The end of an era

(Written: 30 January)
Yesterday, a 15 year streak of blissful vomit-free existence came to a sudden (and rather unnatractive) end in the mountains of north Laos. The picturesque view of the Nam Ou river flowing between soaring cliffs was at distinct odds with the biohazard that erupted from me this afternoon. On the four hour bus from Luang Prabang to here, I was forced to strategically place myself near the back of the bus so that I could leap out at a moment's notice should the threatening rumblings in all areas of my digestive system escalate to full-scale, all-out bowel evacuation. That's four glorious hours of wondering whether the next rhino-sized pothole was going to be the one to finally shake the shit right out of me.
I survived the trip with dignity more or less intact and crawled to the nearest guest house, where I immediately collapsed into a heap on the bed. Upon waking two hours later, the worst of my fears became reality. I suppose I ought to be grateful that the no-puke streak of which I was so proud came to an end the way it did. It was fast, furious, and left me with no choice but to admit overwhelming defeat. Two minutes after emptying myself from the other end as well, I again dragged myself back into bed. There I remained for the next 16 hours.
The look on the guesthouse owner's face when I emerged the next morning was nothing short of precious. Poor woman probably figured she would have to explain to the authorities why there was a dead farang locked in one of her rooms.
I'm feeling much better today, and am even considering eating dinner at the Indian place on this side of the river. The streak's not even a day old now, so what have I got to lose?