foreign travel

It’s our last morning at the cottage and I’m enjoying my last bowl of Wheatabix for a while.   I probably shouldn’t be having dairy so soon after the incident, but all I’ve had in 36 hours has been a quarter of an apple and three measly crackers so I’m starving. Roll the bones McClain.

I woke up sometime before dawn and after lying in bed for two hours, I finally decided to get up. The sky is the clearest it’s been all week and I can see sun painting the eastern side of the farmhouse a few fields over. Continue reading

Last night I almost died. I had (once again) eaten something sketchy, because it was happening. My third go at full-out food poisoning in Europe was underway in our charming cottage.

My first two bouts were in Sicily: one was after a seafood pizza (evidently I was asking for trouble when I ordered a pizza topped with a menagerie of crustaceans), and the other was when I had returned home after being on the mainland for a week. During the time away, my apartment had lost power (again), so the leftover Thanksgiving turkey had thawed out to marinate in its own bacteria before refreezing. Since it was frozen when I returned, I had no idea I was about to partake in some Plymouth Rock Poison. Continue reading