Invariably while travelling… there’s one thing that unanimously happens everywhere in the world when a group of people are together and one of them leaves. Drinking occurs.
Now, I’m supposed to be a little biased, as an Australian, I have a reputation to uphold as a good drinker, sometimes to excess, but I’m pretty sure everyone does it.
Anyway, I digress, The point is, travellers like to drink! It’s done for many, many reasons.
Firstly, drinking is a great way to get to know other people. You immediately become more approachable and indeed, feel more comfortable to approach others. Chances are you’re going to communicate more with less guard than you usually would which may (or sadly may not) make you more friends and travel companions. Ultimately, drinking is used as a social lubricant.
Secondly, drinking is a great way to connect with the locals and their culture. I guarantee that you’re better off jumping on the trans-Siberian express and sharing the local vodka than not. You’ll instantly be able to share in the journey with the locals. Look a little further afield and the drink itself may be a precious commodity – snake blood in Chinese culture is considered very prized.
Thirdly, we drink to celebrate. Welcome! Farewell! Happy Birthday! Happy Wedding! Oh Look, It’s Wednesday!! Whatever the reason – it’s usually accompanied by a beer or two.
So jumping forward, it’s time for my own tale of woe.
I had the pleasure of going to far north Queensland a few weeks ago to refresh my paramedic training and after two weeks of studying and studying and stressing and stressing, we all went for dinner at the end of the last day of exams. Drinks come with dinner then drinks come with drinks then shots come with drinks and shots come with shots and then more drinks…. you can see my problem.
I’ll spare you the nitty gritty details and let’s skip forward 16 hours…
I’m standing curled over in the bathroom of Cairns airport when I hear this crackly, thin voice come over the PA… “Flight QF411 to Melbourne is now boarding through gate 12″….
..ugh….. I want to die – flying hungover is not a good experience.
Why do we do this to ourselves? We know we’re leaving, so why get drunk the night before and have to fly anywhere hungover? It’s like a medievil torture scenario…
Such Incurable pain, with no possible respite at 30,000ft.
… just one more round?