I woke up a bit before 6am this morning to the familiar rumble in my stomach that told me I was going to be sick. I spent the next 30-45 minutes fighting the pain and the waves of nausea before I couldn’t fight it anymore. I proceeded to spend the next 4 hours getting sick.
Why am I telling you this?
Because I’ve realized that getting sick is the one time when I’m traveling that I really, really want to go home.
The first time Ryan and I backpacked, neither of us got sick, except for the occasional cold from being run down, until about 4 months into our trip when we were in Thailand. We were nearing the end of our 6 week trip in SE Asia when Ryan and I both got food poisoning. The city of Bangkok was also flooding adding an extra layer of terror on top of us getting sick abroad. Ryan was so sick that he couldn’t even leave the hotel room, so each day I would head out to get us food, water, and snacks, and each night I would set out to retrieve some dinner. On top of feeling uncomfortable, I also wasn’t feeling very well, and the city was in a state of panic. I wanted out of there so badly it’s not even funny. Thankfully, we flew out a couple days after we first got sick and were able to recuperate in Australia with the loving care of Ryan’s relatives.
When we went to South America, I got the worst food poisoning of my life in Quito, Ecuador. We were staying in a dorm room and I spent the entire night running back and forth from my bunk bed (thank god I was on the bottom) to the bathroom. Or, perhaps I should say hobbling – I had a really badly sprained ankle. I’ll spare the gory details, but this was not the type of hostel bathroom you want to have food poisoning in. As I lied there, waves of nausea and splitting stomach pain whipping through my body I wanted to be at home in my mom’s clean bathroom with her rubbing my back, and feeding me ice chips and ginger ale with the bubbles stirred out.
When we were in Myanmar last year, I was again struck by terrible food poisoning. I was so sick that the staff at our guesthouse allowed us to check out late, went and got me rehydration salts, and when it finally came time for us to leave the room, they brought me a pillow so that I could sleep in the lobby while we waited for our bus to get back to the city. Again, I craved being home in the comforts of a clean bathroom with my mom to take care of me.
Now, back to today. I sit here now feeling okay. Not good, but fine. I am well aware that I will be okay, yet I still feel the familiar tug to be home, comforted by my mom. I haven’t lived at home in 10 years, my mom hasn’t stirred the bubbles out of my ginger ale since I was a little girl, yet when I’m far from home and sick it’s all that I want.
I think there is something incredibly discomforting about feeling so out of control of your body in a foreign place. Not only are you in physical pain and discomfort, but you also have to navigate getting medicine in a different language and country, finding food in a place that is foreign, and being able to be well enough to get yourself out of bed to take care of yourself.
The fear of getting sick is something that stops a lot of people from traveling, and I will be the first to acknowledge that being sick in a foreign place really sucks. There is nothing that will make you feel more homesick than a dose of food poisoning. But, I think these are the moments where we can learn a lot about ourselves. Being sick abroad and being forced to fend for myself has taught me that the well is deep and that I am always stronger than I believe I am. It has also taught me to trust in the kindness of strangers and the people around me and to always ask for what I need. And, it has taught me that despite how old I am, it will always make me crave home at least a little bit.