It all started at the welcome dinner. Having experienced no “traveller issues” besides the Great Galapagos Salad Debacle and the Attack of the melting Caipirinha ice in Salvador, I was feeling pretty confident by now with my ability to order a meal that I actually wanted, without having to eliminate half the options due to the potential side-effects. This confidence was further increased by the fact that I was the only one (of 4) who’d come out of the previous evening’s shared appetisers unscathed, and we were now in the trusted hands of local Lima expert and G adventures Super Guide Andres. He took us to a restaurant that he frequently takes his new groups to, and went through the menu pointing out some suggestions and explaining the local specialities. Mmmm spicy seafood and a beer for me please. Kel immediately shot me a quizzical look: “are you sure that’s a good idea?” she queried as she ordered her plain boiled rice (which should’ve been chicken soup according to Andres) and lemonade. “Yeah, I’ll be fine – I’ve been travelling for over 3 months you know… and besides, Lima is on the coast and famous for its seafood, I’d be crazy not to”. It tasted pretty good in any event and we had a fun night getting to know some of our new tour mates.
The next morning I’m not sure if it was the alarm or my stirring stomach that woke me first. Kel had had a rough night, but was feeling better than the day before, but I certainly couldn’t say the same for myself. Something just wasn’t right down there. I was last to board the bus so got the back centre seat and spent the entire trip nervously scanning for potential options should the yellow dragon wish to breath it’s fire. Then came the music to my ears – “2 minutes to the airport” sung out Andres – it’s like he knew I needed a countdown to focus on. 2 minutes later we all barrelled out of the bus and I giddily hoisted my (increasingly overweight) backpack on to my back…. And proceeded to look on in nauseous disgust as we had to stand around waiting for someone to retrieve their passport from their packed luggage (let’s just say a sick Vanessa does not exactly have the patience of a Saint). I did do my best though to conceal my thoughts (and potential issues) from the group and “happily” filed in with everyone as we made our way through the express check-in.
Once that was all done, we were told we had 20 minutes to ourselves before we needed to all go to the gates. At last. “Donde esta el bano?” It must’ve been no less than 5 minutes after being given “free time”, that I had my first spew of the day. Needed that. After spending the remaining 15minutes sitting doing absolutely nothing, Kel and I made our way to meet up with everyone again, and I sheepishly admitted to Andres how I’d passed the time. He’d said at the briefing he wanted full disclosure… doubt he thought it would come quite so soon and graphically though! As I took my assigned window seat on the plane, I anxiously searched for the sick bag in the seat pocket – but the whole row was out. Air sickness just mustn’t be the rage these days. Kel asked the friendly flight attendant on my behalf though, and in no time I had 2 bags (just in case) and a rag doused in alcohol to sniff on. This kept me going at least until just after the seatbelt sign switched off, upon which I raced to the bathroom for a 2nd vom. Delightful. (I’m wondering if anyone is still actually reading this blog post…)
Our flight to the jungle was not a direct one though, so before much longer the lights were on again and we were descending into Cusco. I sat there in silence trying to think not sick thoughts whilst Kel made friends with the other girl in the row. I made it through the landing and the other passengers disembarking ok, but just as we were taxiing along the runway ready to take off again, it was time to take off again myself. Clasping a sick bag in one hand I stumbled towards the back of the plane and the flight attendant, sensing the urgency of the situation, flung the door open and then shut it behind me. Woop. There it is. I happened to catch a glimpse of the mirror as I was washing myself up, but it was just a white ghost who stared back at me. Hardly surprising then that the hostie greeted me with a sympathetic “you look terrible” as I opened the door. As luck would have it though, the whole back row was free, and she offered it to me to lie down for the duration of the flight. Bringing me pillows, blankets and ice cold soda water, I felt like I was in first class (well, on my death bed in first class anyway). I did have to satisfy the cabin supervisor that I was not in fact going to die on the 35 minute flight though, and expended some further energy in explaining that whilst she raised a valid point about there being no hospitals in the jungle, the last thing I wanted to do right now was leave my group behind and be swallowed up in the altitude of Cusco (as nightmares of being fed Hep B through an IV drip flashed across my scattered brain). I managed to last almost the duration of the flight without further need for the facilities – and lying down certainly felt amazing. Standing up again was a bit of a head-spin though, so I gratefully accepted the offer of walking close to Andres in case I should suddenly need to grab on – without doubt I must have fast been becoming his favourite person on tour. We’d only met 15 hours ago, and he’d already had to endure the trials of 5 spews and counting.
