In Your Wildest Dreams

To kick off the month of April, we’d like to share a couple of our most bizarre personal travel stories. Traveling comes with the idea of a grand adventure where your dreams come true. Sometimes, however, those dreams become wild, and the most unexpected things will occur. One may not always prepare for the best or worst, and it is important to keep an optimistic outlook toward any adventure. Not everything will go according to plan, and even in the most terrible of moments, it may be something to look back on with a smile. If nothing else, they make for great stories to tell your friends and loved ones upon your return!  

                Let’s start with a personal travel story of Michael’s…

The morning breeze is mild and humid. There are sounds of seagulls and clanking in the distance as the MV Explorer pulls into the cargo port south of Yangon, Myanmar. I’m studying abroad with Semester at Sea, and this is just one of our many ports. We started in San Diego, made our way through Hawaii, Japan, China, Hong Kong, Vietnam and Singapore. This destination is unique because we know that there is tension within the country, and visitors are not common due to political and cultural unrest over recent years. We are a lucky group of students granted access to a country many have not been able to visit. We all want to make the most of it.

My style of travel was to have some loose plans, and sort of let the country guide us on adventure. My group of friends and I knew we wanted to explore Yangon, but from there we left our plans open. Once we got our visas approved and passports stamped, it was time to start exploring. We had to take a bus from the ship into the city, which would take about an hour because the infrastructure was not the best. We were taking gravel roads with lots of potholes and washboards. Needless to say, it was a bumpy ride into the city that first night, but nothing was going to dampen our spirits.

Once we had arrived at the city center, we went out to explore. First thing on the list was to find some food, so we started to follow our noses. As we’re walking around, it’s obvious we are tourists, we have our large trekking backpacks on, and we’re wandering aimlessly through the city. A local stops us and asks if we speak English. He was learning the language and wanted to practice with us, so he ended up being our local guide for a few days. We were happy to oblige, and asked if he could take us to some food. Turns out, that was going to be on a street full of vendors selling a wide variety of food, all of it new to us. He sat us down and then went out to fetch a bunch of his favorite dishes to try. He brought back a smorgasbord of cooked meats and veggies. The veggies were easy to recognize, the meats, not so much. We asked him what each one was, but because of the language barrier, we weren’t quite sure what we might be eating. You have to try something at least once! Was it chicken, beef, or perhaps something much more taboo, such as dog, cat or horse?? We didn’t want to think too much about it and rather just focused on the taste. It was all delicious. A fantastic experience and something we look back fondly on, now.

The following morning, we decided to go to an area where we could buy tickets for transportation to a resort area north of Yangon, a place call Chaungtha beach. That was our destination, and the bus ride was going to be a bumpy three hours to reach it. The unfortunate thing is that we wouldn’t be able to catch this bus until late that evening, arriving into the beach community around 3 a.m. the following morning. No matter, we were young and stoic, excited for the journey ahead.

The bus arrives in Chaungtha and stops at each little hotel that is along the main stretch of road. We hadn’t made prior reservations. We thought we would just wing it and see what we could get. That may not have been the best decision, but again, we’re just in it for adventure.

We get off at the first stop, groggy and wobbly from the bus ride. We’re talking with the hotel staff to see if they have a room or two that could accommodate us. They had one available, but in our minds we thought we might find something better down the road. So we weren’t quite sold. As my friends are inside talking with the hotel staff, I’m just outside the door talking with a local. He could not speak English, but we’re doing our best to make conversation. I start patting down my pockets to be sure I had all of my things. Money, check. Phone, check. Camera, check. Passport …uh oh. I don’t feel my passport. Panic immediately hits. I check everywhere, and it’s not on me! I remember that on the bus we had to pull out our passports for a security checkpoint. Instead of putting it away in my passport belt, I stowed it in the seat pocket on the bus, assuming that it would be easy access if we had to pull it out again. I failed to grab it when we were disembarking, and at this point, the bus has left.

