The dinner was lovely, but either that meal or (more likely) the one at lunch earlier was entirely upsetting for my digestive system. Over the 11 hours between 10pm Thurs and 9am Fri I made no less than 7 trips to the toilet – each one in quite a hurry. And as yet another indication that bad things come to those to try new things, our toilet (which was progressively having more and more trouble flushing) finally choked and stopped draining completely. Not too late into the night I jumped up to go, but my previous flush wasn’t flushed.
Bang Bang Bang! Was me on the door across the hall. "We're in bed!" called Lara; ever the curt one. Some gentle coaxing in the form of moaning and thumping roused her to open the door just far enough for be to bowl her over and shut myself in her toilet for some momentary relief. It wasn't the type of relief I expected thought; the strain in my intestinal region passed itself to my stomach which subsequently went out (the other end) in sympathy. This continued through the night, I would get around an hour's worth of reprieve after each bout.
Come morning I was quite fed up with the whole affair and resolved to at least keep down the medication, which I finally succeeded at. Every disease likes to kick a man when he's down and the fever is no different, hitting me during the day with enough intensity to give severe discomfort but fortunately not enough severity to warrant more than copious quantities of drugs and moving my bed under the fan. It too passed in a few hours.
During the day I was afforded one amusing scene however. Our room stank like shit that had been left to sit overnight (funnily enough) and my roommate Bruce (permission to use name granted) took it upon himself to see that someone fix our toilet and the air-contents of the room be returned to predominantly breathable elements once again. He spoke to the wife of the hotel owner/manager/handyman/boor when he left in the morning, explaining the problem and mentioning also that there was still someone resting in the room. He got a "ah yeah, happens all the time, no worries" sort of wave and chuffed off. When he returned at lunch time the smell of the room had vastly improved (I could open the window and door easily enough) but the source of the problem was not yet addressed. Being the follow-through type of guy that he is, Bruce again trudged the two flights down to have another crack at procuring assistance. Downstairs it seems that they did understand the problem, but didn't fix it because there was somebody in the room. Better to leave them suffocate on methane perhaps.
Making it clear that no this person resting upstairs won't infect them with a deadly disease, but yes he might soon pass on himself if left with the toilet in its current state, the wife of the family team followed him back up to the room. Apparently her husband gave her a dismissive "you take care of it" wave to send her up, and was disgruntled to miss even that much TV wrestling.
After assuring her that my friendly gestures to welcome her into the room were not contagious scramblings of a madman, she came in and Bruce left us.
No problem, let's have a look.
She lifted the lid only the microsecond required to assess the situation and in one fluid motion reeled backwards and reached forward to flush the toilet (because we wouldn't have tried that of course). This incited mild palpitations in my chest because my rough calculations suggested the volume already in the bowl plus the volume added by the flush was greater than the total volume of the bowl. I was relieved to be mistaken in this case, but I must have been close.
This was the extent of her problem solving abilities apparently so she left the room again, leaving me feeling rather jipped. But only for a short while, she returned momentarily and again made for the bathroom, in a manner that gave me deja-vu. She wasn't going to do the same thing again though, it would be ludicrous to lift that lid again. I know, let's just give it another flush.
In this poor lady's defence I should here mention that she was already under a decent level of pressure from her partner downstairs, and the intoxication of sniffing what was under that lid would have shortened a fair number of synapses too. Stressed people make mistakes.
Before I could slap my hand on my face the dreaded blurble-blurble-blurble started as this most wretchedly odious matter oozed from the lid. With lightning reflexes and a child-like manner of guilt she reached for the shower rose to try and wash away her faux pax.
Just at that moment her magnanimous husband, appeared at the door. Had I been more attentive I might have been able to learn the Khmer for "What the f#*&?". The mild condescending berating that followed was amusement enough for my feebled mind, but what really set it off was the internationally recognisable facial expression that he through to me, saying what real men everywhere say whenever they get the chance: "the stupid woman" (complete with semi-roll of the eyes).
Mr Machismo then shooed his wife away, inspected the scene inside the bathroom, left to get some utensils (making sure to look me in the eye while wiping his feet on our bathroom mat on his way out), returned and got the job done in a few short minutes. I was relieved to see him carrying a bottle of disinfectant when he left (though I'm not sure if he used it or if it was just a prop), but ever much more relieved to be able to relieve myself there one again.
