That time I almost died in Thailand

Back in April of this year I did a quick 3 week trip to Thailand alone. Now I know I'm not the most experienced traveler (my longest trip to date was 3 months) BUT in all my travels I have never experienced being sick on the road. When you're not prepared - holy shit can it bite you in the ass. So here we go, my first experience with being sick while backpacking.

The story begins 3 sunburns in. In Thailand they have their New Year in April, and its called Songkran. The tradition is that you gently throw water on yourself and òn strangers throughout the day to wash away the year and to celebrate the new incoming one. 

Teehee! Happy New Year

Thanks to tourism and raging alcoholism, it is now a week long party where people literally DRENCH YOU with whatever device can hold the most amount of water. This = being soaking wet for 5 days straight.

Gotta arm yourself!

My first day of Songkran was straight up disrespectful to my body. 13 hours of drinking. 13 hours of being wet.

8am rolled around and so did my boat to get off the island. On my LONG adventure to the north of Thailand (15 hours to be exact), my hangover decided to shape-shift into a full-blown fever. LITERALLY I WAS HALLUCINATING AND TALKING TO MYSELF.

Post 11 hour feverish bus ride with no medication. 

Sick nose-burn bro.

In the following days, I didn't really give my fever a chance to settle down. I just managed to tame it with extra strength Advils so I could continue living my life. One of the days I even got to hang with elephants!

Woo!

I was well versed in the importance of sunscreen by this point. Unfortunately, nobody tells you that "Hey, your lips need love too." Because of my ignorance, I ended up leaving that elephant camp with 2nd degree sunburns on my lips.

Pictured: pain

Notice the white blisters in the 2nd photo

2 days away from my flight home and the score-sheet was at

Diseases - 2

Thaly - 0

In the middle of my last night-train back to Bangkok, I woke up unable to open one of my eyes. You lazy fucking thing, wake up! I managed to pry it open a little bit only to have it tear up hysterically. I took a picture to see the damage and was horrified to see that my left eye had decided to quit on life. 

WARNING, EXTREMELY UNATTRACTIVE PICTURES. I'M NOT KIDDING THIS IS BAD:

"Kill. Me."

Turns out the hostel bed I slept in the night before was extremely unsanitary and GAVE ME FUCKING PINK EYE!!

How I had to walk around in public the next day.

As I landed in Canada, I had a long list of ailments. My lips were twice their normal size and blistering. My left eye was swollen shut. My voice box threw in the towel. My throat was closed for business. My lungs were living on a prayer and worst of all my tan was uneven and made me look like I was covered in dirt. 

Customs almost didn't let me through because I looked partially like I had leprosy and also like I was carrying the Bird Flu back to Canada to cause a pandemic.

Just for funsies, here's me on the first day of my trip, and me on the last.

 

So healthy and full of hope in the left picture. So over it in the right. 

Despite the fact that I looked like Quasimodo's half-sister and nearly perished along the way, I wouldn't take back a single immune system destroying moment from that trip!

Stay safe kids and bring Advil.

*Special thanks to my Editor in Chief Stella - for making sure there weren't 3000 commas. 

Welcome to the Nether Regions of the Soul

Felt like I'd do a little flashback trip, my first trip to the Netherlands back in March 2011. It's hard to write these posts because I'm not entirely sure what to focus on. Do I talk about how much alcohol I drank? Do I discuss architecture? Cultural differences? All the shawarma stands this wonderful country houses? Fuck it, I'll just wing it.

Holland is a flat country, and because of this flatness, there is an excessive amount of bikes. These people will run you down if you're in their way. Sadly, the only encounter I had with a bike during my stay was riding on the back of one drunkenly one night. I felt bad for the girl who had to haul me across the city, I was a hefty load, as well as a complete stranger.

Building on that point, I'd like to stress how welcoming and hospitable all the international students were. The second night I was in the city, a girl I randomly met through friends gave me a city tour. And then she left me with more strangers who were more than happy to share their alcohol with me, take me to a club near the canal and make sure I got home safe and sound.

What gems.

I also went to my first soccer game in Europe. The crowd's intense. This day also consisted of me getting hit on by a milf in a bar and almost in a fight with three dutch girls. I regret nothing!

Rambunctious fans bring their own flares to the game.

