Guess Who Shipped Their Pants Again? Hint: Me.

Remember the last time when I shipped my pants drinking shippy water in Croatia? This time, we were in Nikko, Japan and this time, the culprit was food. This has happened quite a few times since I can remember and I think these poopy little mishaps deserve their own blog category. On to the story:

It was a cold, rainy day in Nikko. There were patches of snow on the ground and plenty of temples to explore. The famous “hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil” temple was a big hit. True story: I was expecting very tall statues of the famous little monkeys. Turns out they’re quite small and are etched into the wall of the temple. I was like: “where?! Where is it? I can’t see it!!” My husband kept responding with: “There! It’s right there. Look at where I’m pointing. Follow my finger. It’s your 12 o’ clock. It’s right there!”

There they are! There they are!

One really awkward moment later and I finally spotted the most famous set of monkeys on the planet nestled into the side of Toshogu Shrine, then took a photo and promptly put it up on Instagram. One of the best things about the shrines and temples are the intricate details and designs. For example, the most famous kitty on the planet is Nemuri-neko, the sleeping kitty also located at Toshogu Shrine.

Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur. Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur.

Rinnoji Temple was open despite being under construction. We walked in past ply boards and saw some of the more famous aspects of the temple; including this mustachio’d buddha. He’s my favorite buddha ever.

I mustache you I mustache you.

We had spent just about all day at Nikko and decided we were a little bit hungry from all that walking around. So we stopped by at a little cart selling some chocolate-stuffed waffles in the shape of a fish. Now, I’m not saying this is what caused it. It could have been anything, really. But, Frank and I got crazy-insane bowel problems, the likes of which had Frank doubled over for the entire train ride home. I was feeling just fine at that point and actively wrote in my journal about the mustachio’d buddha. As the train pulled into the station in Tokyo, Frank looked up at me–wearily and very pale–and clutched his stomach in agony. I, again, could just barely feel his pain and told him to toughen up, cupcake.

This might or might not have been the place where we contracted food poisoning. This might or might not have been the place where we contracted food poisoning.

We ate some dinner. Well, ate dinner. Frank pretended to eat dinner. Then we walked back to the hotel and asked the lobby for some stomachache medication. Now, before I move forward with this shiptastic story, I just want to pause and note that the thought of a hotel giving away medicine of any kind for free is an unfounded idea for us. This would not happen in the States. Ever. Unless a doctor or other person who took the hippocratic oath administered it. I remember being nauseous on a plane ride, asking the stewardess for an advil. She said (and I quote): “I will have to ask a doctor to give medicine to you.” Thoughts flashed in my mind of another time where a flight attendant asked for a doctor over the intercom and people just prickled thinking that someone must be violently ill or dying. So I declined the advil and suffered in what my husband would say was definitely not silence. Sounded like silence to me, though… I complained, but it’s not like I was mad about it.

So, back to the guy who gave us medicine. He showed us how to use it: fairly simple, take it with water. I gave it to Frank and it about two hours, he felt much better and back to normal. All was good.

Until about 4 in the morning, when I woke up with a start. There was a feeling in my stomach and I knew what that feeling meant: porcelain gods were going to be in my future. At literally 15 minute intervals, I was visiting the toilet and there was no end in sight for the next four days. Daily and nightly, I was sick to my stomach and tired. Starving myself didn’t work. Drinking water didn’t work. Asking the hotel for the same medicine didn’t work.

There was even one point where I woke up in the middle of the night and Frank asked –somewhat overly excited– “did you crap your pants?” I hadn’t and told him that and disappointingly muttered “oh” and went right back to sleep.

Nothing ever really worked until we landed in Taipei. This time, Frank bought some medicine that he swore would work up and down. It smelled awful. For those of you who have ever gone to a cookout where a pig is cooked in the ground, you know that it has a really earthy smoked flavor that, in my opinion, stinks something fierce. This traditionally Japanese medicine is like a pig luau on crack. Just opening the bottle even a smidge will stink up a room for quite some time. I stored some in my purse while we walked around Taipei and I swear, there are still times I can smell it embedded in the fabric of my purse.

This stinky medicine saved the day! This stinky medicine saved the day!

But, with just a couple of these little round black soft ball-shaped medicines (three every few hours, to be exact), I got better. No more praying that nearby bathrooms would have a Western toilet (because if it was a hole on the ground, I would have been screwed). I was finally cured. Four days, missed excursions and countless trips every fifteen minutes to the toilet later, I was finally done shipping my pants.


I always seem to ship my pants at beautiful places…

Pretty. Pretty. And a pretty garden. And a pretty garden. There's also a lot of moss in Nikko. There’s also a lot of moss in Nikko. Entrance to a shrine. Entrance to a shrine. Admiring all the intricate artwork. Admiring all the intricate artwork. Shinkyo Bridge Shinkyo Bridge

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