I’ve never been so panicked in my life. All of my worst fears were setting in, and the biggest was that I would be stuck here and not able to get to the next destination on the ship, and more importantly, back home at the end! This local I was talking to had a dirt bike. I immediately pulled out a wad of cash and handed it to him, begging him to give me a ride to the bus. He didn’t quite understand, so I was motioning to the bike and the cash, gesturing that I needed a ride. He understood a bit, so off we went, speeding down the road to catch up with the bus. According to my friends, they just thought I deserted them! Funny to think about now, seeing me just jumping on a bike with a stranger and disappearing. I was on a mission though, determined to get that passport. I spot the bus, and he pulls up in front of it, when it makes its next stop. I run on and straight to my seat. It’s there! A major sigh of relief. I grab it, hop back on the bike, and we return to my friends. Panic is melting away from my heart. Lesson learned: always keep your passport in the same place, and always check …a lot.

Once I’ve reconvened with my friends, I tell them the story, and we all have a short laugh. We’re all still very tired, but still not sold on this first resort. So, we decide to start walking to others to see what is available.

To our dismay, nothing else is! They’re all booked up. So, two hours later, after all the searching, we return to the original resort and hand over our money for the room. It’s very basic: wooden plank beds with a light pad on them and mosquito nets. It will do for the trip, besides we’re not here the entire time to sleep! We want to enjoy ourselves experiencing the culture and the beach.

We watch the sunrise over the ocean, stunning, even though we’re completely wiped from the long travels beforehand. We’re only in Chaungtha for a couple days, so we make the most of it. We spend plenty of time on the beach, we explore the local shops and buy some trinkets and eat some tasty foods. It’s a spectacular trip for us so far, even with my almost losing my passport. We’re just having a blast!

The morning of our departure to return to Yangon, one of our friends isn’t feeling so great. We’re mindful of it and try our best to soothe her discomfort. I give her some Pepto-Bismol that I have, and some bottled water.

A note about traveling abroad when it comes to food and water. Unless you’re in a very modern country with guaranteed access to clean water, never, under any circumstance, drink the local water. Always have bottled water that you open yourself. This also means do not brush your teeth with that water, eat raw veggies or salads that would have been rinsed with that water (always eat something that has been cooked at high temperatures or fried), and if you take a shower/bath, do your best to not let that water enter your mouth.

We hop on the bus and start making our way back. The bus is going to make a pit stop for everyone to use the restroom and stock up on snacks. It’s not a nice gas station. This is just a roadside stand built of palms and with squatty-potty outhouses. That’s pretty much the standard in this part of the world, we were used to it by now, so not a major issue.

However, as we make our stop, my friend is now getting violently ill. Then, suddenly, I start feeling a grumble in the gut. I use the restroom but am worried I won’t get back on the bus on time. It will leave without us. So, we shuffle back on board, feeling just awful. We’re sweating, we’re grumbling, and all we can think is “are we going to make it the next couple hours?” The A/C unit is broken on the bus, too, spewing an awful cleaning smell on us. It’s making it worse, I’m becoming even more nauseated, and so is my friend. The rest of the group feel just fine, so they’re attempting to take care of both of us.

Unfortunately, it got to the point where we could not control our upheavals, so we had to loop plastic bags around our ears and just let it happen. We felt awful and embarrassed. Thankfully, we’re at the back of this bus, but there’s no stopping the stares we were getting. We kept apologizing. We tried to sleep in between the nasty, but to no avail. Once the bus pulls into Yangon, my friends get the two of us off the bus, and I immediately am in need of finding a restroom. I pull out cash and just start running around to all the shopkeepers, “bathroom, bathroom?” I plead. They keep pointing me down the street, as I’m clenching my gut. Finally, I find a public restroom, I give them all my cash and make a mad dash toward the squatty potty.

Mild relief, but now another lesson learned. ALWAYS bring toilet paper with you on your travels. You never know when you’ll need it.

I cleaned myself up as best I could with the little bucket and water spout that is there. I’m now beyond miserable. No longer embarrassed, I couldn’t have cared less what others were thinking about me. I just needed to get to a better place.