My hand ft. alcohol and the dutch girls who wanted to fight me.

Amsterdam is a story in itself. My friend Ryan and I only had one day to visit the city. We decided to try and make the most of it. We began the day with the Anne Frank museum. We wanted to be sober for this experience. Genocide and dope don't mix.

Or do they...?

We then decided to buy a joint. I had a flight to catch the next day, and the smallest amount they were selling was 2 grams. I'm not the biggest pothead anymore, so 2 grams was about 2 weeks worth of rations for me. I'll stick to the joint.

In Canada, our joints don't have tobacco (aka batch) mixed in with the weed. A practice I didn't know was strictly limited to Canada's borders. We asked the kind dealer if he could sell us a joint without tobacco in it. He called my friend and I "Stupid Americans" and told us "not to fuck around with Dutch weed." It sounded more like a threat than a warning though.

We were pretty adamant about going to a sex show. This was the cheapest one we could find:

I know the image you have in your head: 2 people in the middle of a room fucking, while perverted people sit in the shadows and masturbate in the corners.

I promise you, it was more interactive than that. I was lucky enough to get shot in the face with breast milk. Another man had the honour of eating a banana out of a woman's vagina. The actual "sex" looked more like a choreographed dance that involved a penis entering an orifice. Probably one of the best experiences of my life.

I ended up bringing my boyfriend to Amsterdam when we were backpacking, hoping I could recapture that magic that made me fall in love with the city the first time. But the influx of tourists in June, and the guy throwing up right next to our hostel bed really killed the mood. That visit was so bad, that we actually left a day early and vowed to never return to Amsterdam again. 

Overall, The Netherlands is an awesome country full of stoner food, abnormally tall people, and questionable morals. If you're going to pay a visit, do it on the off season.

Losing Your Passport (and all the shit in between)

First off, a little back story. My brother and I are getting old: he's a full fledged adult with a real job and I'm an impulsive 20 year old who buys last minute trips to Poland. Along with our relationships, we barely spend time together anymore. That doesn't mean we don't love each other! So to make up for this discrepancy, we have annual sibling weekends each year:

2009 Montreal

2010 Chicago

2011 Switzerland
Oops, looks like we forgot to take a picture together... momma's gonna be mad.

Next stop, the moon. Anyways, you get it. So my brother offered to pay for my trip to Switzerland: I was kind of reluctant because I just came back from the Netherlands and another trip just didn't seem ideal. But I said fuck it and threw caution to the wind.

I'll skip all the details of how beautiful Switzerland is and how expensive their food was and how many watch stores per square meter they rock. Fast forward to Bern, 7pm on Saturday (April 9). Vlad and I had just driven through several cute little Swiss towns and Bern was looking like a dump in comparison (no offense to any residents of Bern).

Let me stress the scenario.

We parked DOWNTOWN.
We parked IN BROAD DAYLIGHT.
We were only gone for AN HOUR.

Got it? Good. We roamed the city briefly just to get the quintessential picture of the alps and at least try to fathom interest in this city. We just weren't feeling it and after desperately trying to find a restaurant we just gave up and decided to check in to our hostel in Interlaken.

Mind you, we didn't notice anything suspicious right away. We drove around lost in Bern for another hour trying to find a restaurant before we ate the upholstery off the seats. After eating I got the urge to listen to some Amy Winehouse. I went to grab my ipod from my backpack and noticed my bag wasn't in the trunk...

"Vlad what did you do with my bag?"

His face didn't make me feel any better. It was a mix between watching someone get hit by a bus and hearing your cat just died.

"What do you mean?"My immediate thoughts were that I was an idiot. I probably left it in Zurich in a parking lot like a fool. Maybe while in Zug when I took it out of the trunk to grab my camera. How can I be so fucking careless! Thaly you're the biggest fucking idiot to walk this...

"We've been robbed!"

Holy shit, my heart sank way deeper than I could've imagined. That was the LAST thing I anticipated. I walked around the car to find this nice surprise waiting for me:


Turns out my brother's bag with his laptop and important documents were stolen as well. As I slowly remembered everything that was in my backpack, panic developed into fear, then regret, then hatred and eventually it took everything in my power not to throw up on the pretty Swiss sidewalks in disgust.

