Warm Belly Water
I made it back to the hotel without any spewing-in-cab incidents, which is always a good thing. Soon after arriving, though, I came to realize that the Sprite I drank in an effort to calm my stomach did not do the trick, but was glad to be throwing up in the comfort of my own hotel now. I found on my bed a note from Vanessa, telling me that my police buddy showed up that morning and was slow to leave, even with her refusal to speak Portuguese to him. He also drew me a map of the Amazon river with the three main cities along the river (trust me, this was the most generic map you’ve ever seen…like drawing a map of the States, labeling New York, Chicago, and LA, as if that explains everything). I turned the lights off (for once, glad for no windows in a hotel room), and tried to sleep.
Sometimes, you know, when you’re sick, it’s really hard to sleep. You feel so awful and can’t stop thinking about how awful you feel, and are hoping that you don’t have to throw up again, just wishing to feel better, just wanting to go to sleep and wake up feling better. Well, yeah, it was hard to fall asleep…I just laid there in the dark, feeling awful (but sort of surprised that it hadn’t happened before this; my health has been pretty spectacular during the trip, much to my surprise, as can be proved by one look at my extensive first aid kit). Finally, though, I did fall asleep. Or almost. I was in that sort of half sleep, where you’re not entirely asleep, but you don’t really know that you’re awake until something jolts you out of it, when all of a sudden, the phone rang. I have a phone? Who the hell is calling me?! I don’t know anyone here… Well, it was reception – that was the only phone connection to my room.
“Oi?” I answered. Renato, the policeboy! I knew I shouldn’t have broken that rule…”I’m very sick” “Can I come up?” He’s not listening to a word I’m saying…sure come on up. He came in and turned the light on, burning my eyes. “Hi Renato. I’m very sick. Vomiting.” “Oh. Sorry. I brought my police hat (beret) and pants to show you.” Great. He put on his beret and held his pants up to his waist. “Very nice”, I said. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m really not feeling very well.” And he kept talking. At this point, every muscle in my body ached, particularly my feet (no idea why) and the talking (portuguese here…) was an exertion that I did not need. “How was last night? I wanted to take you around the city on a bus today…” Every move I made was an effort, and now I was so uncomfortable that I was moving constantly to find a comfortable position while still blocking the light from my eyes.
“You need a stomach massage.” A stomach massage? Does that even exist? And, that’s definitely the last thing I need. Finally, it was too much: all the extra movement, exertion, talking, everything caught up with me. I asked Renato to leave and ran into the bathroom. There was really nothing left at this point – pure water. All the water I had been drinking just blew out of me like in those ridiculously exaggerated throw-up scenes on TV…and it was warm – gently warmed by my belly. Then, when there was no water to spew, there was bile. That was warm too. (I don’t apologize for the details here…with traveling comes the good, the bad, and the ugly…don’t be afraid. Be glad I don’t mention all of the gory details. May all of you who think that I’m having all fun, fun, fun take note.) 🙂
I came out of the bathroom, and can you believe this boy was still there? Oooh, man…I know he must have heard me throwing up, and I was livid. People like to throw up in private. They don’t like to have strangers in the next room listening. I explained this to him in maybe not the nicest way, but not too bad, and he left. I never saw him again.
That was the last I was sick that day, but I did come to realize that the body aches were due to a fever…a little over 101º. I hadn’t had a fever in who knows how long, and man, they really kill your body. I walked down the long set of stairs to get more toilet paper from reception, and it was one step at a time…slow, slow, slow, and it was all I could do to keep from falling. Lifting the water bottle to my mouth was an effort. At one point, I called myself a loser for being so weak. A touch of reality never hurts during times like these, though I still did lay in bed the whole day.
The next day, Vanessa left to go to another little town…I still was a bit weak and stayed behind. Besides, I was still waiting for my package from mom. Vomiting does amazing things for the size of your stomach…appetite was down, which was fine because I had really been eating too much on the boats, sitting around and doing nothing, and I could feel it.
I was in Manaus almost a whole week longer, and, well, I really have nothing more exciting to talk about. I did eat a whole fish, grilled, on a plate with head, tail, and a big fork in it. It was a perfect representation of “stick a fork in it and call it done.” It was pretty good, but there were a heck of a lot of bones.
I really spent the time chasing down my package and catching up on the blog and pictures (which I know you couldn’t tell by my recent dirth of entries…but I think that’s when I wrote the Ultimate Brazilian Family Vacation series). In just a week, though, I made my little circle of friends around town…the post office lady greeted me with a smile every day when I came to check up on my package; I hung out with the hotel attendants a bit and even shared a pizza with them one night; I sat and talked with some girls running a corner shop who told me I didn’t look close to 28 – I didn’t even have any wrinkles!; there was another woman I just kept running into on the street, a sweetie, who practiced her english with me and told me she needed to get a job in the States (me too, someday…she was asking the wrong person); of course, can’t forget the man on the corner who cooked me up an Americano sandwich more nights that not (this is ham, cheese, egg, lettuce, tomato…do we have anything like this?), always marking me down as the “gringa”. I didn’t have a problem with this until some British guy with his dad came up and did not even offer a hello or anything in Portuguese (Hello is Oi…it’s even easier than hello! It’s like hi — oi…see? Give it a shot! Just try.). He just ordered everything in Englsh and was marked down as “gringo”, and I was sad to be put in the same class as him.
A little bit about Manaus…it is a city in the jungle, with lots of industry surrounding it. It doesn’t feel like you’re in the jungle because you’re in a city (don’t laugh at that statement, please). It did rain nearly every day, mostly just short bursts of rain, but sometimes all day long. Back in the day (early 19h century) it was referred to as the Paris of the tropics, and there are some really gorgeous buildings there, including the famous Theatre Building. I really came to like the city…most people pass through, looking for a jungle trip, go on the trip, return, leave. I was waiting for the package-that-was-never-to-be a little over the course of a week. It’s a little rough, with touches of elegance; everyone is trying to sell something (stole that from another Brazilian, but it’s true).
Vanessa returned from her little side trip, and we were both leaving the next day…going seperate ways, Vanessa west to Peru and me with a turn to the south to Bolivia. A change in plans for me, what with (shout out here) April, Shelley, and Morrison coming out for our birthdays (April will be 30!) in, duh, April…we’re going to walk the Inca Trail to Macchu Pichu (preview). Anyway, big up to these girls for officially being the first ones to book their tickets and walk their talk, joining me out here.
For Vanessa and I, there was one more adventure to be had. As we gathered our things, the guy from whom we purchased our ticket picked us up and walked us to the boat (I was a little unsure of his extra service, since I knew where the damn port was). Well, he walked us to a water taxi, where we entered precariously with our packs on the front of a little rowboat with a motor. We were both thorougly confused, but went with it, as long as we got on our boat. We pulled up to Vanessa’s boat and, well, she just had to climb up the side of the boat, which she did, and they hoisted her bag up to her. It all happened so fast, and we were in such a whirlwind, that we didn’t even get a chance to hug each other goodbye and all that. “Bye dude.” “Yeah dude, bye.” (I had her talking like a good American girl…it was brilliant. I guess a little bit of her rubbed off on me, too.) Over at my boat, there was at least a little ladder I could use, and some people who could toss my stuff to me, and that was it. I was on the boat that was my new home for the next 5 – 6 days.
Tags: Brazil, Travel, Tag Index
Tania