Where you going? Barcelona. Oh.

I overheard someone say the plane had only been in service for nine days. I’m no expert in aviation so there’s no possible way I could know this but, the air in the cabin did have that new plane smell.

The plane really was quite fancy-schmansy. Passing through the first class cabin seemed like land of the pod people. The seats literally reclined into a private pod/bed! At 6’2″, I could only dream of such luxury.

This was my third trip to Barcelona. My second traveling solo. I went last summer by myself and had such a good time, I had to do it again.

Getting to Europe involved a series of flights. This was the long haul from Los Angeles to London. Fortunately, because of Ray, I scored a deluxe coach seat. More  space to recline with a ton of legroom. I was finally going to be able to be able to get a good night of sleep on an international flight. Or so I thought…

Right after they served dinner, I got my neck pillow thingie, put my seat back and got all blanketed up. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath…exhaled and at that exact moment, a fierce wave of nausea passed through me squeezing out cold, clammy sweat from every pore in my being. This was accompanied by two invisible hands reaching into my gut and wringing it out like a dishcloth. Just when I thought it couldn’t possibly get worse, I started to lose consciousness. I was sitting down, leaning back and yet, I was passing out!

Drenched in sweat, I put my head between my legs. The air valve over my seat was blowing on me. It felt so good, so cool. Have you ever been that sick? Where laying on a cold hard bathroom floor is the most comfortable thing in the world? Well, at least you’re at home, in your bathroom. I was on a fucking plane two hours into a nine-hour flight. I’m sure the elderly couple sitting next to me were wondering what the hell was going on.

“Don’t mind me. I just like looking at my shoes while I fly.”

I just kept praying, “Please don’t make me barf, please don’t make me barf.” Thankfully, I had taken a sleep aid before all this started and was able to fall asleep. In fact, I slept through the whole flight. I slept through the flight from London to Barcelona. I got to my hotel at 20:30 and was so tired I took off all my clothes and slithered into bed.

During all of this, I was nauseous, fatigued and had major stomach cramps. As the time went on, I found myself having to use the restroom more and more frequently. After getting to the hotel and passing out, I awoke at 3:00 AM while in the process of completely shitting myself, in and on the bed, running to the bathroom, and all over the toilet.

At least I didn’t puke.

While I was able to clean most of it up (room has hard floors), my luxurious hotel bed with crisp white sheets and down comforter didn’t quite clean up so well. I’m sure housekeeping has their eye on the freak in room 215.

By yesterday afternoon, I was a bit more stable. I slept for eighteen hours. Whatever it was knocked the…well, knocked the shit out of me. I went out for a little bit but was still pretty tired. Slept some more that afternoon. When I awoke, I made my way up to the rooftop bar/deck where I was greeted by some people I had met here last year. They talked me into having dinner with them. Even though I wasn’t quite 100 percent, it got me out.

This morning, I was up early. I needed to venture out in search of bottled water – lots of it. As I was walking along the quiet city streets, processing the ordeal I had just been through, it suddenly dawned on me…I’m in Barcelona!!

Let’s have that holiday, shall we?