I realize this is largely my fault...

• It was my fault for not carrying all my important documents with me at all times.
• It was my fault I assumed that Switzerland was safer than a womb.
• It was my fault that the perverted car rental guy gave us a free upgrade to a Mercedes cause he thought I was cute.

Fucker, why did he give us that car?

The next few hours are just a mess. As you gradually remember all the contents of your stolen luggage and begin attaching sentimental feelings towards each and every object, the pain gets worse. I'm honestly not a materialistic person - I lost 50 euros in Barcelona once and blamed it on bad luck. BUT WHEN YOU TAKE MY MOTHERFUCKING JOURNAL - THEN IT'S PERSONAL!

I'll get into the journal factor later.

The next step was to call the police. Who were totally sympathetic. It was nice that they actually gave a shit. They helped me call my credit card company, they printed me a new boarding pass and they wrote up a police report while trying to fight back the tears. Aww, so naice.

The rest of the night was painful. It was nearly impossible trying to get in contact with the embassy and I witnessed a man try to fight a garbage can. Switzerland has this law that nothing can be open on Sundays (including - if not especially - government buildings). So we called it quits and made our way to Interlaken.


Sunday was pleasant, I was mostly in good spirits, and I was actually laughing at how fucked this whole situation was (I think I was largely in denial). But you don't want to hear my nice Sunday trip and how our car almost fell off a mountain, you want the horror story, and Monday was the bitch and a half.

First off, no professional photography stores were open - meaning, I had to get my passport pictures taken at a photo booth (something the lady at the embassy loved to stress was stupid of me). Well, FUCK YOU because I had no other option. Secondly, it took much longer than anticipated to get the papers filled out. In fact, by 11:50 AM they had only completed my brother's passport.

Here's where things took a turn for the fucked. It was 11:50AM. My brother's flight was at 12:15 and mine was at 12:20. There was definitely no way I could make my flight unless I seduced the check-in counter and all the passport control stops in between. BUT my brother still had a chance (embassy lady's words, not mine).

I foolishly told her "no, no, we're in this together. He's staying." But Vlad looked at me like I was entirely wrong.

"Grab your stuff!"

He grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the embassy and we ran to the car. I was trying my best not to burst into tears. WTF was he doing! He can't leave me here alone!

"It'll all be OK."

In a matter of minutes we were at the airport and Vlad was dashing out of the car at break neck speeds. He threw me 50 Swiss Francs and whatever else was in his pocket (2 pesos and a toonie). I sat there patiently waiting for 12:20 to receive some type of confirmation that he made it. My mom sent my phone a text and told me he was on his way back to Canada. Oh my fucking fuck.

- I'd just like to point out here that my brother is not a heartless monster. To rebook his flight would've cost him 4000$ and unlike me, he has responsibilities -

So let's put this scenario into context so that all my actions afterward will seem valid.

I was alone in Switzerland. Ok. I was alone in Switzerland with 50 Swiss Francs. Alright, that's enough for dinner. I was alone in Switzerland, with 50 Swiss Francs, and no credits on my phone to call anyone. I was ALONE in Switzerland with ONLY 50 Swiss Francs, NO PHONE and with a FUCKED UP RENTAL CAR in my possession and NO IDENTIFICATION!

I'm so fucked.

I'll have you know, that I haven't really cried since 2009. It takes a lot to make me upset and this situation definitely pushed me over edge. The next several hours were a paradoxical nightmare.

I didn't have money to pay for my passport - I didn't have a passport to get my money from Western Union - and I didn't have a passport OR money to get me a new flight out of Switzerland.

What the fuck was I going to do when all these things relied on each other. This is where I learned the power of a little girl crying. I cried hysterically in the embassy which made them let me use their phones to call Canada. And I most definitely cried in Western Union, which made the girl take pity on me and give me my money despite my lack of ID.

The details of this day are confusing. Let's just say nothing went right and I missed another flight to Stockholm. I was also running on 5 hours of sleep and no food for 18 hours. Eventually, my tears paid off. I got a flight booked by my momma, the embassy could then finally surrender me my passport, and I could now return the car to Hertz. (I'd just like to add that I HATE driving in Geneva)

Hertz was not pleased. I am under 25, I had no driver's license, I was not the person who signed off on the car, it was 6 hours late and to top it all off, the back window was smashed. Time to bust out the little girl tears. Not only did they wave all charges (except for the window) but they also tried to find me a hostel to sleep in for the night. Such nice guys.

