Ecuador
Coming from a nice, moderately wealthy, middle class family, I've done my fair bit of travelling. The most memorable airport story is from when we went to Ecuador.

We spent something like five days in the Galapagos Islands, which are incredible. I have the CUTEST pictures of baby sea lions ever... and my camera at the time didn't have a zoom, so it was a question of sticking the thing in its face and praying its mummy or daddy wouldn't be pissed off.

The last night on the boat I felt that I had a bit of an upset tummy, so I retired early.

That night, I spent the whole night either on the toilet, or in front of it. I was straining and retching, but nothing was coming out either way. I was also incredibly hot - to the point that I'd stripped to my underwear, and covered myself in cold water, and was still boiling. I ended up waking up the ship's doctor at 2am, in incredible pain - she basically told me to fuck off and take painkillers, not realising that I had.... gastroenteritis!

Anyone who's had this will know it is incredibly painful, and the most comfortable position is curled up in the foetal position. The foetal position is not one that allows you to readily move about - for example, it doesn't let you get onto a dinghy to get to shore.

Somehow I got to shore, and curled up on the dock while we waited for a bus. I've tripped out on rather too many hallucinogenic mushrooms before, and that wasn't anything like as bad as the delirium I was in from the pain. I don't remember how we got to the airport... there may have been a taxi involved.

So, we're at the airport, and I'm lying on the floor, my head resting on my mum's handbag while she goes to get some water for me. I'm all alone, just lying there, painfully fucked, and not feeling very happy. And then... *a feeling*.

I started to throw up. Horrible, painful bursts of vomit landing all over the nice, clean airport floor. Galpagos officials are incredibly concerned about contamination and introduction of new species - one can imagine they won't be too happy about vomit.

I'm lying there, throwing up, curled up, in pain, not really understanding what's going on, completely alone. I don't mind admitting that I really wanted my mum at that point.

Before she showed up, the airport police/guards/army did. They had guns, they were big and burly, and they were definitely NOT what I needed at that point. My mum came back (yay!) as did our guide (yay!) who started to talk to the soldiers/police/guards. Fuck knows what they said.

The next thing I knew, I was being hoisted up off the floor and marched off to a small building at the back of the airport. I say marched - really I was carried. I had one man on either side of me, gripping my arms, and my feet did not touch the floor for the three minutes or so that it took to transfer me.

Once in this little building, which turned out to be the infirmary, things got even more interesting. I was laid down on a stretcher while the guide went to a pharmacy to buy a drip, some painkillers, some anti-nausea medication, and some saline solution. You can do that in pharmacies in Ecuador, apparantly. I managed to do a shit... the foulest smelling shit EVER, very liquid, requiring a lot of toilet paper.

After an eternity, the guide came back with a drip etc. I'm quite pale naturally, and was green by this time, so it took an age to find my vein and stick the drip in, leaving me looking like a pincushion. My veins were so small, in fact, that they couldn't get the anti-nausea medication in me through the veins in my arms... so, you guessed it, I was flipped over and had a needle rammed in my bumcheek. Lovely.

The story still hasn't ended. I was wheelchaired out to the plane where I managed a few minutes sleep as we flew to the mainland, and we spent the night in the capital of Ecuador, Quito. I was still in pain, I couldn't eat, and I was generally not in a good way... but by the morning, I was better.

At the airport, I couldn't stand the thought of flying back home - I just didn't think I'd be able to cope. But our guide, the legend, managed to convince the airline to give me a business class seat. Not just me, in fact, but me, my mum, my dad and my brother. This meant kicking some unlucky souls out of business class to accomodate us. By the time we were on the plane and being offered champagne, I felt pretty good, and a little guilty... but I didn't let that stop me enjoying the flight home.

So even though I was in horrible pain, throwing up, doing foul shits, completely delirious and generally fucked... I did get a very nice flight on the way back. Every cloud has a silver lining, I suppose.

Traditional Apologies.
( Detrius521, Mon 6 Mar 2006, 23:42, Reply)