There was a nice hotel in Yangon that we had stopped at before our trip to Chaungtha, so we decided to head there. They had flushing toilets, real porcelain toilets. We took a taxi there, and along the way I had to keep my head out the window because there was no controlling this sickness anymore. Once we got there, I stayed in the bathroom for a good hour. I had an opportunity to change my clothes and attempt to feel refreshed, but the sickness was getting worse. It was the one time in my life I was ready to die. I told my friends to just leave me here, call my parents and so that when I die they would know where to retrieve the body. They were having none of it though, thankfully. Instead, they called the dean of students for the ship, and he instructed them to bring us both back to the ship immediately. The ship doctors would be waiting for us. My friend was going through the same thing. We were both just miserable.

Unfortunately, it was another hour bus ride to reach the ship, on a bumpy road. To make it worse, that bus wouldn’t leave until it was at full capacity. So, we both had to wait there, letting all of the other students get on board and see us at our absolute worst. I was at the back, she was at the front. Our friends with us were the best ever. They stayed with us the whole time.

Once the bus did reach the ship, they took my friend up the gangway, and while there was a line, she was able to go to the front because of her sickness and the doctors waiting. I maybe was just a bit delirious, but I waited in the line, ready to pass out. When I get on the ship, the security officers seemed shocked. “Why did you wait? You should have been on here first with your friend!” I had no answer. I shuffled to the front desk area, because the doctors weren’t there. I had thought they would be taking me to the medical office, too. So, I had to call down and ask. It was in that moment that I realized they didn’t know that I too was sick. I go into the medical office, shuffling my way to the desk. The nurses are clearly moving around quickly, trying to focus on my friend, looking at me a bit annoyed. “Why are you here?!” I point to my friend, “I have the same thing.” Their tone changed and they got me into a bed and hooked me up to an IV. I passed out. Several hours later I awoke, feeling better but still a bit woozy. I had been severely dehydrated, and we both caught some type of bacteria that was draining our systems. We were in safe hands, though, given a prescription and then ordered to stay in our rooms the rest of the time in Myanmar. It really only meant we missed out on one final day exploring Yangon. No worry to either of us, though, we were just happy to be alive. We did have to quarantine for a few days in our rooms, and once we were back to 100%, we were excited for the next country, India, with valuable lessons learned.

So, to not be a fool when you travel, always remember to keep your passport in a safe space on you. I recommend a passport belt that goes under your shirt. Never drink the water, always have clean bottled water with you, always bring toilet paper in your bags or backpack, only consume cooked foods, and it may be beneficial to get a prescription for traveler’s diarrhea from your doctor before traveling abroad …you never know when you may need it. If ever in a similar circumstance, be sure to have your traveler’s health insurance handy, and to be taken to a reputable hospital for care. We were lucky to have our ship doctors, but that may not be the case for your travels.

Now, for something bizarre from Kevin…

Hello and happy April! I just read Michael’s post. My goodness! I could tell you the store about the latrine at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower, but I think we’ve had enough of that for one month. How about a happy story that is also delicious?

When I was in Peace Corps in the Comoros (a small island nation between Madagascar and the African mainland), I would go for long walks, especially at sunset. It was a tropical paradise, and the smell of ylang ylang, vanilla, the ocean and many more things would fill the air. One day, as I was walking along in the HOT HOT HOT air of the rainy season, I must have looked particularly bedraggled, some poor little puppy. One of the local women called out to me as I passed her farm.

                “Djedje!” she cried.  This meant ‘hello.’

                “Djema,” I replied.  ‘Hello to you!’

That was about it. I had not learned much Shimwali at that point, and she spoke neither French nor English. She motioned me over with her machete (the farmers here use machetes for almost everything, even motioning over droopy foreigners), and I came over to see what she wanted. She wielded that machete like a fine instrument and tool all in one. Deftly, she cut a pineapple from its plant, shoved the stalk through the core of the pineapple to act as a handle, and then she cut off the outside of the pineapple, leaving me with a perfectly ripe, SUPER juicy treat. I was agog!  Pineapple is my favorite fruit, and I am certain my face must have been nearly broken in two from the size of my smile. I was so grateful. For a hot day in the rainy season, feeling lonely in a foreign land, this made my day. I ate that heavenly pineapple, every bit, even though I got juice all over my face.  It is the happiest food memory of my life.

Never saw the lady again, and I couldn’t tell you her name if asked, but she’ll always be in my heart, along with the smile (and the mouthwatering!) that the memory invariably brings.

Sometimes even machetes may make for happy stories.