Don’t Forget your Flashlight
Thailand
Everyone talks about how their hill trek experience
through northern Thailand was phenomenal. The
villagers were so kind, their lifestyle so simple and
pure, and the landscape was stunning, they claim. Yes,
yes, these are true, but for me, it was one momentous
trip to the toilet that truly made my trip
unforgettable.
I woke up in the middle of the night, or what could
have been only 12:30 a.m., with no electricity having to answer the ‘call of nature.’
I remembered, unfortunately, that it was the 6′ 7″
sleeping Dutch men who had the flashlight, and I
didn’t know where they had put it. I curse myself, and my
boyfriend of course, we were never so organized as to
bring one! I fumbled around in the dark, desperately
grasping at every wooden plank, hoping to find the
latch to the door. Ten minutes later, seeming as if my
eyes had been pecked out by angry birds, still groping
at the wood, frustrated and disoriented, I decided to
return to bed using my other four senses and attempt to
forget about my bodily needs. I listened for my fellow
trekkers’ breathing, snoring, coughing – ANYTHING!
However, it felt and sounded as if the entire layout
had changed; I must have ended up in a different part
of the shed and I then couldn’t even find my way back
to the bed. My only chance to locate the bed, unless I
wanted to sleep standing up, was to find this mystery
latch, exit the shed, use the toilet and re-enter the
shed anew.
Someone was watching over me because I finally
detected a way out. It was a piece of wood that must
be raised, instead of a metal latch. I was considering
how the latch had miraculously changed, was I in a
different part of the shed as I presumed? As the cold,
fresh air struck me, I remembered my original purpose
and quickly went to the toilet (a.k.a. the Great
Outdoors). Then I turned and walked around the corner
of the shed to conclude which door I exited so I could
return to bed with no further stress.
No further stress? I think not. I turned the corner
trying to orient myself when suddenly I heard one
dog’s angry bark. Then one dog turned to two turned to
eight. We’re not talking Lassie, these are wild dogs,
with no rabies shots, wanting my blood. Apparently all
of the village dogs wanted my blood. Why, I ask
myself, why me? Never a dog person, I try to remember
things people have told me: “Show no fear. Back away
slowly.” So I stare down the nearest dog and take a
step backwards, which encourages him to take a step
forward. I picture them all attacking me, biting me,
with a trip to a Thai doctor for rabies injections. Okay,
forget their stupid dog training recommendations. I
tap at the roof of the shed in the hopes someone will
wake up and come out.
For minutes that seem like
years, I stood there with one knuckled hand rapping on
the roof, the other holding a roll of toilet paper and
my face frozen with fear. Just as I think I can no
longer take this life-threatening horrendous
situation, the man of the village appears. He
magically makes them all stop barking and is smiling
at me. I attempt to give him the international ‘thank
you for saving my life’ symbol but he seems to be more
interested in laughing and returning to bed.
The next day as everyone discussed the ruckus that
woke up the whole village, I learned that these dogs
are guard dogs and they only attack people who aren’t
carrying a light. Apparently that’s the symbol of a
stranger.
So that’s the lesson I learned:
When there are packs of wild dogs in the hill tribe
villages and you need to use the toilet in the middle
of the night, don’t forget to bring your flashlight!
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