Sometimes, travel flings can remind you that humanity still exists, even as the world crumbles around you. Skip navigation! Story from Travel. Laurel Miller. February 24, , PM. On Christmas Day, , I was camping on a Southeast Asian beach, when I came down with the flu, combined with bronchitis. I somehow managed to find the last vacant room on the island β a cell-like bungalow that mercifully had a Western toilet. I spent the next week riding out a high fever accompanied by a truly disgusting cough.
Fortunately, a large group of Aussie friends were occupying the adjacent bungalows. In between drinking copious amounts of beer, they took care of me, bringing me water, Gatorade, and medicine. I was haggard, weak, and stone cold sober due to the antibiotics I was on.
H spent much of the evening by my side, and I was shocked when he kissed me in the final moments of the 20th century. We spent hours talking at an abandoned rooftop bar, then wandered down to the deserted beach, where we lay under a palm tree and talked some more.
As dawn broke, we went back my bungalow, whereupon he threw me against the wall and kissed me. It was game on, and while we never technically had sex, we spent the next two days together. I was smitten, and he was talking visits to Australia.
But things got weird after we pulled anchor, and by the time we reached our destination, he was acting paranoid, asking where I planned to stay that night and suggesting it not be in X village.
