Suffering From Dengue Fever In A Shared Hostel Dorm In Bali

by Hannah Collerson

During my first few days in Bali, I fell ill with Dengue Fever. I was travelling solo and staying in an 18-bed dorm room in a hostel, sharing two toilets between 36 hostel guests. Here’s what happened. 

The Incident That Started It All: The Mosquito Bite

My first ever visit to Bali started with a trip to a coworking space. I wanted to get some work done before planning any adventurous day trips, so I set off with my laptop and found my way there. I took a seat in the garden to enjoy the sun while I worked and within minutes I felt a sharp stinging on my arm. And sure enough, there was a big black and white striped mosquito on my arm, with its mouth still firmly attached to my skin. I knew the type of mosquito: the Aedes Aegypti.

I knew it only because I’d researched dengue fever the year before, while travelling through Thailand, and this was the type of mosquito that carried the illness.

Once I’d smacked the mosquito off my arm and the stinging had stopped, I sighed. I bet I get dengue fever or typhoid, I thought. That would be just my luck. Contracting dengue on my very first day in Bali.

My Descent Into Illness

I carried on the rest of the day, and the day after the bite as normal. But on my third day in Bali, I woke up feeling absolutely bloomin’ awful. I told myself I was just tired and hauled myself out of bed and into the shower. I had a new members meeting at the coworking space at 10:30 am, so I rushed to get ready and started the 20-minute walk.

A few steps down the road I felt even worse than I had when I first woke up. My head was pounding, my back was aching like crazy and I felt the same sort of nausea you get with a hangover. I didn’t really think anything of it — I just put it down to not having had any breakfast. I’m a bit of a diva when it comes to breakfast.

I arrived at the meeting late and sat at the bark on a bench. The pain in my back was getting worse and I shuffled and fidgeted throughout the entire meeting, drawing my knees to my chest, twisting, turning and arching my back just to try and alleviate the pain.

Once the meeting was over I ordered a chocolate muffin (because what better way to try and get better than with a large serving of something chocolatey). Each mouthful was a struggle. Halfway through the muffin, I realised I was unwell. Normally I devour anything chocolatey in seconds, but the muffin was a struggle, and each mouthful made me feel worse. And the pain in my lower back had spread down to my knees and to my upper back and shoulders.

I’d only completed a measly seven minutes of work, but I slammed my laptop shut and started to walk back to the hostel. I quickly came across a guy with a motorbike yelling ‘taxi taxi’ (they’re everywhere in Ubud), and decided there was no way I could walk back to the hostel. So I got on the back of the taxi driver’s motorbike and did my best to cling on as he drove me home. Looking back, I should have found a taxi driver with a car. I barely had the strength to hold on as he swerved through the Ubud roads and tiny streets to get me home.

A Shared Hostel Dorm: The Worst Place To Be Ill

I got back to the hostel at about midday and went straight to my dorm. A team of about 7 cleaning staff were in there changing sheets, sweeping and mopping the floor and carrying out their cleaning routines. My heart sank, I had to lay down, and I couldn’t get to my bed.

I made my way down to the pool, where there were beanbags and sun loungers. I collapsed onto a bean bag and fell asleep almost immediately. I woke up about an hour later, feeling hot, thirsty and downright terrible. I had to make it to my bed.

Luckily the cleaning staff had finished up while I slept by the pool, so I stumbled into the room, kicking off one shoe before falling into bed. I drew the horribly thin and transparent curtain around the bed to give myself at least the illusion of privacy and again fell asleep, with one shoe still on.

I woke up about 8 hours later, in the evening, when a drunken man who was in the bunk bed above me fell against my bed, knocking the curtain open. He started to apologise, but his ‘sorry’ faded into muttering — he was clearly shocked by my appearance. I looked rough. And I knew that was probably just the first encounter I’d have with a drunken gap-year traveller that night. I was in a party hostel, and I knew from the previous nights I’d spent there that the partying and drinking wouldn’t stop until 4-5 am.

