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As much as we all dream of our travels being perfect. What we envision happening and the ensuing reality can be quite different. It is almost inevitable that at one time or another something will go wrong. I was keen to hear for others to share their travel disaster stories. Here is part one of my Travel Disaster Stories collab post;
The Bed-Wetter
Story by Adam @ roamingirishman.com
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After six months with friends in Australia, it was time to begin my solo travels. After a seven-hour flight from Brisbane, I touched down in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. As something of an introvert, I was more concerned by the fact that I was alone rather than the feeling that the world around me had sped up considerably. After all, travelling alone in Asia was always the plan. It was just that as of this moment, I was actually alone and I had to try and work out how to get by in the world that I now found myself in.
I checked into my hostel ‘The Longroom’. A small but simple hostel with a few four-bed dorms and some private rooms. Before heading out to explore the city for the first time, I was made aware of a barbecue the hostel was throwing that night on the terrace. Usually, I would shy away from such social gatherings but I decided to take my chances and sign up for it.
It turned into an excellent night. The staff brought in a huge amount of food and beer. It seemed like the whole hostel was there, drinking and chatting for hours on end. We all decided it was time for a change of venue and made our way to a nearby club. It turned out that we were the only people there but that didn’t stop the drinks from flowing, the tables full of shisha pipes and the music pumping. Everyone was in high spirits and getting along. The night instantly eased any fears I had about travelling alone.
As we made our way back to the hostel, I decided to turn in. I wanted to watch a football match which, due to the time difference, was on in the early hours. That and the jet lag began to catch up with me. As the game played out, the guy above me stumbled into the room in a drunken state seemingly oblivious to the fact others were in the room. He got undressed, climbed up to the top-bunk and began snoring as soon as his head hit the pillow. Another guy, presumingly because of the snoring, decided to rejoin the party. This left me alone with the snorer above me.
Not long before the match ended and I could get some eagerly anticipated sleep, a dripping began to happen from the bed above me. After just a few seconds of this dripping, the flood gates seemed to open and I quickly realised what was happening. Urine poured down the side of his bed, hitting the metal rail to the side of my mattress and onto the floor. I was trapped and could do nothing more than wait for it to stop. The smell quickly overtook the room which had no windows and I had to get out.
I made my way back to the group, telling them what had happened. As one, they all made their way to my room to see for themselves. They seemed to get great enjoyment from the puddle that they discovered in the middle of the floor. I did the only thing I could do, start drinking again until I was in a state that no longer cared about the conditions I was sleeping in. As the sun rose I went back to bed.
When I woke, who was there to greet me but the guy from the bunk above. He was gathering his stuff to check out. To this day, I am not sure whether that was pre-planned or a spur of the moment idea. Expecting maybe an explanation or an apology, I was taken aback by how blasé he was about the whole situation. After all, there was an unmistakable smell in the room and a puddle on the floor that could only have come from one of two places. Instead, he recommended a restaurant and a curry that would help my hangover and off he went on his travels, leaving nothing behind but a puddle of piss and a lasting memory of my first time staying in a hostel alone.
Lying awake at night in Papua New Guinea
Story by Stefan @ www.berkeleysquarebarbarian.com
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In 1998, during my gap year travelling the world, I spent one month in Papua New Guinea, doing a work-experience with one of the well-known NGOs. When I arrived at the office, straight from Port Moresby airport, my colleagues welcomed me warmly, but they all seemed upset. I soon found out why: one of their colleagues, a healthy 23-year old lady from Dublin, had just died in an ebolaesque manner five days before. The doctors were at a loss what could have caused it.
To cheer me up, one of my colleagues, a very well-respected so-called big man, a tribal leader, took me with him after work for some fun. We went straight to the red-light district. Upon arrival, my new friend was surprised when I advised him of my lack of interest to join him in the action. So I found myself sitting on my own in a car in a very dark street in the most dangerous part of a city not short of danger. After a few minutes, I see someone walking towards me. I’m thinking, okay, this is it. He gestures me to pull down the window. I comply. He asks me if I’m planning to get myself killed. I deny. He offers to wait with me until my pal returns, probably saving my life along the way.
When I had arrived in the country, I had been aware of the rumours of a military coup and civil unrest in the waiting. However, back then I was young and stupid. I thought, how bad can it get.
