There are moments in one´s life that are hard to reconcile.
When I was on my knees puking into a hostel toilet bowl at 1 in the morning, I thought that maybe this would be a night that I could salvage as an excuse to sleep the next day. At three in the morning however, I realized that it was just a bad night.
I wasn´t drinking that evening. I had decided to leave my European friends behind in Pamplona that morning in order to spend some time with my American classmates. We roamed Puente la Reina a bit and then I asked a Spanish man if there was a pharmacy availible on Sunday. After some discussion he kindly led us to the pharmacy and asked the owner to open it up for us. We ate some candy and then we all went to dinner at a cafe that sported a €6 paella sign out front. We went in and for some reason there was no €6 paella so I ordered a greasy-looking pasta with mushrooms. I didn´t drink any wine with the others, because I don´t like the taste, and instead spent dinner scarfing down my pasta. At one point my friend Twan from Holland wandered in and he joined us for a relaxed and friendly meal.
I went to bed tired but ready to face the day tomorrow.
At midnight I awoke with a lump in my stomach. At first I thought I was dreaming but as a burning sensation grew in my chest I sadly realized that I was not. I recalled with bitter irony the conversation that I had just had with Harry before dinner that evening about my fear of throwing up and how I hated it above all physical ailments. Finally I decided that the feeling wouldn´t pass and I hurried to the co-ed restroom of the crowded hostal.
I spend an hour at the toilet dry-heaving and then finally throwing up. It was awful and as I finished I had the suspicion that I had one good one left in me. I couldn´t face it so I went to bed.
At 3 AM I ran to the restroom, no longer sad or worried but full of animal instinct to do what must be done. I grabbed the toilet and puked harder than I´ve ever puked in my entire life. The force of it was such that I lost my grip on the toilet and shot back across the floor continuing the stream from my mouth. I rolled on the dirty floor spewing vomit and gasping. I crawled to the toilet in the next stall over and began to throw up into that one. vomit matted my face and hair and the entire floor of the bathroom was covered in the stuff.
Finally it was over.
I sneezed out the last of the cargo and stood in the middle of the room, gasping in shock from what I had just experienced. At that unfortunate moment the door began to open and a poor old woman stepped into the restroom. I yelled ¨Don´t!¨right as her foot stepped into the massive puddle on the floor. She looked up at me in terror as I flailed my arms yelling in Spanish that I hadn´t had alcohol, it was just bad food. I realized a moment too late that the woman spoke neither Spanish nor English.
The woman walked into a stall shakily. I stood there having no idea what to do; not even a good guess. No hospitaleros were still at the hostal this late, and I was afraid of the woman waking up the whole dormitory and everyone seeing the terrible mess. The woman finally came out of the stall. I said something weakly in English but she just shook her head, pointed to a mop in the corner, and left the room. I conceded defeat and nodded.
I spent the next twenty minutes mopping up my sea of puke. The time was extended a bit since, in my weakened condition, I ended up tipping the full bucket back over again on to the floor by mistake. After my second time mopping up my vomit, I sighed and went back to bed.
I spent almost the entire next 24 hours asleep in a hotel room that my father bought for me. I do not take the privilage of this recovery lightly, generosity from my father and kindness from the lady at the front desk who checked on me in the morning was enough to raise my spirits far beyond where I thought they could be after such a blow. My European friends caught up and made sure I was okay, offering to bring me anything that I needed. We all ended our day together in Estella the next day.
I am now once again healthy and walk happily with Flo, Maria, and Rocio each day. I sincerely hope that I have suffered the worst that El Camino has to offer me because my night of sickness was truly miserable and I hope to never have one like it again. In the end it was indeed redeemed because I got to walk again with my new friends. I have learned my lesson and now stick to their sides and to eating mainly salad.