Dozy Writes

Over the last couple of years I have travelled extensively around the UK as well as spending some time in France, Spain, Australia, Malaysia and Bali. 

I wish I could say it’s because I love travelling but the truth is that although I enjoy visiting new places, I find the act of getting there really challenging on account of suffering from fairly serious motion sickness all of my life.

My earliest memories are mostly of me experiencing motion sickness. It was so frequent that we even had removable sheepskin covers in the back of our car to allow for them to be washed after I’d thrown up. Sadly, that particular practice came as a result of damage to our previous car.

A couple of years ago, I was interviewing my dad so I could write his biography. We were chatting about the different cars that he’d owned over the years and I asked him which one had been his favourite. He looked at me wryly and I knew the answer before he said it. 

The Triumph Dolomite. 

I was a small child when he had the Triumph Dolomite and we used to make the journey up to the north west coast of Scotland to visit my mam’s family on a fairly regular basis. Now, I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the type of roads you get in the Scottish Highlands but they’re pretty winding and in the late 1970s and early 1980s the standard of them was worse than what you see today. 

I was violently ill whenever we made that journey and as a result, Dad’s car was ruined. Any time we’ve ever talked about the Triumph Dolomite, I can see him disappear back in time as the memories of his beloved car come to mind.

‘I loved that car,’ he always states before shaking his head sadly.

The level of motion sickness reduced a little as I grew up but it was still present on long journeys and there were many occasions where I ended up having to sit in the front seat to try to reduce the feeling of nausea.

Country roads and alcohol

It became particularly challenging when I started going on nights out. We lived out in the country so I always had to get a lift or a taxi home – country roads and alcohol are not a good mix.

When my brother was learning to drive, he drove into town with my dad to collect me from a night out. We were driving along Culloden Moor when I started yawning. Dad turned to look at me suspiciously and I gave him a wee smile. Yawning is often the first sign of motion sickness for me and I started to realise that maybe I wasn’t feeling too good. I was drunk though so it didn’t occur to me to say anything. I wound down the window a little to let in some fresh air and that was the cue for my dad.

‘Stop the car, your sister’s going to be sick!’

My brother looked confused and Dad repeated the command then instructed me to get out of the car whereupon I vomited at the side of the road. I was quite impressed that Dad had learned the small clues that lead up to me being sick until I realised that his knowledge had been forged from bitter experience.

In my mid twenties, I had a resurgence of serious motion sickness which affected me to the point that I couldn’t even last the entire 20-minute bus journey from my house into my work. I spent a lot of time walking during that period.

These experiences didn’t bode well for a future in travelling. 

A sailor boyfriend

Never one to make things easy for myself, I decided to compound this debilitating scenario by falling in love with a man who lived on a boat and liked to sail away on it for a holiday every summer. That man was my partner, A.P.

In the early days of our relationship whenever I spent time on his boat I often felt sick whenever another boat went past us despite the fact that we were on a stretch of canal that was flat calm.

A year into our relationship, he asked me to go on a holiday on the boat with him, sailing around the west coast of Scotland. I wasn’t sure about it. I really wanted to spend time with him and his daughter but I wasn’t sure if I’d manage the trip. 

After some consideration, I decided to give it a try. I managed to block out the sound of my father’s hysterical laughter when I told him my plans. Seriously, he was unable to speak because he was laughing so hard. To him, knowing my history of motion sickness, it seemed like the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. 

I didn’t have much experience with boats. I’d had a handful of ferry trips over the years that had resulted in me feeling ill and a couple of family holidays where we hired a boat on the Norfolk Broads, the notoriously calm network of rivers in East Anglia. Despite their calmness, I had managed to feel sick a couple of times.

I’d had a little day trip with A.P on his boat a few months prior to our holiday. Although I’d experienced motion sickness whilst we were out, it was a short trip so I managed to survive it without incident.

I wasn’t confident that this holiday was going to be a success.

It started with a winding road…

It didn’t start particularly well. I had arranged to meet A.P and his daughter in Oban, a town on the west coast of Scotland. They had already been over to Northern Ireland in the boat and were returning to Scotland. Normally the journey to Oban would take around two and a half hours but I was travelling on a Sunday which meant that the normal bus service didn’t run. My alternative trip involved three different buses, one of which went through the Great Glen. 

