Postcard From A Risky Trip To The Toilet

I was sprawled out on the cool concrete floor at the bus station.

Exhausted, I’d just spent two weeks visiting friends in one of my all-time favorite cities in Thailand, Chiang Mai.

All the plastic seats surrounding this particular platform were taken, so I hunkered down between my big and small backpacks, awaiting the four-hour bus ride up to Chiang Rai.

I was heading North to visit Bay — a Thai friend of mine who is also a member of the Akha Hill Tribe.

As much as I love my friends in both Chiang Mai and Chiang Rai, this story actually stems from me having to hand over my trust, and all my belongings, to a complete stranger.

Still plopped down on the bus station floor, I finished my second cup of coffee and desperately needed to pee.

After spotting the toilets, I noticed that once you pay the bathroom attendant the 3 baht entry fee, you must then finagle your way through one of those turn-style, revolving metal doors in order to enter the actual bathrooms.

From afar, this looked to be an incredibly tight squeeze, even for the smaller, thinner-framed Thai dudes who were going in-and-out.

Eyeballing the quickly moving queue while clutching my bags, I watched as men half my size were barely able to slip through the rotating metal arms.

Man, I had to go.

But I also knew there was no way in hell I’d be able to get through that entry point while carrying either one of my packs.

Which forced me to once again exercise a muscle that Travel is so good at strengthening:

Trust.

Trusting a stranger.

Trusting your intuition.

Trusting an uncomfortable situation.

These are all things that get tried and tested when you travel on your own.

It was morning rush hour, so the bus station was boomin’.

I was engulfed in a sea of moving parts and passing people.

If I had to guess, I’d say it was 90% locals and 10% farangs (gringos) — everyone in a hurry, coming and going with purpose.

And while the likelihood of someone taking off with one of my backpacks while I was in the toilet is unlikely — given the fact I was on a six-month journey and everything packed was more or less an essential — that’s still a risk my brain is well trained to consider.

With my bladder becoming less and less patient, I quickly began scanning the crowd to try and find someone I felt comfortable leaving all my belongings with.

“Ah, there he is,” I thought to myself.

A gentle-faced elderly man posted up on a bench that he looked like he owned.

He appeared unhoused, like he might roam the streets when the sun goes down, collecting all the plastic bottles poking out from his weathered duffle bag, only to spend his days on that covered bench hiding from the heat.

Given what I know about the Thais, and because of how bad I had to go, he was gonna need to be trustworthy enough.

I caught his attention with a slight, inconspicuous wave of two fingers.

After making eye contact, I could instantly sense his humble human nature.

I pointed at my bags, then to the toilets, and he knew exactly what I was asking.

He barely grinned while also nodding his head — leading me to believe that him guarding my belongings was indeed a safe bet.

Trusting my gut, I took his word for it and left my bags behind… then strategically maneuvering my way through the crowd and towards some relief.

Trigger Warning:

One of the points of this story actually originates from…

The toilet.

Yeah, I know.

But before I go there, to my American friends who might not know:

The word ‘toilet’ everywhere else in the world means ‘bathroom’ or ‘restroom.’

Only in the States does ‘toilet’ mean the actual object that people do their business inside of.

For example: We Americans would never say, ‘I’ll be right back, just gonna go to the toilet real quick.’

But in other English-speaking countries, that’s the most common way to use the word.

Just wanted to clear that up because I know that for most Americans, the word ‘toilet’ can come across harsh.

It should also be noted that bus station toilets in developing countries are places where you never know what you’re going to get once you enter.

Most of them, you never wanna breathe through your nose while inside.

The trick is to hold your breath for as long as you can.

And when that gasp of air needs relief, you take tiny inhales and exhales through tightly puckered lips — as to let the least amount of foul-smelling air into your mouth as possible.

That being said, as soon as I paid my 3 baht and slivered my way through the metal turn-style entry, I failed to heed my above-mentioned advice.

And… it hit me like a ton of bricks.

The smell was unreal.

Again, Southeast Asian toilets are always a crapshoot.

But this?

This was something far beyond that.

In fact, in all my years of using developing-country dumping grounds, I’d never experienced anything like it.

As I’m standing there peeing, I closed my eyes and couldn’t help but continue taking in as many long and deep sniffs as humanly possible.

Immediately, my mouth began to water.

“Mmmm…. Whoa,” I exhaled out loud.

The odor was so out of place, yet somehow… appetizing.

With my gag reflex now on lockdown, lo and behold, this urinal smelled like I was standing smack-dab in the middle of one of this country’s most famous street-stall kitchens.

Plumes of frying garlic, lemongrass, basil, and chili peppers floated through the air.

While surrounded by nothing but porcelain and recently flushed sewage, somehow my mouth continued to water.

As I’m washing my hands, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absolute irony, whispering to the man in the mirror:

“Only in Thailand, Ace!”

Even though I’d already had a massive breakfast, as soon as I clicked my way through the rotating-armed exit, I began playing charades with the bathroom attendant in an attempt to locate where that smell was coming from.

I took an over-exaggerated inhale through my nose while shrugging my shoulders:

“Hom arroy. Tee nai?” I asked.

(Smells delicious. Where?)

She eagerly popped up from her folding chair, walked catty-corner from the bathrooms, and pointed to two massive woks with barreling flames beneath them.

“Arroy maak!” I shouted to the woman standing in her pajamas hovering over the flames.

Mystery solved.

It was up from those woks and in through the cracked windows above the urinals where those unlikely waves of aromatic divineness were coming from.

This little 5-star-smelling gem literally shared a wall with the men’s room.

Needless to say, it was the most mouth-watering urination of my entire life.

Quickly heading back toward my bus’s platform, I motioned to the elderly protector of my bags, asking if he’d like a plate from the hidden food stall.

Raising a plastic bag of food with one hand, he put his other hand over his heart and graciously declined.

Consequently, a palms-pressed-together and respectful head bow would have to be enough in terms of how I showed this man my appreciation for our silent transaction of trust.

I gave him one last thumbs-up before slinging on my backpacks and heading towards the platform.

Now sat in my window seat, I peeked across the crowd and found the man still curiously looking my way.

As the bus blared its horn, announcing our departure, he gently dipped his chin, smiled a full, toothless smile, and waved goodbye.

And, of course… I was happy to do the same.

With Gusto,
Adrian

P.S. For anyone who might be wondering what the vast majority of toilets in Thailand look like, here ya go:

A bucket of water to flush your business with… and a bum-gun to finish the job.

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