Poo-roo

I went to Peru for my Spring Break, two long weeks off. My friend Mo made plans to see Machu Picchu while doing the Inca Trail, and I thought, that sounds good! I made reservations, signed up for the 3 night trip and did it the day after Mo left on the trail thinking, I m going to be independent! I ll go alone (with a guided group of twelve) and meet up with Mo after what turned out to be four days hiking in wet and chilly weather.

However, there are some hightlights to the trek...the mountains were beautiful, the food was good and a porter carried my backpack. We had a tour group plus 11 porters and a cook who carried all the food, supplies and tents. I was in a group of twelve: eight Uruguayans, one Argentinian, a Polish guy, a Japanese guy, and me. I shared a tent with the Japanese guy who did not speak Spanish or English. It poured the second night. Pelts slammed the tent and I awoke at 2AM to Hatari moving all around inside the tent. The tent was small, we were on each side, with our packs in the middle between us. I saw that Hatari had moved all his things to the middle, on top of our bags, and he sat on the piles. I asked, "What are you doing?"

"Wet...WET!" Was his response. I inspected, flashlight in hand, and saw the ground tarp was not effective and spots of water infiltrated his cloth sleeping pad, making for a damp bed. I looked under my pad and saw the same thing, but was mostly dry because of my acrylic air mat.
"Look, it is wet here too." I don't think he understood. He settled down in the middle, right on our bags and too close to me. I thought about explaining personal space, but thought I d only get a nod and a smile.

I lay there listening to the rain and felt Hatari's body breathing, cramped in by the wet tent wall. Be patient! Just go to sleep! He just wants to be dry! I turned every way to get comfortable. But I couldn't sleep, he was too close. I erupted after a half hour. "Look, you are too close to me! I ll move to your space (the empty and damp spot where he was sleeping) and you can sleep here." We switched positions and I was able to sleep the rest of the night before hiking the next day.

The last night we arose at 4AM to trample through rain and mud, sweat under raingear, until we reached the epic sight of the dead civilization midhigh on the mountains, Macchu Pichu. But you couldn't really see it because the white rainclouds kept obstructing the view. The wind blew and the rain was cold. When I set foot on the civilization, I thought, cool, I can get a coffee. When the guide said he was ready to bring the group for the tour, I was not enthused, but the tour was pretty good and the rain ceased.

After four lonesome days of staccato communication with Argentinian Spanish, I d make my way to meet Mo. I was so bad at planning before we left, we just said we d meet at Lake Titicaca, where I had a picturesque lake with a quaint little town called Puno in mind.  I drove hours over high, cold desert. After my six hour bus ride that shook my insides, I reached Puno. My mouth opened in disbelief and my lower lip hung disgusted. The village was really a city, a large cinderblock city with dirty roads straddling a bay of polluted swampland on Lake Titicaca. I came this far to get here?

Our plan to meet at the visitor center was a no-go, obviously, because we set no time. The following day I toured the lake, an island community and an island. I pondered at our first stop, a floating village, where people live on lake grass, they make huts, boats, chairs beds, even the islands themselves from lake grass. They even ate it. I tried it, but it was tasteless. It was one of the best days in Peru. The sun was bright, the boatride three hours each way to a real island. Still it was cold being the largest lake at the highest elevation in the world. I sat on the roof of the boat with the cloudless sky and a winter hat and struck up conversation with others on the boat. At sunset, I returned to my hotel and had an email from Mo...WHERE ARE YOU? WE LOVE PERU! MARTINA AND I ARE SPENDING THE NIGHT ON ONE OF THE ISLANDS, WE ARE STAYING AT HOTEL PUNO IN TOWN. MEET US THERE! I MISS YOU! SEE YOU SOON!

Atleast Mo was enjoying her vacation. I hunted down her hotel to find she would return the following day at 4PM. Great! A day in this shit town with no agenda. My night and following morning were highlights of the trip. I watched a marathon of The OC that night and St. Elmo's Fire the following morning before check-out. Mo's face brightened as she returned to see me waiting in the lobby. I explained the woes of Peru. Meanwhile, Mo and Martina couldn't get enough Peruvian adventures.

Now, the trip turns toward discussion of material some people don't like to talk about, bowel movements. I realized in Mexico to be highly attuned to each bowel movement: consistency, frequency, color, texture, and smell. NO one likes dealing with shit, but you have to moniter and inspect it, particularly when you live in a third-world country. I asked Mo if she was constipated, because I was. The entire time on the Inca Trail, I shit once, one puny little shit, and I ate frequently, big meals. I admit, it worried me a little. I wasn't sure what to do. Mo was regular, I m content to report, and that night we had a Peruvian dinner, some beer and Llama.

