Kasumi Hirokawa, PA, USA, SSH Blog Correspondent

International travel is great. You get to try new food, practice phrases in a new language, geek out at landmarks and learn about the local history. I honestly don’t know anyone who doesn’t like traveling.

However, the fun of sightseeing abroad can come at a cost if you are a woman or a gender non-conforming person: there’s sexual harassment. Unwanted sexual attention and body policing can come from locals, fellow tourists and people who work closely with tourists. Here, I will share my stories of being harassed by people whose job is to ensure the safety and comfort of travelers.

I visited Bangkok and Pattaya, Thailand in the summer of 2012 with my family. We were part of a 20-some-person tour group with a local guide who spoke Mandarin and Thai.

We were to spend our second day in Pattaya on a beach. It was the day I was looking forward to my entire trip. After running around and riding banana boats on the spotless beach on an island off Pattaya City’s harbor, my sister and I sat down to rest by my mother. My sister dug up a camera out of a backpack and walked away.

I stayed and caught the tour guide, a married middle-aged man, staring at me. He sat next to my mother. “She’s got a fine body, your elder daughter,” he attempted to whisper but he was too loud.

It still wasn’t the worst I’ve encountered yet. Our group was to visit a local Buddhist temple and have dinner at a cruise ship in the city after the beach.

At the temple, bus drivers from other tour groups honked at my sister and me in the parking lot, giving our bums thumbs up. Security guards in uniform ran their eyes up and down our bodies. We heard wolf whistles. We saw them exchange looks and laugh. I didn’t feel the peace of mind the temple promised its visitors.

That same night, when our group climbed on board the cruise for dinner, I heard yet another wolf whistle. A tanned Thai man was standing behind me with a Cheshire cat grin. He whispered “nice ass” before pulling out his flag and led his group of Chinese tourists to their table. I was disgusted that I had to be stuck on the same ship as this man for the next few hours. It wasn’t surprising when he kept whistling at me wherever on the ship I went, following closely behind like a baby duck waddling after its mother – only sleazier and hornier.

Fast forward to last year, in the spring of 2013. My friend and I vacationed in Marrakech, Morocco for a week while we spent our semesters abroad in Paris and London, respectively. It was a dream come true for me. I’ve always been a huge fan of Moorish art and architecture. To this day, Morocco is one of my favorite countries.

Even on this trip, there was something I’d rather forget. It was – you guessed it – sexual harassment. The sheer number of times strangers talking to us was astronomical. Beyond comparison to any other places we’d been. It wasn’t a Japanese holiday and there were few Asians except for us. Most of them seemed to be merchants trying to lure customers into their shops: “Bonjour! Konnichiwa! Miss! The pretty one! Yes, you. With a flower! I have a perfect comb for you! Why don’t you come and have a look?” Some others wanted to know our cell phone numbers and how much we would cost for a night.

I fell instantly in love with our riad – a traditional courtyard house-turned-B&B. We were treated to delicious pastries with jam, freshly squeezed OJ and mint tea every morning. Our room was cozy and the decors in the sitting room and courtyard were crafty and beautiful. The rooftop terrace was a delight. The staff was attentive. It was almost perfect.

We arranged a hike at nearby Ourika Valley with the riad’s own manager assistant-cum-guide, Kamal. Upon seeing the 25-year-old, my friend exclaimed, “Gosh, he’s hot!” He was the only English speaker among the hotel staff. It was a huge relief for me because in the riad everyone else spoke Arabic and French. I don’t know much French, so most of the times I was just pretending to listen with a blank face.

Kamal was very knowledgeable of the valley area, taking us to an argan oil cooperative, showing us a Bedouin house and talking about the flora and fauna of the Atlas Mountains. Kamal the guide made hiking up the rocky surfaces seem easy, but it wasn’t exactly for me.

Despite both of us sporting Converse sneakers, my friend was a far better hiker than me. I had to be pulled up and down by the guide. At one point, he had to summon a fellow guide from another riad to pull me up a steep incline. I was embarrassed to be such a burden to him and my friend.

Back in the riad that evening, my friend sent me to return the money she borrowed from Kamal. She was too exhausted from the hike. I thought nothing of it. I went upstairs to knock on the guide’s office, which is also used as his bedroom. I handed him the money, thanked him and turned around when he called to me, “Hey, would you like to see the pictures of the Atlas Mountains? And the other place you are going to visit tomorrow?” “Well, just a few minutes,” I said.

He opened a browser and frowned. We don’t have a strong internet connection here, he said. Let’s go downstairs, in the sitting room. So we went. It was 10pm but all of the guests were either out or inside their rooms. We had the sitting room to ourselves.

Kamal talked about the place my friend and I were to visit the next day. Then he told me about his dreams of visiting Far East. I tried to hide my yawns. Then I felt his arm wrapped around my shoulder and his other hand rubbing my thigh. I looked at Kamal’s face in shock. He was still talking softly. Kamal the guide brushed a strand of hair from my face and leaned in. I leaned back. “I, I… need to go,” my voice was shaking. He grabbed my arm and said, “Don’t. I know you want to stay. Here, with me.” The guide winked at me. I stood up and left. I ran up the stairs.

My friend was in bed but she was awake. “What took you so long?” She looked at me while I tried to lock the door in vain. No doors have locks in this riad. What if he comes here while we sleep? I was scared. I told my friend what happened. She was surprised. We sat in silence. Finally she told me not to talk to the guide and went to sleep.

Traveling internationally is eye-opening and at the same time, stressful. Not speaking the local language is stressful. Not knowing the local customs is stressful. Having strangers hiss at you in a foreign language in an unfamiliar locale is stressful.

Often, tourists have no choice but to trust their guides and hotel staff with their safety. Therefore, for an individual who is entrusted with the safety and well being of a tourist to sexually harass those whom he or she is sworn to serve, is to betray that trust. It makes a tourist feel unsafe in a place where he or she should be able to feel safe. It makes traveling more stressful for women and gender non-conforming individuals. No one deserves to feel threatened on their vacations that cost hundreds to thousands of dollars when all they want is an escape from everyday routine – including dodging street harassers.

Kasumi is a recent graduate from Penn State with a BA in journalism. Her writing has been published in Valley Magazine, City Weekend Shanghai, Penn State GeoBlog and Shanghai Daily. You can follow her on Twitter, @kasumihrkw