Don't Forget your Flashlight - Thailand

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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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