Sometimes when you travel, you have to deal with less-than-perfect conditions. Like the time I was at a homestay (that’s when you’re staying in someone’s home, pretty self explanatory) in Norway, and they gave me the room above the garage. It was a nice room, and I had a very comfortable inflatable mattress, BUT there was no bathroom. If I had to go then I had to go to the main house.
I had a key, so normally this wouldn’t have been a problem, BUT, my hosts had a newborn baby, a tiny dog AND the mother in the house was feeling sick, so I was asked to avoid using the bathroom during the night. The day was fine, but during the night…
Just picture the scene. I enter the house, the bathroom is past the washroom where the dog sleeps. Stranger in the house! The dog wakes and immediately starts yapping like the little psycho it is (don’t let the cuteness fool you, this dog was LOUD when it got going!). This wakes the baby, which brings the sick mother running but she is dizzy because of the fever so she trips over the dog and cracks her head on the baby’s crib…It could happen! So I promised to avoid it. To save lives!
I had a hard time falling asleep that night, though. And when I finally did doze off, I woke shortly after, feeling a bit unwell. So unwell, in fact, that I had to vomit IMMEDIATELY!
But where?? There’s no bathroom, no sink, and NO TIME! I rush to the window and try to open it but there’s a bloody safety latch on it and no time to figure it out. So I cram my face into the narrow open gap at the bottom and try to aim my sick outwards.
In a brief pause, I do finally figure out how to open it properly, so now I am leaning on the windowsill in a pool of my own vomit (minor detail), torso hanging out the window and decorating the side of the garage with yesterday’s dinner.
Eventually, my stomach gives me a bit of a break and I consider going into the house, but the damage was already done and I really wanted to avoid the chain reaction that would happen if I woke that bloody dog. As much as I cursed my hosts for not telling me what KIND of illness the hostess had, I still didn’t think waking the whole household would help anything.
So instead I found a plastic bag and spent the next 5 hours throwing up into that.
Finally, at 7 in the morning, I braved the main house, thinking they’d soon be up with the baby anyway. I managed to keep the dog quiet by grabbing the leash and taking him out to pee. But in my weakened state he broke away from me and ran straight to the puddle of vomit in front of the garage and proceeded to eat it!
I finally caught him and instead of risking him going bananas I just took him into the bathroom with me, where I laid down on the floor and waited to die, which the dog thought was a new game so he was delighted.
As it turns out, I had been remarkably, some might say TOO, quiet, because the hostess hadn’t heard me come in at all. She was feeling a lot better after a good night’s sleep, as I discovered when she walked stark naked into the bathroom with the baby in her arms, which she quickly used as a shield.
After I awkwardly explained the situation she, after finding a towel to cover up, upgraded my vomit-bag to a vomit-bucket. They then made me clean the windowsill and spray down the garage wall with a garden hose, before I could finally sleep for three days straight.
Ah, good times.