When I was a kid my parents loved to take us on driving holidays exploring Europe. One year we went to Spain, but, because I used to get dreadfully car-sick and sea-sick, instead of taking the ferry there we took the overnight train from somewhere in northern France.
As it was my 15th birthday on the first day of our holiday, our parents splashed out to treat us to dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant on the first night in France.
The following day, my birthday, I woke up puking. Dad extended the room booking by another night so that I could puke in peace, while he and mum took turns sitting with me while the other took my siblings out.
That night I puked my way across France, care of SNCF. By the time we arrived in Spain I had got it out of my system.
But then the others started going down with it. And I added motion-sickness to the mix.
By the time we reached Grenada we looked like zombies escaping an apocalypse. Between us, every garment we had packed had either been puked on or pooed in, or been used to wipe up puke or poo.
We didn't make it any further. Apparently we stayed in Grenada for a week, then returned home. I don't remember any of it.
Mum says the hotel laundered everything for us, but dad bought new suitcases to go home with, as our old ones reeked.
Apparently the journey home was lovely, but Idon't remember that, either! I was poorly for several months after. I was able to go to school, but I had chronic diarrhoea and seemed to pick up every illness that went around, which I never normally did.
My parents reported the food poisoning to Michelin (I think). Turns out I wasn't the only one affected! IIRC the restaurant lost its star rating.