Next stop on the tour de hell was to the “office” to do the repack into the jungle friendly duffle bags. The thought of leaning over a bag was all a bit too much though so I went for a lie down instead – and was peacefully napping when I felt some more of the lovely alcohol being smeared under my nose. No boundaries here. Eventually I summoned enough energy to come and instruct Kel about what was needed from where for my re-pack and then we were back on the very cosy bus to go to the pharmacy. Kel attended with Andres on my behalf and they came out armed with a couple of anti-nausia pills, a very medicinal tasting kids rehydration formula, and a bill for 15 soles. I had just enough of the rehy drink to swallow the pills and then attempted to let it settle. That lasted about 3 minutes. Lucky I still had some sick bags from the plane! After I’d brought up the pill and whatever else was in me into that little bag (under the watchful lens of Peter’s go-pro), Kel and I just looked at each other and in perfect union uttered “15 soles well spent”… then we spent the next 45 minutes bumping around the wet dirt road on the bus, trying not to spill the bag or need to use it again. At least that mission was able to be accomplished! I managed to hold out until the toilets at the dock – and given the state of those, probably wasn’t the only one wanting to vomit in there.
The Vomizon journey wasn’t over yet though. We still had at least 2.5 hours on a motorised canoe to get to the Eco-lodge (and it would be 3 if we were really lucky and spotted lots of animals along the way). I nibbled on a few grains of rice to the tunes of everyone immensely enjoying their delicious boxed lunches and through some amazing luck managed to last the 3 hours rolling around in my seat without needing to be sick again. My stomach did lurch a little every time the engines were cut because our eagle eyed guide Maria had incredibly managed to spot a frog from 300m away, or a Cayman camouflaged on the rocks, or a monkey hiding in a tree somewhere in Ecuador. Part of me was really happy for the group that they were able to see so much (especially in light of it being bad weather), but there was definitely another part of me thinking “Not another bloody Cayman, please can you just get me home to bed”. Eventually we got there and were greeted by more steps than a dance concert. Panting like a first timer at the end of a marathon, I clutched the flimsy rails and dragged myself up. Please just give me my key to my room and carry me there. After 7 voms and 3 number 3s in the space of 8 hours I was but a shell of my usual self. Before they dished out the keys though, I needed to first endure the briefing of all the fantastic activities that I was planning to take no part in… (that’s not sarcasm by the way, the plans did sound amazing and the other guide Julio was full of energy and humour… it’s just that there was no way I was doing anything other than going to bed so I really just wanted to get there). After what seemed like an eternity we were dismissed and off we stumbled to our room – beautiful huts without electricity and just candles for lights which really gave it that rustic romantic vibe Dr Kel and sickNess were after. I collapsed under the covers kitted out in my hiking pants and rain jacket (we’d initially been told there was a hike after the boat to get to the lodge – thank god that wasn’t the case) and promptly passed out.
Fair to say some of the others were having more fun on the boat than me!
Capybara
Another bloody Cayman
A few hours must have passed and Kel had come and gone for dinner, kindly bringing me back a tea in case I should desire anything besides the milk arrowroots she’d thoughtfully packed for these kind of situations. Apparently there’d been a place set for me at dinner with some chicken soup and Kel had had her work cut out explaining that there was no chance I’d want it (ironically both of us had been issued warnings from several friends about the effects of Peruvian chicken soup before we’d arrived). That’s what friends are for. It didn’t stop there though. Donning her headlamp to give it that real doctor effect (or to just provide a semblance of light in the room) she dished out some Maxillan and made up a gastrolight (which tasted significantly better than the weird raspberry stuff) and I somehow managed to keep it all down – then it was bedtime again.
Charging hour at the ecolodge
The next morning everyone got up early for what I’m told was a terrible hike that I’d have hated (but their smiles and pictures told a different story) and I stayed sleeping – occasionally stirring to read a bit of a trashy magazine and nibble on dry toast. I was determined to get my strength back to at least attend something of this amazon trip. I did manage to get myself to the dining room for lunch though where I was able to decline more chicken soup in favour of some deliciously plain rice, and as luck would have it, the afternoon activity was a very low key visit to a farm and well within my capabilities. Only downside being that the main activity of the farm was sampling all the different fruits that were growing there – and the group unanimously agreed I was not allowed to participate in that. After the not eating fruit at the fruit farm adventure, there was time for more sleeping before we were due to meet for the night Cayman tour – again a pretty simple one which just involved sitting in the boat. Was a bit cold but those who managed to stay awake did see a few Caymans, and I was then able to get a pretty early night after I’d eaten another few grains of rice. The next morning we were up early and it was time to say goodbye to the Amazon. Whilst I never really felt I’d got to say a proper hello, I was just feeling super grateful that it had happened on this part of the trip and not before or during the Inca Trail (especially as I had already managed some amazon fun in Ecuador in April).
For anyone who’s still reading, I’ll admit this has been a rather disgusting blog post, but travel doesn’t always go the way you plan and it would be remiss of me to not tell this story and give special shout-outs to Doctors Kel and Andres who were both amazingly kind and caring, the Avianca flight attendants for being so awesome, and my whole tour group for showing such genuine sympathy for my state. Sometimes shit (and spew) has to happen to make you realise how lucky you are.
The trip home
Musings of a Suerte Aussie Chica 