The worst hangover of my life

As promised this hangover deserves its very own blog post, so here it is.

We’re in Cambodia. It’s filthy hot. I’m thirsty. We’re doing more NATing (not another temple). Although, I have to admit this one is cool, particularly at sunset when the hundreds of fruit bats wake up and the cicaters suddenly erupt into deafening song.

We finally arrive at the Temple Bar on Siam Reap’s Pub Street for dinner. Being money conscious it’s here I discover there’s a real business case for ordering a pitcher of vodka orange. It also comes with a free T-shirt (you can never have too many t-shirts in this heat).

The pitcher goes down a treat. Myself and the two English guys on my tour then decide it would be a great idea to get a Dr Fish massage.

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It costs US $1, beer included. This photo is the beginning of the end for me.

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The end being sharing a piña colada bucket and having two shots (which I was told was vodka), turning out to be absinthe.

I then somehow manage to loose the boys which I’m quietly relieved about.

You see one of them is sweetest (if not slightly pigeon-toed) English guy I’ve ever meet (note to self: never ask a pigeon-toed boy to rollerblade unless you want to feel like a terrible human being), but the other one (who just joined the tour) decides to critically analyse everyone on our tour group. He’s playing with fire when he starts having a go at the Canadian girl I’ve been sharing a room for for the past three weeks. To make it worse just today mid incredibly long bus trip he asks her, “what are your views on international adoption.” Clearly his code for: I think time’s running out for you, would you ever consider adopting a Cambodian orphan? If it was me I would have slapped him.

I digress.

I loose them around the same time I spot a guy across the bar wearing New Zealand rugby league Warriors shorts. I don’t know what comes over me but I start pointing at him and yelling, “you’re a kiwi.” I’m euphoric. This is the first travelling kiwi I’ve seen in a month. After all, there’s only 4.5 million of us, we have to stick together.

Amazingly I manage to get back to the hotel, thanks to the hotel card in my money belt. I fear better than the English guys who share a motorbike ride home. When they go to get off one of them puts his calf on the exhaust pipe. Now not only is this chap nursing third degree sunburn on his arms, but a perfectly round exhaust burn on his calf (that will teach him for ripping into everyone on our tour)!

The next morning I feel ok. Two words for you : delayed hangover.

It’s another full day of NATing. It’s about 40 degrees. I’m so hungover I can’t bear the thought of drinking water. My sweat is sweating. Even our Cambodian tour guide is literally throtting at the mouth in this heat (and to think this is Cambodia’s cool season). I sit down at every opportunity. I take only two photos, strangely both of trees growing out of temple ruins.

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I feel faint. I make it till lunchtime, then tuk tuk back.

I sleep for the rest of the day. When I awake I order a plate of fries, later followed by a pizza and can of coke.

I’m human again.

I tell myself the old familiar chestnut: Never. Drinking. Again.

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