Day 125: Heaving magic mushroom vomit as monks arrive
Monks play on bikes after having walked past a vomiting tourist, me, while collecting alms in the morning. Photo: Isaac Stone Simonelli
I AM again pulled out of my stupor. Or should is it sleep? Or something in between? Pink's face comes into focus. There's a wet, cool towel being brushed across my face. It's not necessary, but it's nice.
There is the creaking, crunching sound of the store-front shutter being raised. It's probably the forth time it's happened. It's hard to tell for sure whether or not it's being raised to wake us up and get us out, or it's just someone coming in.
In general, the staff have been so kind by helping Pink out when she was freaking out last night and so kind by letting us sleep this morning.
I don't feel sick any more. In fact the only time I've felt sick was in an early attempt to move from our magical pizza table.
Sitting there next to the cushions at the platform style table and seating arrangement, I'm urged to stand up.
“Can't,” I say waving Pink off. I'm not ready, not yet. “Throwing up. Bathroom.”
Standing, which is a struggle, I find that the table that was up on our platform has been put down to give us more laying room. Now it's in the way; it's between me and the bathroom. Perhaps with a clear head I could make it. At least stumble in the right direction, but not in this state.
I'm teetering between going toward the front and puking just over the front ledge of Milano's or making an attempt to get to the bathroom. Somewhere out front, there is the chanting of novice monks collecting alms in the early morning.
Hurling myself down and toward the front of the restaurant, I crawl next to a table, aware that I don't have much longer.
Here's contrast, I think as a pile of chunky green vomit spills out of mouth, painting a corner of the restaurant floor and splashing out front.
Happy Menu doesn't seem like such a happy idea the next morning. Photos: Isaac Stone Simonelli
Grateful for the low picket fence between me and the young monks, I crouch in child pose, waiting for the next heave to clear my stomach.
And so does a third one.
Out of the corner of my eye there is the flash of orange robes just outside.
Pink hands me a water.
Still not ready to move, I return to sleeping at the table.
Passively, nearly bemused, I wander if this will last forever. This heaviness in my head, this disengagement from my body and blurring of the senses. That would be a bit of a personal tragedy if it failed to clear up. But if that's the way it's going, that's the way it's going. No need to panic about it. It will do whatever it's going to do.
“Okay to move?” Pink asks again.
We try again. I sit up. I can sit up. That feels better. Not great, but I can handle this. I shuffle into my shoes, use the bathroom and return to a cup of hot tea. Timidly, I sit there, everyone watches as I sip the tea.
Someone has arrived in a shiny white pickup truck. I'm helped into the front seat. I could have walked back to the hotel at this point, but I'm not turning down a free ride. Pink climbs into the back.
The truck starts rumbling down a side street that I don't recognize. The street lets us out right in front of our Domon Guesthouse.
We climb the stairs to our room. Pink lays me down, wiping my face with a wet towel again.
I fall asleep.
I sleep. I sleep a lot. Only briefly waking up here and there, rarely for more than a couple minutes.
Eyes still a bit heavy, I crawl out of bed for dinner. We order Thai food, sitting at one of the three nearly identical restaurants next to our hotel. Like Banana Restaurant next door, this place also has cushions laid out around low tables and the televisions playing the television series Friends non-stop. The shows been playing at the restaurants since we arrived in Vang Vieng.
Curled up next to our food, we watch Friends episode 16, season eight, where Joey tells Rachel that he loves her.
Back in the room. I clear the drone off my bed, and crawl beneath the covers.