroad is another. I did not have time for this nonsense, especially with spring break coming up in two days. What timing, immune system.

I’d safely say that I’ve never gone so far out of my way to intentionally prevent oncoming ill health. I mean, I don’t recklessly welcome sickness or anything, but when I’ve planned the most epic (for lack of a better word) spring break, getting sick is just not an acceptable option. And I was not going to spend my spring break in a hostel in bed. Subsequently, I spent my last day in Oxford in lock-down mode. So much for the Bodleian Library tour. I made a quick dash to Boots to pick up mouthwash, cough drops and nasal spray, and I swiped a handful of salt packets from a McDonald’s on the way back to Univ for some intensive salt-water gargling. I drank hot tea with honey constantly and ate a can of chicken and rice soup in addition to several oranges for a hasty spike in vitamin C. And I took longer naps than usual. But to no avail, sickness had definitely set in at the worst possible time, of course. My throat felt increasingly drainy and disgusting and my tonsils looked grotesquely enormous. Two days of preventative measures couldn’t cure allergies and a bit of bacteria. At that point, sick, I mean, spring break looked pretty bleak. The increasing prospect of ‘taking it easy’ in Amsterdam didn’t really fit in with my planned agenda.

Public transportation in and of itself operates as about effectively as a soggy bathing suit but mismanaged mass transit is even harder to swallow when, well, you can’t actually swallow. Overeager for break, we cautiously arrived to London Gatwick four hours early. After we checked in, we found out that our flight was delayed for two hours. Kill me now. Everyone around me irritated me beyond belief but I suppose that was exacerbated by the throbbing pain in my throat. British accents didn’t seem so charming at this point. I just wanted to get on the plane, land in Amsterdam and get a good night’s sleep (ha) in my hostel. Fortunately, the plane ride went smoothly and quickly and we arrived in Amsterdam around eight p.m. Things from there, however, did not run quite so seamlessly. My friend Adrienne, who had booked the hostel also found directions ahead of time. We each bought metro tickets to take to the Central Station where we would catch a bus to our hostel, which seemed easy enough. A train was pulling up as we clumsily made our way down the stairs with our luggage and Adrienne, beyond ready for some rest jumped straight on it. Stephanie, Jen and I were less inclined to hop blindly on a train without double-checking it was the right one since we didn’t feel like dealing with boarding the incorrect train. So in the span of roughly two minutes we argued back and forth over whether she should get off or we should get on. Just about the time she realized that the rest of us weren’t in fact boarding the train, the doors closed.

I’d like to say at this point things worked out effortlessly. But not so much. I was the only one with a phone, which was not even working at the time, thanks a bunch, Verizon, so we couldn’t contact each other. The only partially positive aspect about the separation was that out of the four of us, Adrienne actually knew where she was supposed go. So the three of us cluelessly traced the metro map. Thankfully, according to the garbled diagram, Adrienne had in fact gotten on the right train so we simply waited ten minutes to board the next one. We reached a state of blissful relaxation until we realized that somehow, even though we boarded the EXACT SAME train, it specifically and inexplicably omitted our stop. Moral of the story? Never trust metro maps. We collectively opted to get off a stop earlier and we wandered until we found a tram stop—and at this point I’m going to gloss over the details--because suffice to say it, we took a number of unnecessary trams and asininely wound our way all through the city until we exhaustedly gave up, or rather in, and took a cab. Whereupon we finally, finally made it to our hostel.

Again, I’d like to say things get easier from here. We fully expected to arrive and find Adrienne waiting in the lobby for us, annoyed that we didn’t board the same train. She wasn’t there. And we got worried. Unsure what to do, we decided to go ahead and check into our room. However, the desk clerk informed us that since a member of our party was missing, he needed a piece of collateral (i.e., someone’s passport) to break up the reservation so we could access our room. Did I mention that things are a million times more aggravating when you already feel sick and tired? I pretty much wanted to kill this guy. Or just fall asleep. Since Jen and Stephanie both hesitated about forfeiting their passports and I was in some sort of drunkenly sleepy-sick stupor, I slapped mine on the desk and demanded my room key. I’m not sure if that was a good or safe decision, but at that point I honestly didn’t care. We silently climbed the stairs to our room, simultaneously worried out of our minds about Adrienne yet too exhausted to really care about anything in particular. The room, as far as hostels go, was extremely nice and clean, but the prospect of having to first make my bed before I could collapse into it at this point seemed melodramatically heart-wrenching. Just about the time we finished making our beds and had settled in to figuring out how we might track down Adrienne, she calmly strolled into the room with cursory greetings, quickly followed by nervously confirming we hadn’t called her parents. Actually, the thought hadn’t even occurred to us… Now that everybody was in place, I fell into my bed (around one in the morning after taking a Benadryl). That’s not really an obscene hour unless you’re sick. So much for a full night’s restorative sleep.

We all slept fairly late into the next morning. When I woke up, I felt about the same health-wise, but I could barely speak. Undaunted and refreshed by fragmentary sleep, however, I temporarily cured my throat with a cup of tea and ventured out into Amsterdam anyway. Surprisingly, being sick at this point didn’t really matter, once I hit the streets, I could ignore my hoarse throat and draining sinuses. The excitement of actually, really, truly being in Amsterdam, which is an excruciatingly beautiful city and curious mix between sleaze and suave, took over. Amsterdam a heartbreakingly gorgeous city, down to the artistic tile sandwiched between the doorways and abundance of thriving plants that drip down the sides of houses. If you’re ever in Amsterdam and you have the chance, take a paddleboat. We took one by chance on our last day, and it was undoubtedly the best way to experience Amsterdam. Navigating your way down the canal makes you really feel inside the city; vibrant and alive, and you really notice every idiosyncratic, curious Amsterdam detail. During the course of our trip, my brain disconnected from the physical discomfort of my body and went into magical spring break adrenaline mode. I might be sick, but at least I was sick in Amsterdam. The first few days in terms of health were terrible, but I don’t remember them so, we saw so much and covered so much ground that I barely recall feeling sick, and by the time we made it to Hamburg, my health had improved to a simple runny nose. Travel is odd in that sense-- it can be miserable when you feel miserable and it alone can even make you feel miserable, but once you have a great experience, all the headaches are undoubtedly worth it. Sick break my ass, ill health or not, this was by far the best spring break I’ve ever had.