When Thailand turns to shit

I’ve been pretty lucky in my lifetime (knock on wood) to never really suffer from any sort of gastro problems. My husband was diagnosed with Crohnes disease, my sister has every bowel disorder on the planet and my dad has IBS although he would never admit it. So it’s easy to see what our favourite topic of conversation is at the dinner table.

Unfortunately on my last trip to Thailand, the fates had decided it was my time to experience what all my family has been banging on about. Let me start at the beginning…

One of the perks of my job is that if I work really hard, I can get rewarded with an educational trip overseas. This was the case with my last trip to Thailand, which I luckily got to go on with my boss Candice and my friends Mel and Briarley (who you’ll remember from my hospital trip to Bali.)

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The purpose of these trips is to sample these mini-breaks and try out the airlines we sell, the companies we recommend and visit the destinations we book.

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Having four days to visit the most northern region of Thailand, we sampled an Intrepid Tour which took us from Chiang Mai to Chiang Rai via the Golden Triangle. For those playing at home, the Golden Triangle is where the border of Thailand, Myanmar and Laos meet.

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We even caught a boat over to Laos where we could stand on Laos soil (no stamp in my passport so it doesn’t count) and indulge ourselves in a delicious glass of snake or scorpion whiskey. I didn’t partake – however with Candice and Mel both having lady balls, they enjoyed a delicious glass before heading back to Thailand.

After three days of intense touring, we were finally gifted with the ultimate all-girls trip dream: a few hours at the shopping centre before starting our trip home. Refuelling our tanks with lunch, this is where things started to go wobbly. I started feeling really unsettled and broke out in cold sweats. Instead of shopping I found myself curled up on the floor of a Thai bathroom, which was probably more disgusting than the food poisoning itself.

My amazing friends had the job of getting me back to Australia, without a trip to either the hospital or an exorcist. Poor Briarley had already been to the hospital with me in Bali two weeks earlier and was no doubt wondering if I was the shittiest roommate ever (have you decided yet Briarls?)

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From there, I vaguely remember an airport, a customs line, some vomit, a pair of socks and poop . . . So. Much. Poop.  Remember, I have never had any sort of illness. All throughout my travels I have had an iron clad stomach, yet for some reason this trip defeated me.

Getting on my flight back home took every ounce of strength I had. Not being able to get an upgrade, the air hostess’ moved me to the seat straight across from the toilet where some poor bloke had assumed that he had a whole row to himself. Unfortunately for him, not only did he not get his row, he hardly even had his own seat once I curled up on all four chairs with my head in his lap. Sir, if you’re reading this, you are an ace bloke and I definitely owe you a beer should I ever run into you on another long-haul flight.

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All in all, once I made it into my own home and got to sleep on my own toilet floor, I was back up and running within 24 hours. You’ll be pleased to know I was also  5kg lighter. Well worth it, I’m sure you’ll agree.

The good news is that when our family dinner conversation turns to shit (literally) I can finally hold my own!

 

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