Room 23, "Prum Tep Guest House"
Tbeng Meanchey, Preah Vihear province
Cambodia
Bang Bang Bang! Was me on the door across the hall. "We're in bed!" called Lara; ever the curt one. Some gentle coaxing in the form of moaning and thumping roused her to open the door just far enough for be to bowl her over and shut myself in her toilet for some momentary relief. It wasn't the type of relief I expected thought; the strain in my intestinal region passed itself to my stomach which subsequently went out (the other end) in sympathy. This continued through the night, I would get around an hour's worth of reprieve after each bout.
Come morning I was quite fed up with the whole affair and resolved to at least keep down the medication, which I finally succeeded at. Every disease likes to kick a man when he's down and the fever is no different, hitting me during the day with enough intensity to give severe discomfort but fortunately not enough severity to warrant more than copious quantities of drugs and moving my bed under the fan. It too passed in a few hours.
During the day I was afforded one amusing scene however. Our room stank like shit that had been left to sit overnight (funnily enough) and my roommate Bruce (permission to use name granted) took it upon himself to see that someone fix our toilet and the air-contents of the room be returned to predominantly breathable elements once again. He spoke to the wife of the hotel owner/manager/handyman/boor when he left in the morning, explaining the problem and mentioning also that there was still someone resting in the room. He got a "ah yeah, happens all the time, no worries" sort of wave and chuffed off. When he returned at lunch time the smell of the room had vastly improved (I could open the window and door easily enough) but the source of the problem was not yet addressed. Being the follow-through type of guy that he is, Bruce again trudged the two flights down to have another crack at procuring assistance. Downstairs it seems that they did understand the problem, but didn't fix it because there was somebody in the room. Better to leave them suffocate on methane perhaps.
Making it clear that no this person resting upstairs won't infect them with a deadly disease, but yes he might soon pass on himself if left with the toilet in its current state, the wife of the family team followed him back up to the room. Apparently her husband gave her a dismissive "you take care of it" wave to send her up, and was disgruntled to miss even that much TV wrestling.
After assuring her that my friendly gestures to welcome her into the room were not contagious scramblings of a madman, she came in and Bruce left us.
No problem, let's have a look.
She lifted the lid only the microsecond required to assess the situation and in one fluid motion reeled backwards and reached forward to flush the toilet (because we wouldn't have tried that of course). This incited mild palpitations in my chest because my rough calculations suggested the volume already in the bowl plus the volume added by the flush was greater than the total volume of the bowl. I was relieved to be mistaken in this case, but I must have been close.
This was the extent of her problem solving abilities apparently so she left the room again, leaving me feeling rather jipped. But only for a short while, she returned momentarily and again made for the bathroom, in a manner that gave me deja-vu. She wasn't going to do the same thing again though, it would be ludicrous to lift that lid again. I know, let's just give it another flush.
In this poor lady's defence I should here mention that she was already under a decent level of pressure from her partner downstairs, and the intoxication of sniffing what was under that lid would have shortened a fair number of synapses too. Stressed people make mistakes.
Before I could slap my hand on my face the dreaded blurble-blurble-blurble started as this most wretchedly odious matter oozed from the lid. With lightning reflexes and a child-like manner of guilt she reached for the shower rose to try and wash away her faux pax.
Just at that moment her magnanimous husband, appeared at the door. Had I been more attentive I might have been able to learn the Khmer for "What the f#*&?". The mild condescending berating that followed was amusement enough for my feebled mind, but what really set it off was the internationally recognisable facial expression that he through to me, saying what real men everywhere say whenever they get the chance: "the stupid woman" (complete with semi-roll of the eyes).
Mr Machismo then shooed his wife away, inspected the scene inside the bathroom, left to get some utensils (making sure to look me in the eye while wiping his feet on our bathroom mat on his way out), returned and got the job done in a few short minutes. I was relieved to see him carrying a bottle of disinfectant when he left (though I'm not sure if he used it or if it was just a prop), but ever much more relieved to be able to relieve myself there one again.
Room 23, "Prum Tep Guest House"
Tbeng Meanchey, Preah Vihear province
Cambodia
posted by Tim at 1:05 pm
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