Suzanne Harrington: This is what travel is like when you're menopausal and middle-aged
Irish Examiner, Weekend:
The space adventures of Bezos, Branson and Musk pale in comparison with the excitement of a post-pandemic Ryanair – not unlike being in hospital, the way they wake you up every twenty minutes screaming about scratch cards, paninis, perfume – winging you towards an obscure Italian town opposite Albania that specialises in so many artisanal bread-based snacks you’ll have gluten poisoning by Tuesday. The first foreign holiday – okay, mini-break - since the plague. Blue of sky and sea. Oh boy.
But holiday prep is different now. I’d love to blame the pandemic and all the monetised medical hoopage to be jumped through, teeth gritted; all those credit card details to be surrendered and nostril samples uploaded and QR codes downloaded, only to be impatiently waved through by a bored airport lady, but these days the holiday prep isn’t just about the pandemic. It’s about travelling while middle-aged. It’s about doom packing.
You might find yourself staring for a moment at the contents of the clear plastic bag of toiletries at airport security, and wondering as you plonk it in the -ray tray, what happened? Who am I? Because it’s full of medicine. Not so much party drugs as the party’s over drugs.
Antibiotics in case you get a UTI (although not an STI because you’re too old, forget that kind of carry on). Multiple forms of oestrogen, from pills to patches to pessaries, so that you don’t self-immolate, then crumble to barren dust like H Rider Haggard’s She, in the middle of a walking tour of the medieval ruins. Because that’s what you do on holidays now – you take walking tours of the medieval ruins. Voluntarily.
All the pain killers, in case your joints feel stiff after the walking tours. More vitamins than Boots. Analgesics, antidepressants, antacids, eight kinds of moisturiser for all the different areas of shrivelling skin, contact lenses so you see where you’re going, reading glasses so you can read menus you don’t understand, varifocals so your eyeballs can multi-task, headache pills for when it all gets too much.
There’s barely any space left for lipstick, so crammed is your wash bag with just-in-case preventatives. You remember blithely arriving in dengue fever zones without as much as an aspirin, never mind a mozzie net; these days you’re not so much gung-ho as go-home. In bed by ten, even on holiday, because the walking tours have worn you out. Afraid to drink coffee after lunch, because you’ve turned into one of those people who say things like ‘I’ll be awake all night’. Fat chance. The only thing that keeps you awake at night are your menopausal trips to the loo. On the hour.
Still, the thing about travelling while middle-aged and menopausal is that because you’re too knackered to party all night, early mornings are a time of delight. You might be sitting somewhere right now watching the sunrise with a kickass espresso, unhungover and full of joy for the day ahead. You might even be planning your next walking tour.
