I'm going to Thailand and this is my travel kit.

Day 0. Tomorrow we're leaving for Thailand . Whenever I travel abroad, I carry all kinds of medication for emergencies . When traveling domestically, it's not so difficult, since wherever I go, I just go to the nearest pharmacy, pull out my medical card, and buy whatever I need at that moment. But abroad, that's impossible. In this particular case, as we're going to Asia, it would be even more complicated to get what I need.

I make a list of everything I want to take. It includes tablets , capsules, inhalers, nebulizers, creams, and Steri-strips (the so-called paper dots that have gotten me out of trouble on more than one trip). I decide not to bring needles or syringes because I don't want to have to explain myself in case they're required at customs (so, this time, I'm not including any ampoules of any kind, such as methylprednisolone; the famous Urbason ).

I also won't be bringing any sutures , which are so useful for unexpected cuts (I remind you that I'm a surgeon ) and which seem very geeky to carry, but which came in very handy a few years ago when I treated a man who cut himself in the pool at the hotel where I was staying. The lifeguard's dispensary was a tiny room with more cobwebs than bandages, and they were perfectly happy with my suggestion to stitch up the tourist instead of having to call an ambulance and put on a real show. The management felt so indebted to my small intervention that they tore the outstanding bill out of the minibar with sincere gratitude.

Since I'm afraid of losing my suitcase (we're changing planes in Doha , and it's only an hour and a half away), I divide the first-aid kit into two parts: one goes in my backpack on board and the other in my checked bag. This way, I'll always have something handy for any unexpected events that arise during the flight.

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Day 1. We arrived in Thailand after two flights and a total of 14 hours of flight time . Add in the taxi, the hours before boarding, and all the pre-flight paraphernalia. A total of sixteen hours since we left home. I've got my elastic compression stockings embedded (I always wear them on long trips to avoid—or at least hinder—a deep vein thrombosis ) and I'm eager to take them off. For people at risk, it's advisable to prevent thrombosis on long trips with injectable heparin (I've used it prophylactically on occasion), but in this case it would mean traveling with a dose for the return trip, and I've already said I didn't want to travel with needles to a country where, they say, any misunderstanding can end in serious trouble. Failing that, I took 100 mg of aspirin .

Back at the hotel, I struggle to take off my socks and breathe a sigh of relief. We traveled in economy class, but with more space (thanks to shelling out more money for it), and the truth is, I always end up a wreck and with pain in every joint. My legs aren't swollen, that's true, but the rest of my body feels like a hot air balloon. Especially my abdomen, which is swollen like the membrane of a drum. I tap my stomach with my fingers and it sounds hollow. Nothing that doesn't happen to me every time I fly (it's the effect of the change in pressure , and it seems to worsen with age). I don't have anything in my first-aid kit to relieve my distended intestinal loops , so it's just a matter of time. But I do end up taking an ibuprofen , to see if it relieves some of the discomfort throughout my body, battered in an impossible amount of space, thanks to the courtesy of every airline on this planet, without distinction. By the way, my Santa has asked me for paracetamol twice in the last twelve hours because her throat is sore and it hurts when she swallows.

Day 2. First real day at our destination, having already spent the first night. The heat is overwhelming ; not because of the temperature itself, which is extremely high, but because of the humidity. I examine my wife's throat to see how her ailments are progressing, and I notice swollen tonsils but no signs of pus. My diagnosis: viral irritation, with no need for antibiotics (which I've also brought just in case). Paracetamol every eight hours, and we'll see.

He thanks me for the supply and, I suppose, secretly, regrets having ever reproached me for my penchant for carrying medication when I travel. " Prevention is better than cure ," insisted that TV journalist, back when there was only one channel and what was said there was dogma. The truth is that, often, I never use anything I carry, but on other occasions I have been able to treat myself (or those with me) for minor ailments that would otherwise have required an uncomfortable visit to the emergency room to obtain treatment. These situations are a problem for all travelers since they are not resolved in minutes , or even hours, and they disrupt the relationship between the traveler and their companions.

The temperature changes in Thailand are unnerving: inside, the air conditioning is blasting , and outside, it's scorching hot. Going outside is like stepping into a sauna . I'm worried about catching a cold, although I've packed everything I need to deal with it . Let's be optimistic. We're visiting magnificent temples under a scorching sun that forces us, for the first time ever, to use an umbrella for the exact opposite of what it was designed for. I suppose, due to my professional nature, it crosses my mind that one of the tourists around us might get heatstroke and faint (or that it might happen to one of us, of course). Or worse, that one of the visitors at the temple we're at might suffer a cardiac arrest . My head starts racing: Who would take care of us? The area seems inhospitable, and the resources, in general, are poor. If it's me, I'm done for. If it happens to a tourist, well, that's the same: I don't have a first-aid kit on me, nor do I have anything inside strong enough to reverse a cardiac arrest. All I could do was start chest compressions and pray for a medically equipped ambulance (if there is one and it ever arrives) equipped with equipment, medication, and occupants competent in resuscitation. In the end, Fredy Larsan's maxim, "even to die, you have to be lucky," will prove true.

