2 Travel Lessons I Learned the Hard Way (A Very Real Story)

I’ve been traveling the world for over 15 years. I haven’t quite reached the luxury of full time travel yet (we’re working on it), but I’ve always managed to squeeze in two or three trips a year.

Travel has given me some beautiful gifts: meeting new people, discovering new cultures, opening my mind, and learning how to be flexible. And flexibility, as it turns out, usually comes from learning lessons… the hard way.

After all these years, there are two rules I always keep in mind.

Rule #1: Always go to the bathroom whenever you can.

It sounds obvious. You need to pee? You go. End of story.

But when you’re traveling, your brain starts making questionable decisions. It convinces you that your body is more capable than it is, and that this time, pushing it will be fine.

At some point in my travels, I decided I had a “pretty tough bladder.” I now know—for a fact—that I can hold it for over six hours. I’m not particularly proud of this achievement (okay, maybe a little), but mostly I hope you can learn from my mistakes and never put your bladder through what I did.

This happened pre-Covid, on a work trip I’d done countless times before. Back then, I traveled to China twice a year, and this one was supposed to be routine. Everything should have gone exactly as planned.

It didn’t.

The route:

·      Montreal → Toronto

·      Toronto → Hong Kong

·      Hong Kong → Shenzhen (by ferry)

·      Shenzhen → Dongguan (1-hour drive)

 The whole thing should’ve taken under 18 hours. I’d done it before. Total no-brainer.

Which brings me to rule number two.

Rule #2: Never expect to be on time.

My flight to Hong Kong was slightly delayed, just enough to make things annoying. I had plenty of time to buy my ferry ticket, but not quite enough patience to stand in line for the ladies’ room.

I told myself, “It’s fine. I don’t really need to go. I don’t even feel like going. I’ll just go on the ferry.”

Of course, the ferry was late.

At this point, I should mention that I had a driver waiting for me at the ferry station in Shenzhen at 9pm. I didn’t have his phone number because a colleague had arranged it, and if you’ve ever been to China, you’ll know that the internet can be as spotty as Swiss cheese.

“It’s okay,” I reassured myself. “He’ll wait if I’m a little late.”

The ferry was now 30 minutes late.

I started feeling the gentle reminder from my bladder—the kind you can still ignore. But boarding could happen at any moment, and there’s usually a bathroom on the ferry anyway, right?

Eventually, the ferry arrived… and then departed 45 minutes late.

At least I was finally on board. First mission: find the bathroom.

Out of order.

Small panic.

Still, it was just a tickle. I figured I could easily hold it another hour or so, and surely there’d be a toilet at the ferry station. I sat back down, enjoyed the 30-minute ride, and distracted myself by dreaming about the hotel: air-conditioning, a king-size bed, and that magical jet-lag sleep where you pass out the second your head hits the pillow.

We arrived in Shenzhen after 9pm. Luckily, I travel light (carry-on only, always), so I skipped the luggage wait and walked cheerfully toward border control. I’d been here before—this part never took more than 15 minutes.

I opened the doors and stopped dead in my tracks.

The room was completely packed. Wall to wall. This was not going to be a 15-minute situation.

“My driver will wait,” I told myself, as a small panic crept in.

9:30pm, the line was barely moving.
9:45pm, I’d taken maybe ten steps forward.
10:00pm, I wondered if I was even halfway.
10:15pm, I thought I might finally be next.

At 10:20pm, I finally made it through.

My bladder immediately reminded me of its existence.

I glanced around for a bathroom—no luck. Missing my driver felt riskier than holding it a little longer, and the hotel was only about 45 minutes away. I decided I could make it.

Outside, I was hit with a wave of hot, humid air. If you’ve ever been to China, you know exactly what I mean.

My phone didn’t work.
My internet didn’t work.
The loading circle mocked me relentlessly.

Finally, close to 11pm, I spotted a car with my name on it. Absolute relief.

I ran over, tossed my bag into the back seat, and slid in behind the passenger side, a detail that would later become very important. The driver looked annoyed, but we were moving, and that’s all I cared about.

Ten minutes in, we stopped.

Traffic.

At first, I assumed it was a brief slowdown. I hadn’t yet been educated on how long traffic jams in China can last. We ended up sitting there for three hours.

Let me say that again: three hours.

By this point, I had been traveling for nearly 20 hours. I crossed my legs, switched sides, and stared longingly at tour buses, briefly wondering if I could ask to use their toilets. I decided that was a line I wasn’t ready to cross.

After an hour and a half, I finally spoke up.

“Hey… I kind of need to go. Do you think we can pull over somewhere?”

He looked at me, baffled. It was past midnight, everything was closed, and there wasn’t really anywhere to pull over. He nodded and kept driving.

I asked again. Another nod.

My thoughts spiraled into worst-case scenarios I’d never imagined considering before.

Eventually, he turned to me and asked, “Do you have a plastic bag?”

I was offended. Then desperate. Then curious.

I searched my carry-on and found nothing—until I remembered a small airport purchase from earlier that day. I unzipped the bottom pocket and, against all odds, there it was.

I waved it at him like I’d just won the lottery.

Without hesitation, he stopped the car, pulled the front passenger seat forward and stepped out. He coolly lit a cigarette and leaned against the door like this was all very normal.

I did what had to be done.

The relief was immediate and unforgettable—like drinking an ice-cold beverage on the hottest, most humid day imaginable, except it was my bladder experiencing joy.

The bag leaked. I panicked. I finished quickly, tied it up, and asked what to do next.

He pointed at the road.

I dropped it.

Somewhere on a highway in China, there is a plastic bag that holds a very specific memory.

We eventually reached the hotel. I thanked him, signed his drop-off sheet, and ran straight to the bathroom for round two before even checking in.

The final twist? Michael, the driver, ended up being my driver for the rest of the trip.

Thankfully, we never spoke about what happened.

Lesson of the story

To all my fellow travelers: if there’s a bathroom nearby, just go. Even if you don’t feel like you need to. Delays happen. Bathrooms disappear. Bladders have limits.

I’d love to say I believe fully in mind over matter—but when your body decides it’s time, your mind no longer gets a vote.

Trust me. I know.