When a student in Luxembourg, my then-boyfriend and I traveled everywhere we could. It was tough to get to the British Isles over a weekend, as trains and boats would have consumed the entire visit. Just before Valentine's Day we got wind of a long weekend Valentine's deal via Luxair that would fit in our budgets and our schedules. When we got on the puddle jumper, more than half the seats were taken by fellow students on the same promo. I was in hot pursuit of nachos.
By this point I'd been in Europe with only a quick trip home since the prior June, and was really craving Mexican food: cheddar, hot spices, nacho chips, the works. It was the only type of home food that wasn't available anywhere on the continent. Knowing we were heading to London, I knew that the Hard Rock Cafe would have nachos, so it was first on the list once we left Heathrow.
We found a cheap place to stay in a 5th floor walk up hotel and headed straight to the Hard Rock. I ordered nachos and anticipated them with relish, but once they arrived, I couldn't make myself put a dent in it. My boyfriend insisted on seeing buckingham palace at night after dinner. I couldn't keep up with him.
While walking a sudden need for liquid hit me. I raced into a 7-11 and grabbed a litre of apricot nectar and downed it all on the spot. I don't remember anything much after that. Somehow my boyfriend got me back to the hotel where I was so delirious with fever that he said I actually spoke in tongues! He covered me with all the bedding from my bed and his bed, plus all of the clothes in my pack and in his. The next morning, I came to for a few minutes. He was releived and used the opportunity to ask me if it was ok for him to go sight seeing, since I was better. I said yes, and spent the rest of day two in the room, shivering and sweating off the fever. I never really forgave him for abandoning me!
When he came back from seeing cool stuff we called mom and dad to find out if I was covered go to a doctor in London. The only part of the conversation my parents actually heard was that we had a hotel room together, and didn't answer our questions about medical attention. My boyfriend was certain that my dad started polishing the proverbial shotgun that day. I could barely walk, but was strong enough to catch a cab to picadilly, where we caught a movie and ate some horrible beans in water that was being passed as soup.
I finally had the strength to walk a bit about 6 hours before our flight home. We packed up our stuff and went to see St. Pauls then straight back to Heathrow. We cut it too close and the Heathrow guards had guns and no sense of urgency. Weak, sick, and tired, I could barely carry my pack, let alone run with it. My boyfriend found the strength to grab my pack and run with both. The gangway was closed and we thought we were lost in London, but Luxair came through and let us on, holding the door until I could make my way to the gate.
I think a return trip to London is required.
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