For some reason, Monday in Geneva is the hottest day of the week to visit the city... so everything was fully booked and my only option was a 300$ deluxe sweet and some hotel downtown. No thanks...

I spent the night sleeping in the airport wherever I could. On the floor beside the train station, on a bench behind a ticket booth, on the steps of a jewelery store and then finally, upright on a bench in arrivals.

I'm home now and pretty much everything has been fixed. I got a temporary passport, I canceled my credit card, I got new locks to get into my room and I already forgot about that pair of jeans that looked awful on me. My biggest loss was definitely my journal, which not only contained memories, but pictures I took from disposable cameras, script ideas, drawings, offerings from gypsies, tickets to sex shows and musings on my love and hatred for life (depending on the day of the week). My only consolation is that the guy who stole it probably can't read English, so at least he can't laugh at me.

WELL THAT WAS MY WEEKEND, I hope yours was swell. Surprisingly I'm not completely beaten down from this experience. Despite the shittyness of Monday and the pain of Saturday night, this was probably the best sibling weekend yet. It made me respect my brother so much more and Switzerland is just fucking beautiful in general. I'm already super pumped for my month long trip in June, and I learned the valuable lesson that I should KEEP MY SHIT ON ME AT ALL TIMES!

I don't know if I'll ever go back to Switzerland, but if I ever do, I'm bringing a gun.

Carnival in Germany!

I think the best way to summarize my experience with Carnival in Cologne is that famous line from Streetcar Named Desire:

"I have always depended on the kindness of strangers"

Now I realize she was just being hauled off to a mental institution but I stand by my statement. I can't even stress how grateful I am for everyone I met on the trip because they really made my stay awesome. I guess the best way to approach writing about Carnival without going into extensive chronological details of each day, is probably just go over some highlights from the weekend.

Free Housing

My friend Lisa had a friend in Cologne who was totally cool with letting me sleep on his floor for the weekend. Which saved me about 150 euros. He was also BEYOND nice in bringing me out with him, buying me beers, and showing me the city.


The Friends of Friends of Friends

His friends were also super helpful. They took me to bars and parades and lunches. They did their best to speak what little English they could muster and would never speak German to each other when I was around. One guy even gave me a 5 hour, guided tour of the city since he was a history major. I think what's just impressive is how welcoming and hospitable these people are to a complete stranger.


Rose Monday

This entire day was pretty surreal. The drinking started at 11AM and I met the friends of the guy I was staying with. I also invited some guy I met on the train the first night I was there. So basically I was with about 6 people I barely knew.

But with beer as breakfast, you can't really complain.

I ended up following the french guy to some bars and ended up in several different techno clubs with a lot of people I didn't know but who were all willing to start up a conversation. They were pretty fascinated with the fact that I came all the way to Cologne by myself just for Carnival. I think it was their first time meeting a Canadian. Either way, lots of free beers!

I ended up dropping my gloves in a toilet and swearing off ever buying mittens again. I also drank for about 15 hours without worrying once about where I was going to end up that night. Eventually, one guy who was a friend of the French guy I met on the train 3 days ago told me that I could crash on his floor. So at the end of the night, I sat on the back of his bike, sombrero in hand, riding down the empty streets of Cologne at 3AM - laughing to myself at how absurd this image must be. It was an awesome day that my liver must pay the price for.

Cologne as a City

Cologne is a really cool city, partially just because it's so old. It was founded around 55 B.C. by the Roman Empire. Then the Roman Empire fell. Napolean and the French then took it over, then Prussia and now it's just part of Germany. The most interesting part of the city is just the overall destruction of it. The city's been beaten down so many times then rebuilt with the best of intentions but no real consideration for restoring historical buildings.

So you'll see little parts of the city that are really medieval, like this gothic cathedral:

12th century, bitches.

And then you'll see modernist crap and buildings which were all results of the 1960s trying to make the city more car friendly. Either way, there's a lot of history AND I FIND THAT INTERESTING OK?

