We were to fly from London to Barcelona very early in the morning, and so as to save money and effort, we spent the night sleeping in Luton airport. I guess I was suppressed at just how many other people were doing this as well, the place was packed out. After a few hours of light sleep we were boarding our plane, one that seemed to be fully booked with groups on stag dos or hen weekends. An hour-of-watching-stag-weekenders-drink-as-much-as-they-could-later and we were landing. We all shuffled (or stumbled) off the plane trying to give our best smiles to the very pretty Spanish flight stewardesses. We lemmings all filed down the plane’s stairs, up the airport stairs, through customs, up and down more stairs, out the door, and up the ramp, onto the bus headed for Barcelona. (As is often the case with budget airlines, they fly to an airport outside the city you are actually headed to. For example this “Barcelona Airport” was actually about a 2 hour bus ride away.

Normally these bus rides are over before you know it, but this one I was beginning to dread. Especially when the main culprits of the stag weekend filed into the bus and sat around David and I. They were visibly a bit ‘gone’ and were passing out more cans of Carling to each-other, speaking loudly and passionately about football teams and players, their wives ‘knockers’, and the good ol’ days when Spain was cheaper for them. The man sitting next to me belched loud and long, filling the air with the rank smell of his barbecue beef Hula Hoops crisps. I began to think this was going to be a long, unpleasant bus ride.

But about half an hour later something happened. Up towards the front of the bus a young man fell out of his seat, into the isle, and threw up a bit. The guy behind me laughed and said: “Mates wasted!”. The others started laughing as well but soon stopped as the young man in the front began to spasm and lose all color in his skin. He was sweating profusely, eyes roving about vacantly.

My first thought was drug overdose. After all he did kinda look like someone off the set of Trainspotting. The guys around me seemed to come to the same conclusion. But then his pretty Spanish girlfriend came to his aid, and one look at her  placid medical like disposition said: “this is no overdose.” The bus driver pulled over wearing a look of sheer horror. The young man, who had stop convulsing now, was helped off the bus. All of us on the right side of the bus watched anxious to see what would happen. And over the next forty-five this is what did:

The bus driver hovered, panicked, made phone calls, and just generally paced about nervously, often taking off his hat and wiping the sweat from his brow. Meanwhile, it was relayed in English that the young man was having a diabetic fit. We were asked to give any and all sugary items we might have. Soda, candy, etc. A woman from the front came by and collected everything in her hat. The donations were bleak. Either we as a bus didn’t have much sugar (which is possible since we did just get off a plane) or people were unwilling to give it away. At the same time two passengers from the bus ran inside a nearby gym to try to get some medical assistance. Much to my disgust, none ever came.

So I sat there watching through the safety of the scratched bus window. I always pictured myself standing up in these situations, taking charge. But I really didn’t know what to do anymore than the people already hovering around the girl and her sick boyfriend.  The only one who seemed to know what to do WAS the girlfriend. She was a thing of beauty! Despite everyone around her running up suggesting things, or just pacing nervously, she always remained perfectly calm. Several girls were crying, but not her, she was cool, collected. I really couldn’t get past her strength. This event was a window to her soul and I don’t know that I’ve ever seen anything so alluring. The world around her was in hysterics yet she just sweetly stroked her boyfriend’s hair, and kissed him lightly on the temple. She force fed him some 7-up with sugar packets added to it and as he spit it up and began to convulse a little more she just grabbed his head and held him tightly against her chest.

For the 45 minutes that we waited for the ambulance to come I sat there captivated by her. It was just so pretty considering the circumstances. If I were an artist I would definitely try to paint her beauty. This vision of heavenliness as her red, floral-print summer dress, wet from her boyfriend’s sweat and vomit, clung to her delicate thin frame, the resolve in her eyes, and the shape her lips made as she whispered comforting words in her boyfriend’s ear.

The ambulance finally came just in time for the young man to appear better. The color had returned to his skin and his absent eyes now seemed to be able to comprehend his surroundings and what was going on.  The bus driver, due to all the bus passengers unsympathetic grumbling, climbed back aboard with visible relief that the experts had arrived, and we moved on leaving the couple behind. And I sat there, my thoughts staying with the couple, wishing them all the best, and imagining them  living happily ever after, the brush with death only bringing them closer.

Not exactly the bus ride I had expected.