Sure enough, throughout the night I had to deal with the sound of girls vomiting in the bathroom, people having sex in the beds around me, music thumping on the offbeat of my throbbing headache. The worst part though was the bathroom situation. There were only two toilets for over 30 people, and the illness meant I needed those babies pretty regularly.

Each time I staggered to the toilet, which was only a few steps away from my bed, the aching pain got worse. My ankles, knees and hips felt like they were breaking each time I put weight on them. The pain was so intense it felt like I could hear my joints crunching and creaking. And when those few steps to the toilet were finally over, I would have to wait for the gaggles of drunken girls to finish weeing, vomiting and using the toilets to have heart-to-heart conversations.

The Quest for a Private Room

There was no way I could stay in the hostel. But every step I took felt like setting fire to my joints and muscles. I didn’t know what to do, how could I summon the strength to pack my rucksack, and carry the massive 15-kilogram pack to a new place?

A couple of days after being ill in the hostel I knew I had no choice but to face the pain and move to a private room in another guest house. I booked a room online and prepared to make a move. Packing up my things took the best part of four hours. After shoving each item into my backpack I laid back, breathing deeply, giving myself a pep talk to keep going. Eventually, I had packed and had pulled my backpack onto my back. The pain was excruciating.

I made it to reception to check out and was met with ‘Oh my goodness, are you okay?’ from the receptionist. It was at that moment I realised I couldn’t talk. I knew I had a sore throat, but next to all the other symptoms I hadn’t really given it a second thought. But no, trying to talk sent me into a coughing fit that seemed to last forever.

After coughing over the receptionist, and trying to say thank you through tear-filled eyes and spluttered sounds, I made my way to the main road. A taxi driver found me instantly, thank God. He took my rucksack and put it in the car, ignoring my attempts to ask him how much he charged. My guest house was only a ten-minute walk away, a five-minute drive maximum. It hurt to talk, it hurt to stand so eventually I gave up trying to ask how much and got in. He was grinning, and I knew instantly he was going to rip me off.

After a few minutes in the car we arrived near the guest house, he said he couldn’t get closer despite many other cars driving down the same road, and jumped out, threw my rucksack to the pavement and charged me 150,000 IDR — about £9. The journey shouldn’t have cost more than 60,000, but I didn’t have the strength to argue and he knew it.

I tried to pick my rucksack up of the floor where he had dumped it and didn’t even have the strength to lift it onto my shoulders. Eventually, someone helped me lift it up, and I stumbled a few minutes down the road to the guest house.

My room wasn’t ready yet, but I couldn’t stand, or even sit any longer. I laid down on a bench in a lobby — I don’t think I’ve ever looked more homeless. I was shivering despite the hot Bali weather, my hair was unbrushed, and I smelt like I hadn’t showered in weeks. But I had made it, I had my own private room, and I didn’t have to carry my stupidly large rucksack anymore.

Recovering From Dengue Fever

I was ill for another week and a half, but gradually I started to get better. Having my own room made the illness so much more bearable, but still, I was unable to leave the hotel to get food. Luckily there was water just a few steps from my room, but it took me six days to be able to leave the room to get something to eat. And if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from this whole ordeal, it’s that going six days without food is horrendous.

After a week I made it to the hospital to receive the care I needed, and now, about two weeks on from that silly mosquito bite, I’m doing much better.

So if you’re suffering from Dengue fever in Bali, or any other illness really, here are my tips to you:

• If you’re in a hostel, leave immediately and find a private room, before the illness gets worse!
• Go to a hospital or Doctors as soon as possible. Bali healthcare is actually very good.
• Don’t go six days without food, you’ll just make yourself feel worse.
• Wear mosquito spray! I literally never did this before I got ill, now you won’t see me out and about in Asia without it
• Ask for help — I struggled through most of the illness on my own, but if I’d just asked for help there were so many people around me who would have given it gladly. The Balinese are such lovely people, and apart from the taxi driver, so many people did their best to help me.

The Deserted Theme Park Of Tuan Chau, Vietnam

by Hannah Collerson

After a week of sleeping on a rock hard bed, in a $3 per night hotel on Cat Ba Island (Vietnam) I decided to treat myself to a bit of a luxury. So I booked five nights in a 4* hotel, with a private beach and a steam shower on Tuan Chau Island. Perfection.

