Strep Throat in Cinque Terre

I am in love with the European health care system.

Over spring break, I travelled from Nice to Genoa to Cinque Terre and back to Nice.  Somewhere in the Nice-Genoa-Cinque Terre leg of the trip, however, I encountered a bacteria that decided it was going to latch onto my throat and not let go for dear life.  Yes, dear readers, I woke up in my lovely hotel in the first day of my visit to the Cinque Terre with no energy and a sharp pain in my throat.  Cut to the following day, when I couldn't swallow for fear of tiny knives appearing in my saliva to cut up my throat, and I decided that something had to be done.

Unable to figure out how to find a doctor in the tiny village of Monterosso al Mare without speaking a word of Italian, I went down to reception and asked the woman at the desk if she would call a doctor for me.  I must have looked pretty pathetic, because she assured me everything would be taken care of, and I was sent back up to my room with a pot of tea, some cold cuts of ham, and some crackers.  An hour later, there was a knock on my door.

In walks an old man with wispy grey hair, a polished walking stick, and a well-used leather bag.  He was the epitome of the Italian doctors you would expect to see in movies in the 1940s, yet somehow he had just appeared in my hotel room.  I did my best to explain the problem in as few words as possible, still not able to do much with my throat.  The doctor then told me that most places in Italy, they don't do strep tests because the small towns don't have the technology.  Instead, he grabbed his light and peered down my throat, made some vague, non-committal noises, and then informed me that I should start antibiotics right away.

I went down to reception with the doctor and was immediately informed by the hotel staff that they would be sending someone to pick up my prescriptions for me, because the kindness of strangers is endless.  I did my best to thank everyone profusely while still not being able to speak, got some more tea, and went back upstairs to await the antibiotics.

Over the next few days, my throat slowly recovered, and I managed to get out and spend my last day in Cinque Terre exploring the villages.  That's for another post, though; today, I want to end by saying that thanks to European health care, I paid a total of 52 euros for both the doctor visit and all the antibiotics I was prescribed.  Europe doesn't leave you out to dry if you're sick in one of its countries.  Not only that, but the kindness I experienced at my hotel in Cinque Terre truly gave me a sense of the kindness of strangers; when you're in dire straights, there will always be someone there to help you out.

Katrina