Three days later the whole country went on strike, including the prison wardens. As everyone knows, prison wardens are inherently good people. They didn’t want the prisoners to die of starvation in their locked cells. So they did the obvious thing: unlock all the cells.
Now, like all Westerners on this archipelago, I was living in a walled compound with heavily armed guards on patrol day at night. However, I was lying awake most of the following nights. We heard many gunshots nearby. A few times our guards fired shots. After five days, things started calming down. I haven’t been back to the country since. Lately, I’ve been feeling the urge to return. It was certainly the most exciting place I’ve ever visited in my life so far. I’ve made some friends that I stayed in touch with for many years. One of them I met again in Bangkok during another work experience the following year.
To read more about Stefan’s travels, click here
The Wrong Turn
Story by Elizabeth @ anchoredadventureblog.com
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What I thought would be a therapeutic bike ride to the beach from Bruges turned into getting lost in two countries and unintentionally biking 46 miles (74 km). The morning began as planned, with a ride out of town and along the canals to the nearby beach, Het Zoute, in the Netherlands. After a few hours there, we returned down the bike trail toward Bruges. Something wasn’t right. The keys on our map didn’t match the trail’s signage. We eventually made a big decision: There was only one sure-fire way to make it back to the hostel – the highway back to Bruges. Must I remind you we were not even in the right country at this point?!
You can imagine the terror riding next to trucks and cars as they sped by us. The sidewalk helped us feel safer, though my parents still cringe when I tell them the story. We ran out of water and snacks, and we were exhausted. My legs turned to jelly, so I had to use my hands to push my legs down and rotate the pedals. Had I been in a race, I surely would have given up. But in real life? With the sun setting? On the side of a highway with no cell service? No water? No food? I had no other choice but to keep going.
We cycled for nearly four hours, covering nearly 50 miles (74 km). We survived. It was a massive fail – and major victory. When we got back, we ate a late dinner to celebrate our unplanned, killer workout: a massive steak, fries and chocolate cake with a bottle of wine. Worth it?
Ready to plan a trip to Bruges? Elizabeth, the gal behind Anchored Adventure Blog, shares realistic travel itineraries, destination guides, budget advice and minimalist packing tips to help you plan your travel adventures.
Getting Stung By A Scorpion In The Moroccan Desert
Story by Jenny @ talesfromthelens.com
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It’s the end of June, Steven is celebrating his 29th birthday and we have decided to spend it doing something special: camping in the Sahara desert in Morocco. After a long drive from Marrakech across the Moroccan countryside, we finally reach our destination and hop on a camel for a 45 min ride to our luxurious camp. As we arrive in the middle of the dunes we spend the next few hours playing in the sand, watching the sunset and listening to our host playing the drums under the bright stars of the Sahara. Nothing can spoil this incredible moment.
Nothing until I walk back to the tent, knock the door with my foot and feel a sharp and electric pain in my toe. Impossible to identify what it is, but it is burning and I have never felt such pain before. Steven runs out of the tent to look for help and comes back with two staff who immediately look around for snake or scorpion – two words that make me freak out even more! One of the staff finds in the carper a very small yellow scorpion, no bigger than a pinkie nail… It’s midnight. “Happy birthday, love, I just got stung by a scorpion in the middle of the desert!”
From that point, Steven carried me immediately out of the tent while the staff called somebody to pick me up in a 4WD. Scorpions aren’t apparently dangerous in Morocco but I still request to be driven to the local hospital and be checked by a doctor. For what I understood (thankfully I speak French), baby scorpions are very aggressive, but while their venom isn’t lethal, they drop everything they have which increases the pain a lot more than if I had been stung by an adult.
For the next 24 hours, I felt the strongest pain I have ever encountered. A mix of pins and needles with a pulsing burning sensation throughout my entire leg. Fortunately, the next day was principally spent in the car to head back to Marrakech as planned, but we never got the chance to spend the night in our luxury tent – probably the most luxurious place we had ever booked during our travels.
To read more about Jenny and Steven’s travels, click here!
The Hovel
Story by Ashley @ www.adventure-out-there.com
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Hahaha. Ok, so the bed wetter has to be one of the best things I have ever heard 😂😂😂
What a great combination of travel disaster stories, bed wetting, bullets, biting scorpion and a bizarre hovel – thanks for sharing your stories 🙂
had the same experience after returning back home, that people are under the impression that you travel solo,you are ‘lonely’ at all time.