Down for the count in Oruro
Of course I couldn’t sleep the whole night without waking up, but this time I woke up with an overextended belly, my bladder so full I was cramped. Here’s the dilemma…it’s 3:30 in the morning and I have to pee. Not only is it a little weird walking around someone’s house in the middle of the night (though this house was just rooms, all opening into a courtyard), but it’s even stranger when you have to leave the house to go out to the yard to pee. I laid there for a while contemplating my options…lay here in extreme pain or unlock the door and go outside and relieve myself. The pain was substantial, my bladder making the decision for me.
I got out of bed, leaving my shoes behind…it would be quick. I opened the door, which of course creaked loudly, and promptly hit my head on the low doorway on the way out. I hit my head again on another low passageway…dammit. The ground was extremely cold, but I made my way to the door. Unlocking it consists of moving a large wooden stick from out behind the door, which of course also creaked when I opened it. The grass was even colder, but I was glad to have arrived. On the way back, every door creaked again, and I only hit my head on one doorway. Soon I was back in bed, feet frozen and muddy, but I was very much all the better.
At 6:30 the radio was back on, and we got out of bed soon after. I was dreading that they would serve me another really large bowl of soup, but they didn’t. Elvis told me we were leaving to head back to Cochabamba. I was excited about the prospects of a shower, change of clothes, and a proper toilet, though I was really sad that this was all coming to an end. These few days were really amazing; everyone was so nice, so welcoming, and so willing to show me how they live, which is so very different from anything I’ve ever known.
We all said our goodbyes and they all asked me when I was coming back. “Someday” was the best answer that I could give, and I promised myself I would hold myself to it. Elvis, his dad and I grabbed a cab and headed into town. From there we took a microbus to another little town they wanted to show me, just outside of Cochabamba. It was bigger than where I had been, but still pretty small. Nearly the whole city center was a market, the streets full of little stalls and tents, selling fruits, vegetables, all sorts of household items, and clothes. There were a few areas where they were sold farm animals…huge empty lots with all sorts of chickens, horses, sheep, pigs. I saw some of the hugest pigs I’ve ever seen there.
We grabbed some soup for lunch and Elvis and I caught a bus to Cochabamba. We walked around more market areas, where Elvis introduced me to some friends, who were all very nice, though the one woman was trying to tell me that Quechua and English were very similar. I begged to differ, explaining that I couldn’t understand a word, but she kept insisting, so I gave up.
The rest of the day was pretty relaxing…I caught up on some writing and spent about $20 calling American Express, going through a very elaborate information-gathering process to collect a refund on my $20 traveler’s check that had been stolen. Futile.
The next day I was leaving, but not without checking out their big statue of Christ overlooking the city – just like in Rio, though this one is touted as the highest in the world (since we’re up in the mountains). Elvis and his friend Luis accompanied me, along with Elvis’s niece (and my future goddaughter) Paulita. The views were pretty nice…Cochabamba is in a valley, and is a very pretty city (well, at least when you’re looking down on it).
Elvis had been talking all day about how I was going to buy a doll for Paulita, and the idea really got stuck in her head, so we headed to the toy store before I got on my bus. I figured it was the least I could do to thank Elvis and his family for receiving me so kindly. Did her eyes light up when we walked in! Faced with everything in front of her, she wanted a Barbie house (though they’re fake Barbie houses), and she got it. It was a pretty cool house…the best they had, really, and, well, boy am I glad that everything is cheap in Bolivia!
With that, I was off to Oruro, a city way high up (about 12,000 something feet), about as high as La Paz. I felt a little hot while waiting in the bus station, but figured it was all the sun I had gotten that day. My eyes were burning a little too, but, ah, I didn’t pay too much attention to it. I was in and out of sleep on the bus, thinking, or perhaps dreaming, that I couldn’t breathe due to the altitude. I still don’t know if it was real or not.
As we pulled into Oruro, the man across the aisle was bundling up with his big coat, so I put on my fleece. He pulled up his socks, so I pulled up my socks. It was going to be cold! The truth is, when I walked outside, it wasn’t too bad, although I didn’t want to hang out outside for too long. I went to a hotel right across the street. Two flights up the stairs with my backpack on really took the wind out of me.
Entering my room, I found no change in temperature, no “ah, welcome to the warmth”. There’s no heat. It was a cool 60 degrees in the room. I laid on the bed watching TV with my clothes and boots on, heart racing, breath slowly returning to normal, but with an awful headache. Is this altitude sickness? I had already been at a good altitude in Cochabamba, but I think this now qualifies as “extreme” altitude.
Luckily there were lots of blankets to sleep under. I woke up still with a headache; it took me a while to get out of bed, but I did, and got myself ready to go check out the town. As I was leaving I thought, man, I feel feverish, and sure enough I did have a fever. I popped some Advil and felt better after a while, so headed out to check out the town.
I was out for a few hours, went to some mining museum, but by the time I got back I could tell the fever had returned. It got as high as 103.5! I don’t know the last time I had a fever like that. I pretty much spent the next 2 days laying in bed (thankful for the cable TV with American programming…can I admit I know all the American Idol contestants?), leaving the hotel every once in a while to buy some water or do some research on altitude sickness (I was pretty convinced at one point that I had some advanced form of altitude sickness that causes complications such as fluid in the lungs). It seems that every time I left, someone in the street wanted to talk to me, which I had no desire to do. Explaining that I was really sick and was just heading back to bed seemed to strike up even more conversation!
After two days I was pretty much better, so I left for La Paz. I often contemplated going to the hospital, but never did; Oruro is a big city, but I would have felt better about it in La Paz…eventually whatever it was took its course and left. I did enjoy self-diagnosing, though. I decided against any altitude-sickness related problems, and turned to my super-small health section in the Lonely Planet. Look at what great stuff I may (or may not) have had: Malaria (maybe, but I would consider this a minor case…I had forgotten to take my malaria medicine while in the country); Dengue Fever (but probably not likely); Chagas’ Disease (I read this is uncommon for travelers, but those sleeping in mud houses should be aware…there are little bugs like bite and shit on you at the same time. Then when you scratch the bite you rub the shit into the wound and become infected…nice); Histoplasmosis (from fungus in soil); Leptospirosis (from water contaminated from urine of infected animals.
The truth is, I’ll most likely never know what it was I had, but isn’t self-diagnosing fun?
Tags: Bolivia, Tag Index
Tania
April 10th, 2006 at 10:38 am
All the symptoms you described are very consistent with a condition called BOLIVIAITIS.