Four weeks after her departure we have an email from Lori with a link to a blog she’s started, where she’s posted some photos. Pictures of her, Jake, Amy and a couple of others, at the beach, having a meal in a beachside restaurant. She looks happy, laughing at the table, grinning on the sand, her skin already darker from the sun. The new friends are Australians, Suze and Dawn. Several more photos show off the landscape.
‘Still got her camera, then,’ Nick says. He thought she shouldn’t take it with her. We’d splashed out and bought it when she started at Glasgow. He worried it’d get stolen.
‘Don’t stress,’ Lori said. ‘I’ll be careful.’
That’s a first, I thought, but I didn’t join in.
Nick raised his eyebrows.
‘I’ll be insured,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I’ve had it for three years and I’ve not lost it yet.’
She has a wonderful eye for colour and composition. The sweeping beaches and vivid seascapes she’s posted might have come from a glossy brochure. Just looking gives me itchy feet. ‘We ought to book somewhere for next summer,’ I say to Nick. ‘What about those French campsites with all mod cons? Are they expensive?’ With my job we always have to take holidays when school’s closed and the prices are at their highest.
‘Find out,’ he says.
‘Finn and Isaac would love it.’
We’ve had a succession of wet summer holidays in Wales and the Lakes. The thought of another damp fortnight trying to entertain the kids, traipsing around petting zoos, going to unfamiliar swimming pools or sitting in family rooms in pubs with steamed-up windows and the stink of chips makes my heart sink. The prospect of fine weather day after day, the kids roaming free and making friends, four of us swimming in the sea, and watching the stars with no need for jumpers or waterproofs has the opposite effect.
‘Either that,’ I say, ‘or a cheap and cheerful package somewhere like the Algarve or Menorca.’
‘Be hotter there,’ he warns.
‘I’ll wear my hat.’
I reread Lori’s blog, which makes me laugh, and then we look up the places she’s photographed on Wikipedia, Chon Buri and Ko Samet. It looks like she’s having the time of her life.
Lori in the Ori-ent
Rule Number One: Don’t drink the water
Posted on 28 November 2013 by Lori
Everyone says this. It’s up there in travel advice for all Westerners entering Vietnam. But the water has a way of sneaking up on you. That apple you eat, the tomato, the pak choi – they need washing first. But NOT in the water.
And what about the bean sprouts? They grow in the water, they are full of the stuff. So avoid all water-based veg. In fact, ditch salads altogether.
Make sure everything you eat is cooked until it is unrecognizable. Not hard here. Below I’ve posted a selection of dishes we’ve had over the last week or so. Can you identify anything? (Rice doesn’t count.)
Another thing to remember is that water can be disguised – as ice. So sling the cubes. And don’t suck up steam either if the opportunity presents itself. The heat might make the vapour sterile, but a scalded face is so not a good look.
Don’t use water to brush your teeth. Duh, right? You need to use bottled water for that too. This was my downfall. The habit of turning on the tap is so deeply ingrained that after making this mistake, following a suitable period of illness and recuperation, I found the safest thing to do is brush my teeth far from any sinks. It can get messy but not half so messy as the results of breaking the rule. I won’t dwell too much on that except to say it was like a cross between the movies The Lost Weekend and Cabin Fever interspersed with outtakes from the UK show Embarrassing Bodies (does what it says on the tin), that I lost eight pounds, four days of my life and that I LEARNED MY LESSON. Lxxx
PS Some people will tell you the water is fine. They lie.
PPS Mum, don’t worry, I’m fine. Just a lot thinner than you remember. #Notdeadyet.