With limited daypack space, I can pack only so much food for a 24-hour series of connecting flights, and I figured I´d be safe buying something from an airport vendor. Wrong! Other than sweets, there are not a lot of vegetarian options in the airports here. I purchased "cheese bread" (a typical Brazilian item) at the airport in Brasilia, and started having intestinal rumblings and nausea some seven hours later in the airplane to Fortaleza. I thought I´d have to throw up in the plane, but landed without any up-chucks.
During my overnight wait in the Fortaleza airport, I felt increasingly ill and suddenly, urgently needed to throw up. The nearest women´s bathroom was unavailable because it was being cleaned. Fortunately, there was a separate bathroom for folks with disabilities and, when I told the attendant nearby that I needed to vomit, he let me in. Instead of throwing up, I had an explosive bout of diarrhea.
I spent the next many hours running back and forth between bathroom and sitting area. Because I had changed airlines, I had my larger backpack with me along with my smaller daypack, and I got very good at loading up and moving fast. Over time I started to feel better, but the diarrhea -- which was now a thin brown soup -- continued. I was sore! Nothing in the airport was open, so it wasn't possible to buy any probiotics, meds, ointments, etc.
Finally, the check-in area opened and I got in line to check my large backpack for the next flight. The line was moving slowly and, about halfway to the counter, I had to leave the line quickly to run to the bathroom again. Mission accomplished, I returned -- to the end of the line. As I moved forward, I decided I should change my seat from window to aisle if at all possible, since I´d likely have to get up often in the plane. Within several people of the counter, I knew I´d need to use the bathroom again, and engaged in an internal (in all senses of the word) gamble about whether or not I´d actually make it through my check-in without incident. I decided to take the risk and continued waiting.
Though my Portuguese was fairly good by now, I was so sick and exhausted that I could hardly string two words together to explain my situation and request. Fortunately, the woman who was helping me at the counter was very helpful. Unfortunately, this also meant thorough, which in turn meant time. I lost my gamble and, as I was waiting for her to make the necessary changes, I felt my pants filling with whatever was still in my system. I tugged at my shirt in an attempt to cover my butt, and I tugged at the corners of my mouth in an attempt to execute a grateful smile. I don´t think I accomplished either.
When the woman was finished, I made my way to the nearest bathroom where I confirmed that my pants were soaked. Unfortnately, it hadn´t occurred to me to pull out my other pair of pants while waiting to check my backback, so I was stuck with what I had on. I dumped my underwear and did my best to clean and dry my pants with toilet paper. As well as I could tell, I was not stinky, which was either a miracle or profoundly wishful thinking. I put on my rain jacket (also to protect the seat) and waited the remaining hours for my plane´s departure. As soon as the airport pharmacy opened, I bought some med to stop further diarrhea, along with some probiotics.
In the plane, I continued wearing my rain jacket, and looked around me for signs that my nose was deceiving me. I found none -- but was that a HazMat team running toward my seat as I left the plane??? I´ll never know.... By the next day, all of this was a funny story for me, and remains what might have been a comedy of diapers had I had any..
In the plane, I continued wearing my rain jacket, and looked around me for signs that my nose was deceiving me. I found none -- but was that a HazMat team running toward my seat as I left the plane??? I´ll never know.... By the next day, all of this was a funny story for me, and remains what might have been a comedy of diapers had I had any..
That was the worst health experience in my five months of travel so far. My arrival in Peru was marked by nausea and vomiting that persisted for hours. On occasion I´ve had the runs but nothing too awful. In Palmas I was perfectly nailed by my friends´playful cat, whose claw landed in a vein that gushed blood above and under my skin, but responded well to cleaning and pressure. On one occasion I badly pulled a muscle in my back, but careful moving and the passage of time healed that situation. Over the past few months, I´ve learned how to properly clean all fresh foods, and to pay closer attention to hand hygiene. I suspect that this last item (inadequate hand hygiene) was the actual culprit in the Brasilia airport.
