Unfortunate (but nearly inevitable) bouts of sickness
After the carnaval party, I found Vanessa, who apparently had contracted something from the water and was throwing up…not good news. Many locals had gotten sick from swimming in the water due to all the rains washing the bacteria into the lake. I guess I didn’t get sick because I had been swimming a bit further away from town. This put a little bit of a damper on the rest of the stay…the next day I walked around the town a bit, but definitely didn’t jump in the water. The last thing I wanted was to be throwing up as we got on a boat for the next two days to Manaus. The good news was that it only lasted one night…many locals had been sick for a week or so.
The next day we made our way back to Santarem to catch our boat to Manuas. We met a Columbian juggler on the way, a nice guy making a living traveling and juggling. We were a lot happier with this boat than the last one. This one only held maybe 100 – 150 people; of course, it was a lot smaller, too. We got there early and slung up our hammocks – I had a great spot until some dude hung his practically right on top of mine. I spent the night squished between him and Vanessa; he spent his night squished between me and a pole. Luckily, he moved his hammock to a better spot (away from me), the next morning, before I had even gotten out of bed, er, hammock.
The boat ride was fairly uneventful. The boat crew must have had it in them to be the best party boat on the river, because the music was always unnecessarily loud; when we pulled into port, they turned it up even more. I spent the majority of my time in my hammock, reading, sleeping, but in no way bored. I enjoyed our mealtimes here as well. The meals were fairly plain – meat, rice, beans, spaghetti (typical as Brazilian food comes), served family-style, but we all sat at a table, looking out over the river, peaceful…if, of course, you disregard the loud engine noise (so loud you have to scream over it). I won’t even go into the smell of deisel.
We got into port at Manuas 2 1/2 days later, at about 12:30 in the morning, and were way overcharged for a cab ride that took us 5 blocks. That’s when I first learned that Manaus is in the business of ripping tourists off, and I hate them for it. Cabs – expensive, jungle tours – expensive…this is the city in the jungle where all the tourists come for tours, so of course they rip them off.
I was not interested in a jungle tour in Manaus (I would go somewhere else for that), but I was pretty excited about receiving a package from my mom there, which she had sent a while back. So, first thing in the morning, I headed out to the main post office, where it should be waiting. “I’m nervous it’s not going to be here” I told Vanessa…”Don’t worry. It will”, she assured me. Sure enough, it was not there.
After some thinking, I went back in the afternoon to look for it again. Nope. Any other place it might be? The lady told me to get on the 515 bus to such and such place. Uh oh, Vanessa said. “Yeah, this should be fun. Alright…I’ll check you later”, and I head off to find this place.
I found the plaza where the buses leave, found the 515 bus, and asked the attendant lady to please tell me when to get off, which she was much obliged to do. Well, sure enough, they did not have my package either. Back to the city…I waited around about 45 minutes for the 515 bus to take me back until I asked some girls if there was another bus I could take to the center. Any bus that says Centro. Great. I had let about 30 buses pass that said Centro while i was waiting. I started to look for buses that said Centro. This one – does it say Centro? YES…ooh, too late, it’s passed. Go figure that this one was also the elusive 515 that I had been waiting for the whole time.
I finally made it back to the Center and sat down at the station to check it all out. Sitting next to me was Renato, who started to talk to me. He was a 22-year old newly-ordained police officer for the city of Manaus, and was very proud about this. He offered to take me around the city a bit, and I accepted his offer. He showed me the cathedral, the theater building, a few other landmarks, and even bought me an ice cream cone. He was very polite; one of those guys who’s too polite – directing me out of the way of puddles, pulling my arm to stop me from going into traffic…a bit much.
We walked through the Praça do Policia (Plaza of the Police, named so because the police headquarters is located there), and I could see that it was on the cusp of hosting a large party…it was, afterall, Friday night. However, I was getting a little put off by the overpoliteness of my police friend and decided to find Vanessa to grab some dinner. With that, I headed back to the hotel (taking Renato with me, breaking the number one rule of traveling – never let anyone know where you’re staying if you don’t want them to show up there). Vanessa was not there, so I headed back to the Praça with Renato, where we went our separate ways.
I ate some churrasco (grilled beef on a stick), and walked around a bit, expecting to find Vanessa…well, the grease from the churrasco called me back to the hotel, where I took a shower and invited a few other travelers I had met that morning to go to the party…they were headed that way, as it was. As I walked in to the festival, I immediately found Vanessa, who undoubtedly had the same idea as me. This was apparently for Carnaval…festivals abound almost the entire month before actual Canaval happens, which I had no problem with, since I would most likely miss the actual event.
There were two stages set up, and we moved from one to the other, dancing. We met some nice people, one guy who used to live in DC, so spoke pretty good english, which always helps. His name was Moses, a large black man who towered over the mainly small population of Manuas…his nickname, appropriately, was Big. Everyone wanted to know Big because, well, he’s big. One girl quoted some lyric to some reggae song (which I didn’t understand), but it amounted to something like “He’s the kind of black man to tip your hat to.” If I was a black man, I would accept that complement.
Apparently, there was another party, just the same, but better, happening in town, so I headed of with Big and his friends (being bad with names, I have no idea what the rest of their names are). There, we found more friends, and Vanessa and I were invited to a birthday party the next day for feijado (ooh…I think that’s what it’s called…I forget exactly), which is apparently the national dish of Brazil. That should be fun…
I was a little more hungry after only a churrasco, so I grabbed a piece of pizza, and then we headed to someone’s house (which was closer than my hotel), where about 7 of us slept on matresses on the floor (they must be used to having people sleeping over with the abundance of mattresses on hand, I figure). The next morning, I woke up at 7am thinking, “Oh dear lord, I’m going to be sick”. Like, vomit, sick. How horrible. Here I am in someone’s house with a crew of people I only met last night, and I’m going to spew in their bathroom. I put it off as long as I could, because I can’t think of a bodily function that I detest more, but couldn’t.
I felt better. Everyone was still asleep. I went back to my mattress and fell asleep. An hour later. “Not again”. Yes, again. What is wrong with me? How embarassing…all these people are going to think I’m hungover, sick from the night before. Well, if you know me you know (and even if you don’t, you should) know that I just don’t get sick from alcohol. Of course, if I had just met me, I would think I was sick from the imbibing…
By this time, people were waking up…it was the one guy’s birthday, and he was all birthday happy. Meanwhile, I was somewhere I didn’t know and throwing up everything in my stomach. I broke the news. “Too much last night?” “No, that’s not it.” First time in Manuas?” Yes. “You ate that pizza…never eat the vegetables here. You’re body’s not used to them”. Ok. Well, at least we were on the same page (hopefully…it was them that suggested it was maybe the food).
“Would you like some tea?” Yes, that would be nice, thank you. The tea came and tasted like spicy oregano. I have no idea what kind of crap tea that was, but it was in no way going to settle my stomach – I couldn’t even drink it. “I need to go to my hotel.” “You don’t want to stay for the party?” I would really like to, but I’m going to return to the bathroom for a spew, and then I’d like to get a cab and go to my bed, but thank you. Maybe Vanessa and I’ll come back later if I feel better…
Tags: Brazil, Tag Index
Tania
March 13th, 2006 at 9:38 pm
um,just lost my appetite.luv ya anyway!