21 May 2010


Soroche is what they call altitude sickness here, and I can now say firsthand that it sucks and that I never want to climb Mt. Everest.

I think that I may somehow be almost okay already--at least the worst seems behind me, but yesterday afternoon was terrible.

All was well here in Puno. We had found a hostel and had gone out to lunch with a new friend we had met on the bus. We had visited an indoor market and had had a great time joking and talking with local indigenous women, one of whom, a cheese monger, had a mouth like a sailor. Perhaps that's what happens growing up alongside the highest navigable lake in the world. We had then enjoyed a delicious fruit shake (mango), which I when I began to feel a bit weird.

We headed back to the hotel to chill out a bit, figuring we would just take it easy. Within the hour, I went from feeling fine to moaning and shivering on the bed. My stomach hurt, my head hurt, I had no energy. I fell asleep early and tossed and turned, dreaming of nightmarish mountains and terrible boat rides.

Around one I awoke and puked my brains out. Beth sat with me through all of my grossness, and then we stumbled back to bed, to more tossing and turning.

And now, praise be to all things holy, it is 6:45 and somehow I feel nearly human again. Which means that today we can leave as planned to visit the islands on Titicaca.

More soon as possible from Peru.

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