About a month into my stay in Brazil, I discovered that toilet paper here is neither biodegradable nor safe for Brazilian plumbing; the situation is the same in Peru. My discovery came when I was answering questions about the US at a rural school outside Nova Olinda, and one of the students said he had read about a boy who was jailed for urinating in his own backyard. After I expressed my doubts, the teacher who had arranged for my visit commented on the toilet paper policies. I suspect that her comment was the result of the school´s staff having found no toilet paper in the pail next to the toilet after I used their freshly prepared bathroom earlier that day. (That, itself, was an experience. The school's director had suggested I wait until after the students had finished their break, so that staff could clean the bathroom. Outside the bathroom, I was greeted by a line of people: the woman who had cleaned the room, the teacher in whose classroom I had been teaching, and the school's director. One of them handed me some toilet paper as I entered, and all of them greeted me again when I exited.)
I was horrified to think that I´d been violating cultural, plumbing and environmental norms up to that point, and I guess that none of my hosts had felt comfortable enough to tell me. Since being enlightened, I´ve wiped, folded up the paper when necessary (use your imagination), and deposited it into the wastebasket near the toilet. Having learned how to change my relationship with what goes into my body, I have now quietly changed my relationship with what comes out of my body.
Over time, in the absence of a gym (as well as self-disciplne), I´ve lost a good deal of muscle mass and flexibility. When I first joined my current gym in California, I had laughed when they told me that my membership included the use of gyms in major cities around the world. I thought, 'Yeah, right. Like I´m going to travel to Paris or some other great city and then spend my time in a gym!' I´ve got a different take on that situation now and, in Nova Olinda most recently, I was thrilled to discover that there was an affordable little gym near my friends´ home. (In Lima, my friend´s brother told me about his quite excellent gym nearby. However, I was spending about 14 hours a day volunteering and/or traveling to volunteer sites, and the gym was too expensive for my limited availability.) I started using the gym in Nova Olinda a few days after arriving, and immediately felt much better. I regained some strength and flexibility while there, and enjoyed getting to know the owner and some of the members.
Vegetarianism has not presented too many challenges so far. People are always accommodating, and I have relatively relaxed standards regarding the company my vegetables keep in the cooking pot. My policy has always been that, if I arrive in someone's home and they've cooked a meal for me, I´m going to eat the part that isn't an animal. On one occasion in Lima, I attended a birthday party and, when the food came out, I was presented with generous chunks of meat accompanied by yucca root and rice with meat sauce. I didn't want to offend my host nor waste the meat and rice by simply leaving them on my plate. I explained that I didn't eat meat and asked if it would be possible to just have some rice and yucca. The gracious host apparently felt that this was simply too plain a dinner offer, so came back with a plate of yucca, rice and meat sauce -- minus the chunks of meat. Of course, I ate it all.
During my stay in Nova Olinda, I visited the historic home of several very delightful sisters. On the first visit, I was invited to return for lunch -- a very special and meaningful honor. I happily accepted and, in order to avoid surprises, explained that I was vegetarian. I honestly stated that I love Brazilian rice, beans and yucca, as well as vegetables. At lunch, there was a great deal of discussion among the family about my choice not to eat animals, but it did not appear to be a problem. When I returned once more to visit, earlier in the day, I was again invited to stay for lunch. The sister who was making lunch was truly eager for me to taste the chicken she was cooking.
I found myself considering my reasons for vegetarianism, which include the inhumane treatment of the animals themselves and of the people who spend hours each day killing and processing these animals in US factories. In this situation I was aware that the sisters themselves had raised and killed the chicken humanely. One sister had then plucked the feathers, and the in-law who had driven me to my visit that day had offered to gut the chicken and cut it up for cooking. (More about all of these remarkable people when I write about my stays in Nova Olinda.) I had listened to what sounded like small pebbles falling into the metal sink as he prepared the bird; the sound turned out to be hard corn that the bird had eaten prior to its death, some of which was still in its throat. I decided that there was no significant reason not to have a small piece of chicken on this occasion, which made the sister very happy. I enjoyed it and, at the same time, I had no urge to eat more.
I found myself considering my reasons for vegetarianism, which include the inhumane treatment of the animals themselves and of the people who spend hours each day killing and processing these animals in US factories. In this situation I was aware that the sisters themselves had raised and killed the chicken humanely. One sister had then plucked the feathers, and the in-law who had driven me to my visit that day had offered to gut the chicken and cut it up for cooking. (More about all of these remarkable people when I write about my stays in Nova Olinda.) I had listened to what sounded like small pebbles falling into the metal sink as he prepared the bird; the sound turned out to be hard corn that the bird had eaten prior to its death, some of which was still in its throat. I decided that there was no significant reason not to have a small piece of chicken on this occasion, which made the sister very happy. I enjoyed it and, at the same time, I had no urge to eat more.