We arrived at the resort after getting a ferry and bus over to Tuan Chau from Cat Ba, and it was perfect, it was everything we could have hoped for. The beach had miles of untouched sand, and hammocks hanging from the Palm trees. I’d upped my budget to $50 a night, and it was worth every bit of that.

But after a few days of relaxing with fried noodles and cocktails on the beach, I started to get itchy feet. It was time to explore the island properly.

Tuan Chau – the ‘touristic’ island of Ha Long Bay

I’d read online that Tuan Chau was the ‘touristic island’ of Ha Long Bay, it was even marked on Google Maps as Touristic Centre, but the second we stepped outside the resort we knew there must have been some mistake.

Admittedly, we visited in October, which I guess is low season, but I’ve never seen a place so run down and eerily empty.

There was life-size Disney figurings laying damaged and scattered over the different gardens. It was like a graveyard of children’s dreams.

Then there was the fact that every shop was completely empty, no furniture, nothing, some of the buildings were half built, and there wasn’t a soul in sight.

We walked to the ferry port to get some snacks, as this seemed to be the only place that was 1) open and 2) not entirely deserted. There was a security standing outside, guarding the entrance, looking stern as they do, and when we walked into the building and into the convenience store, he followed us the whole way round, keeping uncomfortably close. I’ve never had such a tense snack-buying experience. I grabbed my cashew nuts and got out of there ASAP.

Just outside of the port was a YOLO bar. We’d been to a YOLO bar before in Siem Reap, with free beer pong and pool but this one was nothing like the chilled out backpacker bar in Siem Reap. We walked in and saw big black curtains hanging, blocking our view of the main bar. When we tried to walk through the curtains, three men starting shouting and quickly escorted us out.

Confused at why everyone on the island seemed annoyed at two tourists on the supposedly ‘touristic’ island, we headed back to the resort, back past the fallen Disney statues, and the empty buildings.

The deserted amusement park

On our walk back, we decided to stop off at a theme park that was literally just opposite our hotel. We’d heard loud music and seen sweeping spotlights each evening coming from the park, so we thought we’d check out what seemed like the one lively place on the island.

We got to the ticket office, and asked about the show, which turned out to be a dolphin show. So we booked tickets for 8:30pm and started to head back to grab some dinner before the show (it was only 5:30). But as we were walking away the ticket lady called out to us, telling us we could enjoy the rest of the amusement park before the show started.

Thrilled that for about $10 our tickets also included a theme park, apparently with roller coasters, arcades, and funfair rides, we jumped at the chance.

But the second we went through the ticket barriers we realised we’d made a mistake.

We walked up the hundreds multicoloured steps that faced an empty pool/fountain, and with a view over the whole park we realised we were the only ones there. There weren’t any workers, and there definitely weren’t any tourists.

The rides were all lit up, flashing spookily, with no one there to operate them. But what was creepier that around the rides – the children’s rides – was barbed wire lining the fences.

After walking through the rides and determining that they definitely weren’t the sort of rides you could operate yourself, we walked further into the park, walking through the forest until we came to a huge water arena. We could see the jets where a fountain would be, and the seats surrounding the arena, but again, there was no water, and no people.

The sun was setting, and soon we found ourselves in the pitch black, walking through a forest path with an abandoned kids’ play park on one side and the deserted water arena on the other.

It’s safe to say we were pretty freaked out, being completely alone in a deserted theme park, on a deserted island, with only rats to keep us company. Oh yea, didn’t I mention, there were rats running around the park having a great time.

We walked back towards the rides, because at least they were lit up and noticed that just beyond the rides, just past the perimeter fence of the park was a huge ditch where more Disney figures and kids statues lay abandoned and dirty in a pile.

As if that wasn’t creepy enough, a topless man, covered in dirt from the ditch walked slowly through the rubble and statues. Slowly he turned to look at us, and altered his course, walking in our direction.

