A diary, a fly and a man

by Isabella Parker (Australia)

Making a local connection Thailand

My travel diary was undeniably used and abused. It had food stains, dirt marks and wet pages from leaving it in my backpack whilst a sunny day took at spontaneous, 180-degree turn, torrential rain pouring suddenly from the heavens above. To be honest, I’d be upset if that diary were still in pristine condition anyways. I was in a hostel in Chiang Mai, a shell of a human from exhaustion, journaling about the past few weeks spent trekking before my inevitable 10-hour sleep. I wrote in my journal “I may be fatigued, but my heart is still abundant in warmth for a place I’ve fallen in love with. Thailand.”. My hand finally throbbed from the rapid writing so I closed the journal, revealing the quote on the cover; “expect the unexpected”. I did not expect what was going to happen next. I was in a deep sleep until I was catapulted out of bed by a frantic pulsating in my ear and buzzing tone. I held back my screech as there were others in the hostel room, fast asleep. But I was panicked! There was a bloody fly zooming around in my ear! My instincts took over and I poured water in my ear, hoping to swish it out. That would work, right? Wrong. I killed the bug, RIP, but it remained in my ear. I poked around there, trying to pick it out, but I think I just pushed it further in my ear… Great. I was frantic, messaging my dad, a paramedic, back home, who was awake thanks to the time difference. He said I’d need to get it out first thing the next morning or infection would occur. The next morning, as if a cotton bud was jammed in my ear, I could feel the fly’s grave. I rushed to the hostel's reception and sitting there was a chipper, Thai man at the desk, smile lines showing years of stories and wrinkles showing a life well spent. “Where is a pharmacy? I need to get ear drops!” I said, trying to be gracious yet I was still frazzled. He smiled blankly. I repeated myself before realising he probably didn’t speak English. I decided to ridiculously act out the scenario. First, I flapped my hands around and made a ‘zzzzzzz’ noise and acted out a fly so uncannily that I most definitely deserved an Oscar… Then I pointed to my ear horridly and acting out looking shocked. I kept repeating this scene, hoping our language barrier would fade thanks to my Year 10 drama skills. The man stared at me wide-eyed for a while, until cackling. And I don’t mean a little bit of laughter, I mean, leaning back, eyes closed, hands on your belly to stop the pain kind of hysterics. I couldn’t help it. My giggles turned to cackles too. It was infectious. He came around the bench, stood still for a moment, then cackled some more before taking a breather and gesturing me to follow him out of the hostel. We walked for a few minutes around the little town. He pointed at a lake. I nodded, unsure of what to do. “Lake!” I said, enthusiastically. “Lake” he repeated. He then warmly giggled. I couldn’t stop the giggles either. We laughed for what felt like forever until we walked into a small pharmacy. He spoke in Thai to the pharmacist through laughter, and she laughed too. She grabbed some ear drops and the man paid for them. I shook my head, refusing such a notion but before I could fight some more, the ear drops were bagged up, ready to go and he’d left the pharmacy. I tried to hand him over money but he wouldn’t accept. He just passed me the ear drops. He said “Thank you”, pointed at himself, and then laughed some more. Maybe it’s a silly story. Maybe I should have talked about the picturesque greenery or the extravagant wildlife Thailand has to offer. But it’s moments like these, odd connections with strangers, that make travelling so special. When I reminisce, my ears fly-free, I can’t help but laugh whenever I think about that giggly man.