As I admire one of the temples, crouching under an umbrella and enduring streams of sweat, I realize that it's better to live in medical ignorance , especially when you're on the other side of your house. It never occurs to anyone that anything will ever happen to them while they're on the other side of the world. People are happy in medical ignorance , as well as in ignorance of other vitally important issues in our daily lives, which we choose to ignore so as not to suffer.

Before bed, I took another look at my opponent's holy tonsils, which are no worse. My diagnosis remains the same, as is the paracetamol every eight hours. I took an omeprazole because my stomach was bothering me a bit after lunch (Thai food is spicy and somewhat hot); she took another, more out of sympathy than dyspepsia. I always travel with it, as well as loperamide for diarrhea and metoclopramide for vomiting. In these countries , food handling hygiene is suspect , and is absent daily in restaurants and street stalls (and tap water is best left untouched). In the event of an intestinal catastrophe, whether upper or lower, it's best to be prepared .

Day 3. Throat better. It won't be an impediment to a pleasant trip. It seems to be less hot outside today . Correct, it's the same heat, but we notice less wind chill. This means we're acclimating . While our shirts get soaked immediately upon leaving the hotel, it's getting less bothersome each time.

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We visited other temples ; yesterday they were ruins, today we're seeing the most recent ones. I expected more tourists than there are. They're mostly Asian; very few Europeans, and judging by the calm and low-voiced conversations among them all, there can't be a single Spaniard. I notice the Eastern tourists , who walk among the corridors and paintings with absolute calm and devotion . We Westerners have a tendency to make jokes and mock them, and if you stop to think about it, we're more likely to be the target of jokes than they are. The difference is that the Easterners are so polite that they don't even consider any kind of humorous comment about our existence.

They're different. To begin with , they religiously follow the stipulated rules . They don't jump lines, they don't rush to get there first, they don't push to get in first. They don't sit where they shouldn't, or make it difficult to get in for a group photo, like any European group traveling abroad does. I look at their physiognomy and notice that most of them are thin, or at least, it's hard to find an obese one . And yet they eat and drink, like us, but they do so in moderation (and if they overindulge, they do so for one day, but not all of them). The difference lies in the fact that they're a moderate people, and we're the standard-bearer of excess , partying, and snoozing. They're easygoing. Their ability to contemplate monuments calmly is admirable. Suddenly, I realize that I think this is the first time my Santa and I have been seeing monuments in absolute silence. I mention this to her, and she confirms it.

The peace is shattered by a group of opulent beings, with flabby flesh and enormous bellies , who break the magic of the silence reigning on the steps of a temple. And yes, as you've guessed, they are fellow countrymen. They want a group photo and shout loudly, convinced that since they're in a foreign country, no one cares. Spain leads the way in decibels when it comes to international tourism.

Watching one person and another, I'm beginning to think that behavior and personality are closely associated with health . The more restrained, the more thoughtful and less transgressive, and vice versa. Just look at the physiognomy of some people . The way people conduct themselves, walk, and make themselves known in some Western countries is a reflection of a society, as demonstrated after so much observation.

That afternoon, we went to a Muai Thai fight . I was afraid of finding exposed broken tibias or noses with deviated septums bleeding profusely, but nothing could be further from the truth. It turns out to be an interesting sport , steeped in history , well-regulated, with trained fighters who are respectable and respectful of their opponents (each fight ends with a friendly handshake between the two fighters). In one of the three-round bouts, one of the boxers suffered a laceration wound on his forehead from an authorized blow from his opponent. He returned to his corner (we were sitting in the front row just a meter away), and his trainer applied Vaseline to the cut. It had two effects: one, a hemostatic effect, and the other, it prevented the glove or limb that would be hit in the following rounds from slipping off and causing no further damage. It's fascinating to see the ritual surrounding each interval between rounds , how the trainers harangue the fighter with phrases we don't understand but whose meaning we do. I imagine that at the end of the fight , there will be a doctor who will suture the brave fighter's wound. I can't help but think about how I would do it, what suture I would use, and how many stitches I would administer. It's just the perils of the job.

We arrived at the hotel after a full day. My throat was almost healed, so we discontinued the fixed-dose paracetamol. Everything was fine in that regard, although a storm was brewing in my professional hypochondriac world : I went to the bathroom and had diarrhea. I don't know if it was the contaminated water (I haven't actually drunk any water that wasn't bottled, but maybe it was some ice that got in there), or the food so seasoned with spices that my body never imagined it would ever come into contact with. I don't have a fever, but I do have painful peristalsis (the so-called cramps), although they aren't so frequent that I can't bear them. I fear the worst .

To be continued...