We shared a room, the three of us, before departing for another crowded 6 hour bus ride. Mo looked distraught when we reached the room for the night, her forehead wrinkled up. "Guys, look I have diarrhea, I don't feel good! I m not shitting with you both right here. I m gettting my own room." We laughed and told her she was staying and who cares, just use the bathroom. The door shut, the faucet ran to cover any sounds, and suddenly Martina covered her nose with a t-shirt. The air quickly drifted to me. We rolled our eyes and while Mo went, I couldn't.

The following day we reached Arrequipa. Mo was due to depart from Lima in two days, Martina and I had a few more days so we booked a guide for a trip to the Colca Canyon, a deep ravine deeper than the Grand Canyon. Mo' s stomach healed and I visited a pharmacy to see what I could do about constipation. I said in spanish, "Do you have anything to go?" Go where? The pharmacist asked. I replied, "No, just to go, I haven't gone to the bathroom in days!" She gave me natural fiber pills and told me to begin with two.

Contemplation: I was leaving at 5AM to head to the canyon after a five and a half hour bus ride. Did I really want to take these? I did, but would do it conservatively. I ate the pills when we reached the hotel room continuing to feel naucious. An hour later, I didn't shit, I vomited. My body ached and I layed down and went to sleep only to awake in the early morning, projectile vomiting. I did make it to the bathroom, thought I d be able to use the toilet. But sitting there, could only vomit in the sink, which clogged and filled to the brim. Disgusting. I thought there is no way I can make this two day hike beginning tomorrow. When the alarm went off, I was well enough, said goodbye to Mo, and caught the bus with Martina.

The agent told us the Colca Canyon would be simple after the Inca Trail. The bus stopped. Jonny said, here we are! We nudged past locals and gringos. There was a vast field with sheep, no canyon in sight, and clouds covered sun rays. We walked for twenty minutes and reached the canyon, mostly whited out with clouds. We stopped at a rock for lunch included in our guided tour; bologne and rolls that Jonny bought at the bus station. What a meal! I ate for the first time in a day. We looked down and could see the little river at the bottom and our accomodations for the night. The Oasis had little huts and a bright blue pool, snuggled into the bottom of the ditch. The pictures at the agency displayed people swimming and smiling and sun-bathing here. I already wanted to be there.

We began the decent, I only slipped twice, slicing my palm, forearm and elbow. I had to stop a few times thinking I would vomit, and it only rained a bit until we had to climb half way up the other side of the canyon through pouring, freezing rain. We stopped at a five student schoolhouse with a tin roof. It rained harder. Martina repeated, "Mo would hate this." At 6PM we reached The Oasis, disrobed our wet clothing and jumped into the warmish pool despite the grey drizzle. We drank coca tea and ate spagetti to energize for tomorrow's trek up. We rambled, swapping tales with trekkers from London and Paris. Jonny appeared with a candle, "OK, set your alarm to wake up at 2:30AM and we leave before 3AM." Some relaxing, restful vacation!

The sky was clear and the stars shone multidimensionally, the black crevice we were in provided incredible contrast. The milkyway dimly shone behind the many closer suns. I began the day in wet clothing, quickly warmed from the climb. We reached the top when the sun rose. It was a beautiful morning. We dined for the included breakfast. I kicked three street dogs who squattered under the table. When I asked for a second egg, Jonny said we better get going. We waited for the bus in a line of people for twenty-five minutes; I m still bitter about one egg and the time I had to eat a second. The bus continuously made stops to pack in more people than fathomably possible. A farmer' s waist was squeezed out of the aisle and into the space between me and the seat infront of me. He breathed on my face for 45 minutes to Chivay, town of hotsprings.

"Martina, I have sunscreen if you want some."

"Thanks, we are only here an hour. I m not going to use any."

The whole vacation I expected lounging, refueling, and getting a quality tan, so I agreed. It would be good to get sun for an hour. We floated in the hot pool, swam, drank a beer in the water. It felt like a massage after two of my backpack on my shoulders. Later Martina commented, "Wow, you got really red at the hotsprings!"

We talked about a perfectly cooked steak for much of the ride back from the canyon and hotsprings. When we arrived at the restaurant, I recanted. I didn't feel that good again and steak would promote my nauciousness. I watched Martina enjoy the steak and ate nothing. We reached the hotel just in time as I used the bathroom. Finally I went! And went and went and went, so much that it was difficult to not become dehydrated.

The next two and a half days, I could not stray far from the hotel rooms, more precisely, the bathrooms. When necessary to move on, I carried toilet paper to use paperless and seatless stalls in airports and bus stations. Martina walked around Lima and I stayed tuned to the television and close to the bathroom. I made it out the morning of our departing flight to buy a cool t-shirt. I prefer not to think of Peru when I wear it. At the airport I forefitted my swiss army knife to fly. I was short about fifty cents of the $30 departure tax and I cursed the taxman. I felt joy when the jet wheels lifted from Peruvian soil. After days of not eating, I thought I could stomach the airplane food. I unwrapped the lasagna. It settled well in my stomach. I was relieved the worst was over when I read the sticker on the crumpled saran wrap- Made in Mexico.