This past spring, Sara and I traveled to Thailand for fun. On our sixth day, we stayed in Koh Phi Phi, an island in southern Thailand known for its pristine waters, lots of tourists, and Monkey Beach. Sara and I decided we wanted to snorkel while here, so on our last day we set out.
I used the bathroom before we left our hotel, but on our commute to snorkeling, I realized I needed to go again. I didn’t panic because I figured there would be a restroom at the pickup location. Of course, this was Thailand; American customs like public restrooms are not the norm. However, many tourist ventures catered toward typical Anglo-Saxon luxuries, so why wouldn’t there be a toilet?
After we checked in, I asked the tour leader if they had a bathroom. “No bathroom,” she replied.
In a flash, I envisioned the next six hours: a handful of basic strangers isolated on a tiny boat in the Indian Ocean, my pounding intestines and stricken body, sweating and in misery and not enjoying a singular second. I could not get on that boat without using the bathroom again; there was no hesitation in my resolution. I would rather just not go than be threatened by the future I saw.Read More