you don't know squat

i am buck naked. in order to keep my clothes from being soiled by myself or the wet floor, i hang them precariously from the driftwood that decorates the bathroom wall. with my few remaining sheets of toilet paper clutched squarely in my hand, i squat over the miserable guest house toilet and prepare for the worst. for the past few days, my digestive system has been skipping a very important step it normally uses for processing food. everything is coming out in liquid form, in a color that probably never existed in the visual spectrum up 'til now. to make matters worse, it carries a spiciness that far surpasses anything i've eaten on the trip. the wafer-thin sheets of paper i stole from nicer bathrooms feel like habanero-infused razor wire as i clean myself. i want nothing more than to sit at this moment and relax, but the squat toilet offers no such amenities. my body is breaking out in a sweat. looking down, i notice a mosquito circling my ankle. i swat at him with my free hand, careful not to throw myself off balance. i finally grab him, but am shocked to discover my hand won't close entirely. there appears to be a mosquito bite, or splinter, or who knows, maybe something entirely new forming on the knuckle of my pinky. i drop the crushed mosquito into the vile stew bubbling below me, and for that brief moment, i almost feel victorious. i have just conquered one of the countless threats to my health in this country. this feeling of elation is short-lived, as now two more of his siblings have come to take his place.

before i can turn my attention to them, a cockroach the size of a small dog scuttles from the wall next to me to somewhere behind me. i'd seen him before and had already come to grips with his existence; i just prefer that he stay in my line of sight, where i know what he's doing. as much temptation as there is to crush him, i avoid it. for one, he's enormous. striking him might only make him mad. for another, even if i did slay the beast, there'd be no appropriate way to dispose of him. sure, i could use a piece of t.p. to pick him up and drop him down the hatch, but i really don't want to waste a single sheet. the evacuation process continues. in an attempt to perform the local equivalent of a courtesy flush, i reach for the spray nozzle to clean off the toilet surface. oh great, there's no water pressure today. it looks like i'm stuck using a moldy plastic bowl to pour water from the bucket. as i look down over my mosquito-bitten, sunburned form, it dawns on me:

i am on vacation.

not only am i here by choice, but this is the trip of my dreams. this is the place i have wanted to visit ever since my cousin regaled me with his own stories of inexpensive custom suits and wild beach parties more than 10 years ago. this is the land so many of my friends have visited and come back bragging about. i'm finally here, and yes, i am enjoying it, but every little aspect of this country is slowly chipping away at my health and sanity. i can't sleep, i have very little appetite, and with the heat and humidity, every effort to travel and get around town becomes an ordeal. at times, i want to throw in the towel and get the fuck out of here, but i know i'm strong enough to handle this, and hopefully any other challenges that arise. besides, i may need to use that towel for toilet paper soon.

on my last vacation, a 10-day trip to colorado in january, my biggest concern was having to drive 20 miles through a snowstorm one night. piloting a GPS-enabled, OnStar supported, 4-wheel drive fortress on wheels through a couple of flakes of crystallized water, from one ski condo to another. at, the time, i was scared, and that seemed about as intimidating as a vacation could get. now, i am standing (squatting, actually) in a land where anything and everything can kill me: the water, the food, the polluted air, the insects, the drivers, they all pose a threat. while i feel like crap, i'm still confident knowing that things can be much worse. at least this bathroom has a light (the bedroom doesn't). at least i'm not throwing up. at least the car that clipped me the other day only hit my backpack, and only with the side-view mirror.

christ, this place is tough. while my dreams of endless expanses of tropical beaches have been replaced by the all-too-graphic images of throngs of middle-aged swedish men in speedos, i'm still getting everything i wanted out of the trip: adventure. new experiences. living and learning. sites and stories i could only dream about before. every dish of curry and rice that rides the digestive superhighway to the toilet makes me appreciate the food, bathrooms and all the amenities of home that much more. we are spoiled. we are so fucking spoiled that it makes me want to cry.