If you’ve ever been to the Great Glen you will know it is a spectacular scenic route. Unfortunately, scenic routes in Scotland tend to be mountainous meaning there are a lot of winding roads. I avoided admiring the dramatic scenery, opting instead to keep my gaze fixed on the front window. I clung onto a packet of Rich tea biscuits, my trusted snack for settling my stomach, as if they were the only thing stopping me from falling into the abyss.

Five and a half torturous hours later I stepped off the third bus and final bus of my trip, feeling quite faint. A.P and his daughter were waiting for me and excited about our onward journey. 

With hindsight, I should have suggested that we stop for a cup of tea on dry land so I could enjoy the sensation of not moving for a while. Instead, I heard myself agreeing to immediately board a small ferry to the small island of Kerrera where we then transferred into A.P’s dinghy and rowed out to his boat which was anchored in the bay. 

As I climbed the ladder on the back of the boat, I felt the wind whipping at my clothes and tried to avoid looking down at the six foot foot drop below. Not for the first time that day, I found myself questioning my ability to make rational decisions.

Setting sail for Tobermory

Once onboard, we had a late lunch and then it was time to sail to Tobermory on the Isle of Mull. We had to get there quickly as the current wind level of Gale Force Nine was expected to increase in intensity in a few hours. I didn’t feel too great but I managed to avoid throwing up by spending a lot of time out on deck.

When we finally arrived in Tobermory, we dropped anchor and I was dismayed to realise that there was a particularly unpleasant movement to the boat that I hadn’t experienced at anchor before. When at anchor, a boat tends to back and fore in a circular motion, however, this was no gentle swing – the incoming tide was generating a movement that was akin to being on one of the most aggressive theme park rides you could imagine. We were spinning around and bobbing up and down. I began to feel very unwell.

A.P and his daughter started to talk about sandwich fillings and that was the last straw for me. I ran outside and threw up the contents of my lunch. 

This was only the first day. I had another seven to go.

I seriously considered finding a Bed and Breakfast to stay in but I started to feel a little better after we went onto dry land for some dinner. Later on, when we went to bed, I couldn’t imagine that I would be able to sleep but the rocking motion soon soothed me and I had one of the best night’s sleep that I’ve ever had.

The following day we sailed across the Sound of Mull to Loch Aline, a sheltered sea loch where there were pontoons. I felt much better moored up than I had at anchor but it was clear that we weren’t going to manage to do much sailing around the coast. Fortunately, A.P and his daughter are wonderful human beings so they were happy for us to spend more time sailing back up the Caledonian Canal which provided a much less vomit inducing experience for me.

I ended up having a magnificent time and I had clearly forgotten all about the initial effects of that holiday when I agreed to go away on the boat the following year on a trip that would last TWO WHOLE WEEKS. 

Let’s do it again!

During that second holiday, we sailed around the west coast of Scotland and I felt sick many times but I still managed to have fun. The more I was on the boat, the more resistance to seasickness I built up and I realised that some of the movements that would have made me ill previously no longer had such a strong effect.

The only day where I felt truly dreadful was when we were sailing out to Fingal’s Cave on the Isle of Staffa in the Inner Hebrides. Legend has it that Fingal’s Cave is one side of the bridge that connects with Giant’s Causeway in Northern Ireland. It is an incredible structure and I was excited to have the opportunity to see it up close.

Unfortunately, we had a following sea which I would love to explain to you but I haven’t found a definition that makes any sense to me. Whatever it is, the simple fact is that I don’t do well with the movement of a following sea. We spent a few hours sailing out to Fingal’s Cave and I felt so rotten that by the time we arrived I thought, Oh that’s nice but I wonder how long it will take for us to get back… I appreciated looking at my photos later on though.

An adventure on dry land

I’m going to digress from travel sickness for a moment to tell you about a particularly memorable day trip on Islay that involved Gale Force Eight winds. We were moored there for a few days, partly for a rest and partly because there was some stormy weather coming in.

It was A.P’s daughter’s birthday so we decided to have a day out to celebrate. Her boyfriend at the time was also on the trip and they decided it would be great fun if we could hire some bikes and cycle around the island. It was my idea of hell but I went along with it because their excitement was adorable. We planned to go along a route that took in many spectacles including a seven mile beach and a sea stack named Soldier’s Rock as well as a host of other things. I started to get a little bit excited myself. 