In Lima as well as on the occasion above, I have had the odd experience of appreciating, though not enjoying, the sight of whole dead animals. While often wondering what the animal's life and death had been like, I appreciate the realness and directness of the relationship people have with the meat they eat. They know that the meat is part of an animal and, if not slaughtering the animal themselves, they see most everything and purchase the parts they want to use -- head, organs, feet, particular cuts. In the street markets of Lima, people freely handle the meat that is hanging on hooks or sitting on trays. This is done in order to assess the freshness and quality of the meat, and no one appears to be concerned about potential hygiene risks; people know they will be cooking the meat that day or the next.
It is a far cry from the meat sections of contemporary US supermarkets, where the animals are already cut up and packaged as meat in plastic, ready for purchase. I can't remember the last time I saw a pig's head in a US supermarket, or a whole chicken with feet still attached. I know there are places in the US where people routinely slaughter their own animals, or go to a farm to select the animal they want to have butchered. The reality of animals was true of the butcher shops of my childhood. It's just not part of my life as I live it in the US, and it isn't part of current mainstream US meat consumption.
It is a far cry from the meat sections of contemporary US supermarkets, where the animals are already cut up and packaged as meat in plastic, ready for purchase. I can't remember the last time I saw a pig's head in a US supermarket, or a whole chicken with feet still attached. I know there are places in the US where people routinely slaughter their own animals, or go to a farm to select the animal they want to have butchered. The reality of animals was true of the butcher shops of my childhood. It's just not part of my life as I live it in the US, and it isn't part of current mainstream US meat consumption.
As I write this, I have my first cold (which yesterday felt like flu, but isn't). As in the US, I want to sleep and try to drink lots of fluids. Although I'd be taking a decongestant in the US, I haven't used meds here; I don't have to go to work, and it isn't draining to walk around. In Lima, my friend and her mother had a great deal of useful knowledge about herbal and vegetable approaches to health challenges (e.g., boiled quince and its liquid for diarrhea, as well as chewing orange peel). There is a kind of tea in South America called "boldo," which is used for upset stomach and/or intestines; after reading about it, I have drunk it and found it helpful. On the other hand, I did not share my Lima friends' belief that standing in front of an open refrigerator after showering or first thing in the morning would make me sick -- and it never did, to my knowledge.
Odds and ends:
* My ankles swell most of the time in Brazil -- the heat? I often use the special compression knee-socks I brought with me, which means a second pair of socks to protect this expensive item, as well as pants. It's crazy, but it works.
* My favorite body product is the Tom's Original deodorant I brought with me: it has no fragrance, is outrageously effective (without being an anti-perspirant), was very affordable, and has already lasted four months.
* Yogurt has sometimes been hard to find, especially yogurt that isn't packaged sweet (sugar, corn syrup), artificially thickened and chemically laden. Additionally, yogurt is generally sold only in the small "one-portion" containers, which is an environmental and budgetary bummer. Lima was the exception so far, where I was able to buy "house-made" yogurt by the liter in a health-food store near the local street market.
* Yogurt has sometimes been hard to find, especially yogurt that isn't packaged sweet (sugar, corn syrup), artificially thickened and chemically laden. Additionally, yogurt is generally sold only in the small "one-portion" containers, which is an environmental and budgetary bummer. Lima was the exception so far, where I was able to buy "house-made" yogurt by the liter in a health-food store near the local street market.
* In the US, I used a bite guard at night because I was clamping my jaw. One night in Mexico (my first week of travel), I forgot to use it and woke up with no sense of pressure or cramping in my mouth. I realized that I might not need the bite guard while traveling, and this has been the case for most of my past five months. As was the case in the US, my need for clamping protection is tied to my stress level, and this has generally been negligible or even non-existent -- but higher when I am in cities. That's a whole other story that I will start to tell when I write about Nova Olinda.
Till then, with love, meg August 14, 2013
