Being sick on the road in the summertime is the ultimate punishment. I’ve been fighting off a lingering cold since Rome a few weeks ago and for some reason it’s getting worse. I distinctly remember when I checked into my hostel in the center of Rome and learned that two of my roommates were fighting something… I’d be doomed.

This reminds me of last year during the tail end of my August ventures around western Europe. I remember finding myself sick, teary-eyed, curled up in my hostel bed in Madrid with two weeks left of travel. I am in the same position now. Last summer I found respite when I landed in Paris and my travel partner had arranged an apartment for us and he carried me off to a resting place for a few days. Imagine.. landing in Paris and wanting nothing more than a bed, rest, and some television. London provides me the same situation now.

This time I am at the whim of my own decisions. Do I walk around the city in the heat during mid-afternoon, constantly clutching a water bottle and hoping a fountain is around the next corner? Do I grab a beer or two with some strangers, chatting and enjoying conversation while silently dying? Or, lay in a hostel bed for hours, hoping no one comes in and disturbs the peace?

Health is all we have, folks.