The excitement drained from me when we saw the bikes. I was given a mountain bike which had received so little maintenance that it required two hands to change gear. The road was undulating and I loathe cycling on hills of any kind so I wasn’t overly amused but it was manageable. Soon after, we arrived at the seven mile long beach and it was magnificent, definitely worth the pain of cycling on a hopeless bike.

Where did the path go?

After stopping for a while, we cycled off round the headland to find the sea stack. The road very quickly deteriorated, turning into rough stones on boggy ground. After a couple of minutes of cycling along the ‘path’ that was rattling my body so hard I thought it would knock out my teeth, I got off the bike and threw it to the ground in disgust. A.P looked at me quizzically so I announced that the path was not suitable for cycling and I would be walking from now on. He just smiled gently, dismounted from his own bike and left it beside mine.

We walked on for a while until even the path started to peter out. We were left walking on boggy land with only the odd piece of turf suitable for standing on. It wasn’t long before my foot slipped and I was knee deep in oily bog. I did what any normal person would do and threw a minor tantrum. The ability to stamp my feet was somewhat impeded by the danger of falling into the bog. A.P started laughing, telling me how cute I was, a sentiment that I didn’t entirely appreciate.

The teenagers had wandered ahead so we carried on walking through the ridiculous terrain until we came to a bay. Unfortunately, it was down what seemed like an almost vertical hill but I managed to make my way down there without further incident.

The teenagers were very excited because they’d seen a dead sheep but that wasn’t one of the wonders of Islay that I had a desire to see. I headed straight for the water. I love the sea and take whatever opportunity I can to get into the water. I was wearing shorts and a vest so I waded into the water and balanced on a rock, trying to clean the oily film from the bog off my leg.

The waves were hitting the shore with quite a force so when I stood up, the water pulled me down and I landed backwards into the water. Fortunately, it was a reasonably temperate day so I was actually quite refreshed by my unexpected dip in the sea. I was laughing, finding it quite amusing. I’m not sure if it was the movement of my body as I was laughing but the next thing I knew I had fallen face first into the sea. 

Seriously! Someone was having a laugh and it was no longer me!

Soon after, we decided to head back up to the cliff top so we scrambled our way back up the ridiculously steep hill. At the top, there appeared to be the beginnings of a discussion about continuing to walk round the headland so I quickly interjected, announcing that they were welcome to do whatever they wanted but that I would be returning back from whence we came. I then turned around and started marching back. A.P followed and the teenagers zigzagged around for a while before they decided to follow us. 

The return walk seemed to take forever. The effort of carefully placing my feet so I wouldn’t fall into the bog was exhausting and I was glad when I could see the abandoned bikes in the distance. 

I spy an abandoned fender

Just as we were about to grab our bikes we saw some abandoned fenders washed up on a small beach. For those of you unfamiliar with these objects, they are cushion type structures, usually inflatable, which hang over the sides of boats to protect  them from damage caused by rubbing against a dock. A.P needed some new fenders so it seemed too good an opportunity to miss. The teenagers had headed off by this point so I only have myself to blame for offering to take one of them on the front of my bike. I cycled the return journey with what was basically a space hopper banging off the front of the bike in a headfirst Gale Force Eight wind. I’ve had better cycling trips.

When we returned our bikes to the cycle hire shop, I nipped to the loo whilst A.P chatted to the lady that owned the place. When I came out, he gave me a wicked smile and said, ‘I was just telling the lady how much you’ve enjoyed yourself today.’ 

My overwhelming need to be polite cancelled out my other emotions and I agreed that yes, it had been a fantastic day whilst secretly wondering how I could plot my revenge on him.

When we got back to the boat, A.P announced that he was leaving the water hooked up so I could have a shower for as long as I wanted rather than carefully rationing it as was the norm on the boat. By the time I got out of the shower, he was standing with the teenagers , each of them bearing a small bag of Maltesers to help me get over the trauma of the day. All thoughts of revenge were forgotten as I got stuck into my Maltesers stash.

A year later, I volunteered to help A.P sail his new boat up the North Sea from Hartlepool to Inverness. At the time, I didn’t realise that the North Sea is notoriously rough. Even if I’d known that, it still wouldn’t have stopped me. 

I was blinded by love. Plus I’d developed a bit of a taste for an adventure.

–ooo–

Look out for the follow up to this story which will be published next week.