Billionaire!
Two consecutive 10-hour slowboat rides in two days–without the aide of Dramamine–up the mighty Mekong River from Luang Prabang, Laos, to the Thai border, with nary a queaz, has all but confirmed the eradication of my embarrassing, lifelong affliction with motion sickness. The main indicator of this eradication, however, was not that I could handle the rides themselves, but that I was able to read (A complex, fascinating, and very funny book, written by Salman Rushdie, called Midnight’s Children), while the vessle continually rocked side to side as it bisected the legendary river. Previously, I would not have been able to read beyond, “It was a dark and stormy n . . . Uhhhg, gotta look up,” while riding in any vehicle (Unless I was the driver. Which is a strange phenomenon, like not being able to tickle yourself. I once read an entire Stephen King novel while driving from Montgomery, Alabama to Twin Falls, Idaho, and not once did I have to look up from nausea. Nor did I find the self-tickling very amusing.).
Following the initial near overdose, which was the Speedboat to Sihanoukville (aided by Dramamine), the healing elixir, I believe, came in smaller doses: a few short boat rides; numerous road trips over bumpy terrain and winding roads; a tube ride down the river in Vang Vieng, Laos. Either that or the wax in my ears has accumulated to a perfect balance, offsetting what triggers the nausea. (Doesn’t motion sickness have something to do with your ears?)
There is one challenge that I will have to face before the eradication can be deemed certifiably complete. And that is a protracted stay on a small boat in the middle of a raging ocean . . . or an elephant ride. I’m not kidding. When I was in Thailand last year, I took an elephant ride. You had a choice between a 10 minute ride or a half hour ride. If I’d have chosen the half hour ride, I would have puked 11 minutes into it.
But believing, now, that my affliction has been conquered, a whole new world has been opened up to me! A world I have avoided, like squat toilets, all of my life, but achingly craved to join. A world of boats, canoes, kayaks, inner tubes, roller coasters and other vomit inducing rides, snorkling (I got incredibly nauseous the only time I have ever snorkled), scuba diving, and archery. No more shall I decline offers of nautical adventure with the embarrassing reply, “No thanks, I can’t, I get seasick.”
I also believe the curse of seasickness has been the obstacle that has kept me from becoming a rich man. Here’s the logic: I’ve lived near the ocean all of my life (except for the 3 years I was away at college earning a BA in mathematics, which, ironically, hasn’t helped me to become rich either) and have always dreamed of owning a boat. I’ve never voiced this dream to anyone, but it’s always been there, like the dress I kept under my bed. While living in Sarasota, Florida, I frequently went to Bayfront Park, which is also the dock for the opulent boat owners of the city. I would jealously watch my wealthy neighbors as they prepared for a cruise, or I would just imagine that one of the most extravagant boats belonged to me. Before I left for my trip here, that boat I always admired most suddenly donned a for sale sign. It read “$850,000.”
My boat wouldn’t be a boat at all, but a yacht, with a full professional kitchen, 4 or 5 bedrooms, a living room, a den with a fireplace, a pool and jacuzzi, a tennis court (with a net to catch errant hits to protect the whales), and if there’s room, maybe even a foozball table. But what good is owning such a magnificent ship if I will never set sail? What’s the point of becoming rich if I will never buy a boat?
The disappearance of this hindrance, this seasickness, has suddenly thrust upon me the incentive I’ve been lacking all of my life! Incentive to live the dream! Incentive to become . . . a billionaire!
Donations greatly appreciated.
Tags: Border, Laos, Thailand, Travel
Mark
Ok I saw your picture and you’re not such a kid. It’s just that I mainly see kids everywhere. I am 61 so you’re still pretty much a kid as far as I’m concerned. 🙂 My oldes is 39 and I still call him a kid!
Keep writing. You make me laugh in sympathy.
I guess wanting a boat was a secret you never told anyone, because I never heard about it, and I knew about the dress under the bed.
“with the waters that flow past my boat on the river – So I dont cry out anymore”
Ginger does the trick too man…it worked better for me than Dramamine even – one of the dive masters on Ko tao turned me onto it.
hang in there!
Greg