Follow Victoria's exotic adventures on her blog, It's A Small World After All. This post was published on Friday 26 November...
I’m behind the wheel of the red Dodge. The smallest car we could get. A little ant next to the giant stag beetles of the other American cars. Are you sure it’ll be big enough asked the rental company employee looking at our children. Yes, in Europe it’d be considered quite big.
The towering pine forests of the Big Island’s North East coast create a dramatic canyon and it’s a beautiful road. For once, it’s not so twisty that I can’t appreciate the scenery for fear of skidding at speed down a volanic ravine.
Except. One of my dozens of mosquito bites suddenly makes itself known. It’s on the ankle of my non-driving foot. It’s as if a thousand tickly needles are working on my skin. I am consumed with an overwhelming urge to scratch it. But I can’t. We’re travelling at 55 miles an hour, cars infront and behind. I can’t reach my ankle without taking my eyes off the road. The desire to scratch takes up all the space in my brain that is not taken up with driving. The throbbing, crawling under my skin is torture. Before long, my other bites start to itch and it’s all I can do to drive safely. I start to fantasise about a dog sinking it’s teeth into my leg as a means of relieving the itching.
Eventually, twenty long miles later, we arrive and I park the car. I scratch and scratch and scratch with both hands, eight fingers and two thumbs. The relief is glorious. I continue to scratch until it becomes painful, and then I scratch some more. I’ve never been so happy to feel pain. I’ve drawn blood, but I don’t care. Finally, I’m not itchy anymore. I can think about other things.
Until it all starts again.
Feed your jealousy of Victoria's amazing trip, by watching her videos here.
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