Now, in the hard light of day, I’m fully aware that this guy probably worked there, and was likely coming to tell us about the park, but in the dark and silent theme park, I was already spooked, and so when I saw a strange man arising from the ruins of Disney statues, I did the only logical, and very British thing: I turned around and walked away as briskly as I could (you won’t catch me running).

I’m not sure why at this point we didn’t just go back, we were both thoroughly freaked out, but we thought we’d walk to the dolphin arena and see if that was as creepy. We followed the signs past the empty games room and kids’ soft play area, using our torches to guide the way, and in the dark we saw a family sat around a corner, eating a meal in the dark. Worried about what sort of characters eat their dinner in an abandoned theme park, on the floor, we didn’t stop to chat, but continued on towards the dolphin arena.

The path took us down a hill, further into darkness, before we reached the arena, which was right next to the main road. The arena was shut and padlocked, with no lights on – clearly they weren’t preparing for the evening show. There was also a gate that led out onto the main road, which was also locked with several padlocks.

That was it, we’d finally had enough of the dark, deserted park, so we made our way back to the entrance. When we got there the man who had let us in was gone, the ticket barriers were all shut, and the one gate out was padlocked.

I’m not going to lie, at this point, I was prepared to pole vault my way out of the park, I’d had enough, it was just too weird. Who lets people into a completely empty theme park and then padlocks the exit gate?

As we frantically tried each of the ticket barrier turnstiles, the lady from the ticket office appeared and asked us what we were doing – as if we were the strange ones for wanting to leave the world’s creepiest theme park. When we asked what was wrong with the park, and why everything was shut, she looked astounded.

For a while we had her try to convince us that the park was fully open, and that we should enjoy it, but eventually she let us out of the padlocked gate and stamped our hands in case we wanted to come back.

It’s safe to say, we didn’t go back, not even for the dolphin show that we’d paid for. The thought of once again being padlocked in, but this time inside an enclosed dolphin arena just didn’t appeal to me, so instead I spent the evening googling things like ‘why is Tuan Chau a ghost island’, ‘haunted amusement park Tuan Chau’ – you get the gist.

The mystery of Tuan Chau deepens

Slightly traumatised by the experience of wandering alone through an abandoned theme park and then being locked in, my imagination was going wild. So when my google searches returned a complete lack of any real information about the island, I got even more hyped up.

Everything is on Google. Everything. Sure you might occasionally stumble across a cafe or whatever without a website, but you can normally find just about anything on TripAdvisor, Reddit, and other travel forums. But we were getting nothing, just a government page stating that the island was the tourist hub of Ha Long Bay (it definitely isn’t).

The next stage in my detective work was to find out what the locals call the theme park. Eventually I found the Vietnamese name for the theme park, after looking through endless leaflets and websites, typed that into Google instead.

This got me a little further. I found the Google Business Page for the theme park, which meant I also found the Google reviews.

But the Google reviews just fuelled my imagination more. There had been no reviews for months, apart from a picture of one man standing outside the gates, holding a child and forcing a smile – he definitely didn’t look like he was having a good time, and he wasn’t even inside the park.

Most reviews were from 2012, and after scrolling through I realised that a lot of the reviews were actually written by the same person. Either that’s one very happy customer who returns every month or so, or someone’s going to great lengths to make this place look legit.

After going through what felt like every single Google result, it seemed that park has been mostly empty since 2012. The 2012 pictures show the theme park thriving and full of people, so what’s happened since? Was it just that I visited during low season? But even that doesn’t explain the lack of recent reviews. Perhaps no one has actually lived to tell the tale.

Okay, okay, that’s probably a little far fetched, but still, this was a spooky experience. I never did find out the full story behind the theme park, but still I’m curious. I asked my hotel reception staff about the park, but they refused to comment on whether or not it was worth visiting – perhaps because of the language barrier, perhaps because there’s a little more going on than meets the eye.

If you’ve got any theories or you know why Tuan Chau is such a ghost town, I’d love to hear your thoughts! I might even publish them as a second article! So don’t hesitate to contact me with your thoughts and theories!

I also managed to film some of the experience, so if you want to check out the abandoned theme park video, watch it below!