Ceviche Strikes, Costal Peru
So I’d gotten clumsy. So I’d been drinking “papaya juice” with my morning breakfast, though I knew well that papaya in a blender doesn’t make much juice and tap water was almost inevitable in the mix. “If I can eat tacos all day on the streets of Mexico City and brush my teeth with the faucet water at night, I must have a stomache of iron!!” I foolishly thought.
Then I went too far.
They call it “Ceviche” and it is actually quite good. Spicy, lemony raw fish of all sorts make up this regional dish. A friendly drunken local on a bus was ashamed I hadn’t tried it, yet, so I promised him I would in my pitiful broken Spanish. A promise I should never have kept.
Later that night, as I read a copy of “Anne of Green Gables” I’d found in Cuzco, my belly started a-quaking. Cyril came back from his Kiteboarding lesson, then, and simply stated: “I think I might throw up.” And then he did. And so did I. All night. What a pretty couple we made.
Travel can be a fairy tale when you’re staring through misty hillsides down into lush valleys of palms and fruit trees or frolicking over the shadows of an ancient society or watching glaciers tumble over upon themselves. But it can also be long, hellish hours hanging on to the porcelaine rim of your hotel toilet, cursing that drunken stranger and his friendly intentions.
Tags: ceviche, Peru, Pisco, sickness, Travel
bonniecaton
April 19th, 2007 at 7:51 am
I’m glad you feel better and are up to more adventures now. And I’m glad you were not out in the bush when this happened. Carry on…. 🙂