Does being sick in paradise make it better?

Lauterbrunnen

Every time I breathe I cough so much that my stomach muscles ache and my head hurts

It is a perfect 28 degrees outside in the picturesque Swiss Alps, the sun is shining, church and cow bells are ringing, children are laughing by the crystal clear stream (I am not joking, this place is out of a fairytale) and I am in the black hole (ie cabin 91), in bed, with 2 blankets on

Walking to Lauterbrunnen

I was supposed to be paragliding (yes mum, ME, paragliding) but instead I am trying to convince myself that I really do want to eat a piece of bread so I stop feeling sick from hunger, even though the thought of food makes me feel sick

I am beyond caring that if I leave my cabin to find the campsite bathrooms, 20 passengers and probably my boss, will see me still in yesterday’s clothes, with crazy hair (or my colleague likes to call it, Party Lynda hair) and mascara all down my face from the coughing that makes my eyes water – luckily the antibiotics that I smuggled out of Australia with me calm that down enough for me to breathe again

Cows with bells everywhere

I sleep right through the yodelling, alphorn, handclapping and general festivities of Swiss Folklore Night that are going on 15 metres from my cabin but somehow hear my alarm and make it out of bed for work, aching all over from 34 hours of laying in the same position

Are you sure you are ok to work my boss asks. I stupidly say yes (as I am sure the only other possible guide to take over enjoyed Swiss Folklore Night to his full ability knowing he had 2 days off to recover, and would not appreciate an “oops you are now guiding today!” wake up call with 15 minutes notice….), then wish I hadn’t when it turns out the microphone on my coach is not working. Unfortunately for the passengers, my throat feels like it is embedded with shattered glass and sounds like nails on a chalkboard. They get the briefest of the essential safety spiel and for the first time ever – no city spiel coming into Lucerne. What do we do here they ask – I give them a city map and point to the “highlights” written on the side

 

Neuschwanstein

Luckily a spare microphone is found and after sending them to find their own way up to Neuschwanstein castle (always a risk, im sure they could quite possibly somehow end up in Austria or even Lichtenstein rather than back at the coachpark meeting point) I discover that no, German supermarkets do not sell panadol/ibuprofen/codeine/anykindoffu**ingpainkiller in their supermarkets, so I have to wait until our 7.30pm arrival in Munich to find a pharmacy and the magic drugs to put out the fire in my throat and the pounding in my head.

Being sick in paradise does NOT make it better