Symbolic photo of me wading through dark tunnels in a Bagan temple 2 days before the Barfy Burmese Bus episode.


The toilet looked like Fruity Pebbles.


After gagging for the umpteenth time I released.


A Skittles-colored stew of my prior meals launched from my pie hole.


Just another day in paradise.


Truth be told, these vomiting episodes were *after*  my barfing bus ride through Burma. I took antibiotics 20 times stronger than their American brothers/sisters, creating both quick (ok 1 day) relief and a feeling worse than the initial sickness.


But that hellish healing episode is for…..another story.


Barfing on the Bus in Burma


Something was wrong.


Kelli had been sick for 3 days. Vomiting. The other stuff.


I myself experienced liquid diarrhea for 1 day. But when we boarded the bus in Bagan, Myanmar, something was wrong. I began to feel sick. A teaspoon of rice at a bus stop 1 hour into the trip was a battle to get down and to keep down.


30 minutes later I rued the rice as it was not nice. On my immune system.


I immediately felt awash in a wave of nausea. So I sprinted to the bus bathroom. Thank God for it. Only I did not know how to open the door, which seemed locked. So I ran to the front of the bus, violently gagging, yelling “I need to get off the bus” while a bus helper (?) with the fear of God in her eyes scrambled left to right like a crab evading a gentle wave as she bobbed and weaved under my impending barf.


They hit the brakes in 10 seconds. I ran into the fields. 1 AM. In the wilderness of Myanmar. I proceeded to diarrhea jet propulse everything from my backside. Beside cow paddies in the wilds of Burma. Cow paddies meaning cow poop of course.


Good news; the nausea subsided. For 5 minutes. Hopped back on the bus and the nausea quickly built as we wheeled around this enchanting country with pretty low hygiene standards.


Then, the devil’s dance began; every few minutes I jogged to the bathroom for some gagging and sometimes, barfing. Walk back. OK run back. Open door. Gag. Retch. Or, sometimes I experienced explosive diarrhea, making it *just* in time because I brought not Depends with me.


I eventually camped out in front of the shitter because I was a quitter when it came to the squirts trots, or the puking prance. I then went into a trance. It was not a fun dance, as I began hallucinating, swaying side to side as we entered the hillside region, barreling around winding curves for hours.


In one moment, a kindly lady asked me if I was OK. Then she asked if she could use the bathroom. I apologized for hogging the bathroom for so long and then nodded back in my disgustingly sick, nauseous, whacked-out, wiped-out state. The woman rubbed my shoulders – which I thought was weird – and then, I found out it was my wife Kelli.


Told ya I was really sick.


I eventually called Squatter’s Rights (get it?) on the toilet. Owned that sucker. Gagging. Retching. Explosive diarrhea. Again and again. For some 6 hours.


Then….when we finally arrived in Inle Lake, I slowly began to feel better. Not great, but the cold mountain air and clearing of my guts had brought me mild relief.


Because I was hellishly paranoid I’d contracted giardia again – after a horrific incident in India – I nutted up, bought  hyper strong antibiotics the next day in town, took ’em foolishly on an almost empty stomach, felt horribly ill for 17 hours, dry heaved and dry vomited many, many times, then eventually, at 1 AM, the illness passed.


I was free to enjoy Inle Lake for the following 2 days.


But I will never forget barfing on the bus in Burma.


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