Where were you when you had the worst hangover of your life?
The problem with all the fun I am having is that it takes its toll. My eyes hurt. My face hurts. My ribs inexplicably hurt. My lungs are sooty with nicotine and my brain is pickled in a puddle of Champagne.
None of this low level pain compares to the time I got hammered in Cuzco, Peru. It was the day we went to Macchu Pichu and I was on high from the wonder of it all. Our group went to some divey bar called Mama Africas where people sold cocaine in the toilets. There was a band on stage encouraging everyone to engage in South American line dancing and the bartenders free poured vodka into your mouth when you bought a drink.
Oh what a night.
I don’t remember getting home.
What I do remember is the synapse crushing agony I woke up to. It turns out that drinking at high altitudes can really mess you up.
I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t move. I prayed for a merciful death.
The second most horrendous hangover I have suffered was at the hands of a booze cruise in Zambia. Rule No 1: If you are planning to do something uncharacteristically active like white water rafting down the Zambesi River at the crack of dawn, DO NOT GET LEGLESS THE NIGHT BEFORE. Seems like an obvious rule but when you’re on a boat at sunset, spotting hippos and making friends with cute Italian boys, these things slip your mind.
Climbing out of the gorge the next day was the single most harrowing exercise experience of my life (and I am not a fan of exercise at the best of times).
So tell me, friends, when have you gotten drunk and regretted it overseas? Where were you and what did you drink?