Leaning back into my backpack I close my eyes to stop the world from spinning. I am not moving but it feels as if everything around me is jetting about at a sickly speed. Weaving my arms through the straps of my camera bag and handbag I hang on tightly and open my eyes a fraction so I am peering through the slits, watching to see if there are any shady characters lurking around. I am going to collapse, I can feel it and this is the time I hate travelling alone. If I faint, which I fear I will, all of my valuables will be gone in a second.
Over the loud speaker I can vaguely make out the sounding of the last call to Valencia. I stand up but just as quickly I am down again, my knees buckling beneath me. My bag softens the blow and I quickly get back to my feet avoiding eye contact with those around me. The bus driver runs to my aid but I break free from his touch and walk towards the taxi rank.
I can’t do it. I want to, oh how I want to, but I just can’t. I was supposed to be on that bus to Valencia to go and work for the Fanatics at La Tomatina. There has been some hesitation over the last few days as to whether I should continue to jeopardise my health for another week of partying, or if I should be responsible and rest up for Africa. I had come to the decision that my body could hold out for one more week and then I would rest, but this little episode is a sure sign I can’t handle anymore. I have only been away a month but excessive drinking and lack of sleep have taken their toll and have left me sick beyond belief.
Standing in line, I am incredibly unsteady on my feet as I pull out my phone and begin to text mum. ‘I actually just collapsed at the bus stop getting on. I’m really sick mum, please come get me.’ I press the send button and wait for a reply. As I’m throwing my bags into the boot I receive a response. ‘We’ll be there tonight. Book us into a hotel xxx’ Thank god my parents are holidaying in France!
Through short breath I whimper ‘Plaça Reial, La Rambla,’ and fall into the taxi. Arriving back at the hostel, I climb the stairs and am met by confused eyes at reception. ‘You are back Rebekka! That was a short trip to Valencia,’ he laughs before noticing my sallow appearance and tears. He rushes from behind the desk helping me to a seat. I ask for a room but he explains that the hostel is fully booked.
I must have had devastation written across my face because he leaves me momentarily to go into reception. Returning shortly thereafter, he explains that he’s done some shuffling and will put me up on a mattress on the floor for the night. Coming back from behind the desk he takes my hand and leads me to my room giving me a big hug and telling me to rest up. Flopping down on the mattress I thank my lucky stars for this kindness and count down the hours until mum and dad arrive.
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