Drunk Times in Finland, part 3

Adventures in Finland, part 3: Vomiting across Europe

So, you know, I usually have a very strong stomach. I’ve been known to eat combinations of food that would horrify even the most finicky pregnant woman. I purposely bring to parties foods that no one else will eat, just so that I will have it all to myself. Well, sometimes. So, here I was, on this flight from London to Finland. It was the last leg of my journey before arriving in Helsinki. I’d just spent a 12 hour flight from the US to London smashed against the window by a 400 pound man who drooled and was pleased to find this Swedish airlines flight both clean and full of petite, well mannered people. So as soon as I sat down, the woman beside me offered me a cheese sandwich. What? Okay, well thanks, I said. How kind! How kind indeed---except that being vegan has rendered me entirely lactose intolerant. But what was I to do? I could tell by the look on the woman’s face that it would devastate her universe if I refused her sandwich, so I rapidly ate the sandwich. I mean…well, processed cheese isn’t real, right? Ahem...

So about ten minutes later, that poor woman was flat on her ass in that airplane aisle, with me climbing over and hitting people, fighting my way to the bathroom, and then barfing so explosively that even the pilot thought we were under terrorist attack. Lordy!

Okay, so now, flash forward by 2 days. Irene and I were on the obligatory “Booze Cruise” to Tallinn, Estonia. The day went well, there were, you know, all kinds of old castles and other crumbling things, and on the way back there was a buffet. I love me some good buffets, especially the kind with shrimp. Because did I tell you? Shrimp is vegan in georges-land. Anyway, so I’d had a great meal and was digesting it nicely when I just HAD to try the licorice syrup for the ice cream. I mean, you would too if you saw something so bizarre. But since it’s weird to just get a bowl of syrup, I got the tiniest amount of ice cream for the syrup to sit on and then proceeded to eat this tiny bit…and of course immediately ran into the bathroom for a toilet session. It was all okay until I realized that the toilet would not flush. And, a line was forming. Now, in Finland, the stall walls go from the floor to the ceiling, so no one can see who is inside. It’s very cozy that way. And so I was frantically trying to pull apart plumbing and figure out some way to get rid of the embarrassing mess of paper towels and licorice barf while a gypsy man screamed at me and pounded on the door. Then I noticed that it was one of those “sensor” toilets and all I had to do was move to the right a little and the toilet would flush. Oh my, well, my bad!

Now, let’s move into the next week. Irene and I decided to return to Tallinn. But, her dad had funded our first trip and we had to be a bit more frugal in our own vacation planning, so we chose a “Linda Lines” pre-soviet era renovated battleship to get us over. And of course, the boat was rusted, and of course the waves were choppy, and of course it was the captain’s first voyage, and of course I monopolized the bathroom for the three hour trip. I mean, I could not even stand! I’d mistakenly eaten a “shrimp” salad (Estonian word for “rancid crap we’ve had for seven months") and drank some kind of Eastern European cat piss passing itself off as beer (Irene told me later that the crew members were so fascinated that someone had actually left an unfinished can of beer that they framed it in a novelty museum). So, of course, these Russian women showed up, banging on that damn door, screeching for me to move it, and with my reserve strength, I swung open the door, trash can in hand, and vomit down my shirt, and screeched “WHATTT???” and slammed the door shut. It wasn’t as gratifying as I’d hoped for, but what can you do with plastic walls and doors. Anyway, so that’s enough about my vomiting stories.