What I Loved About Germany and Carnival

1. You can drink beer, everywhere.
2. I never had to pay for the tram.
3. There was no snow anywhere.
4. Everyone was wearing a costume.
5. Parades, candy and flowers.
6. Street food was cheap.
7. Music and mini bands on every corner
8. A lot of men dressed as women.

Just overall insanity everywhere you went. So I end this lengthy post with the 2 pictures I think best embody the spirit of Carnival.

Sweden vs. Me

One thing you gather while traveling is the intricacies of your own culture. Sweden is a lot like Canada in some respects. They have a high minimum wage and cost of living, they appreciate personal space, and they have a designated area where you buy your alcohol - which after 20 years of life still pisses me off.

BUT, one difference is how negatively the Swedes are affected by the winters. I've actually witnessed two breakdowns while being here. Because these winters are so brutally long, the Swedes get really introverted. They don't want to talk, they just want to drink their expensive 3.5% cider and call it a night.

I also didn't realize how eccentric I am and how much this pains people here. For 2 months though I've been completely oblivious to the fact that my bandana is insulting, my hair offends them and my alcoholism is worrisome. It's not that they're totally against individuality here, it just... scares them. Being different is weird, and weird is borderline mentally unstable.

But it's the only form of scarf I have!

One piece of advice I can offer to innocent Canadians like myself is that a smile can go a long way. Despite how rude some people are initially to me, they always feel like shit when I respond with a smile. The best though is when I tell them to have a nice day. They actually don't know how to react to this. One lady, while I was in the Iceland airport, nearly cried with joy. So just be friendly and things will work out. Oh, and sew a Canadian patch on your bag. Trust me.

Thanks mom!

Greetings

Hello Internet. I've decided I will finally start a blog as I've been intending to for some time now. I'll try to keep people updated on my travels without scaring you with large blocks of text. Here, enjoy this picture of my kitty...

Though I cannot update you on 2 months worth of adventures at this very moment, I can compile a list of a few observations I've gathered so far (both about this city and about myself in general).

1. EVERYTHING IS EXPENSIVE

The rumors are true. Stockholm is as ridiculously expensive as they say it is. Which is a result of 15$/hr minimum wage. With the exchange rate, I find myself coughing up more money than I am aware of. I will often find myself at a bar ordering a beer and they will casually tell me it's 100 kr. Cool, that's like... average right?

Once I get home and have access to a currency converter, I come to the horrible realization that I just spent 15$ on a pint. Oh good God! The thing is, that's the standard for anything in this city. Cover for a bar is average 20$, a beer is around 15$, and that drunken mistake you call a hot dog is approximately 5$. Fuck.

Pictured: 140$ worth of beer.

2. I LOSE SHIT TOO EASILY

I suspect this comes with the territory of being an alcoholic with a low attention span - but it's become crippling in some effects. Within the first two weeks of living in Stockholm I've managed to lose everything vitally important. Including:

• blackberry
• my only purse
• debit card
• winter jacket
• dignity

Either way, I've come to the conclusion that I should duct tape my belongings to me when alcohol is involved.

My first and only blackberry, a short lived affair.

3. TRAVELING IS INEXPENSIVE

Yes, yes... I'm aware I just retold the horrors of Stockholm's 15$ beers. But it seems that getting out of Stockholm is ridiculously cheap.

In my free time I like to dream of all the countries I could visit if I actually had friends and my weekly budget wasn't blown on table wine. A flight to Berlin is about 10$, a round trip to Brussels is just under 20$ and a weekend in Poland (including hostels) would be around 60$. Moral of the story? Visit Stockholm last.

Children's imitation champagne in Spain is still cheaper than Stockholm's real wine...

4. I'M A KLEPTOMANIAC

To compensate for everything I lose on my nights out, I end up stealing something with little to no value to make myself feel better. As a result, my room is full of useless subway posters and street signs.

Oh, and this...


Despite the fact that this post makes my time so far sound like a living nightmare, it is quite the opposite. Everyone is amazing here, the subways run 24 hours on weekends AND you can talk on your cellphone on them. Gamla Stan (the old town) is also probably my favorite place in the world and I've become really good friends with the bartenders at this cave/bar. I'm still standing is the point and I'll keep standing until someone pushes me in the mud. But for now I'm going to go drink beer with the boys on my floor. Toodaloo!