SOROCHE ATTACKS!

Tuesday, August 16 2011

Our alarm went off way too early on Tuesday morning, but the Doctor and I got up and showered. Brushing my teeth was an effort in concentration, as I had to constantly remind myself not to let the water come in contact with my tooth brush, or to rinse my mouth with it. I had picked up a couple bottles of water at the Ft. Lauderdale Airport on the way in, and that was what I had been drinking, and what I used to brush my teeth.

When we went down to check out, our transport was waiting to take us to the airport. Luckily it was a different driver; had it been the the same driver who had dropped me off,  he might have wondered why he was taking me back to the airport just a few short hours after picking us up.

The airport was quite busy for so early, and the line to get through security was quite long, but it moved quickly and we had no trouble going through. I hadn't noticed the night before but the airport had a Starbucks and a couple of Dunkin' Donuts. I had also seen a Dominoes Pizza on the way to the hostel the night before. And of course there are signs, billboards and advertisements EVERYWHERE for Coca Cola (I am not surprised Peruvians have such bad teeth!)  In spite of the prominence of these recognizable name brands, none of the many gas stations we passed were familiar to me. 

When it came time to board the plane, we first had to get on a bus which took us to the plane, and we boarded by climbing those metal stairs on wheels which are not used too much in the US any more.

The Doctor and I were in the very front row. He slept a good deal of the flight, and I may have dozed a bit, but was awake most of the time. I had gotten up at 5:20 AM the day before, and had had only probably two or three hours of sleep since then. Usually when I fly I fall asleep before we take off, and sleep a lot on the flight, but I hadn't been able to do that the day before or now on this flight either. And at the hostel I had tossed and turned more than usual, so wasn't even to get much sleep in the time I had.

On our flight to Juliaca we could see snow covered mountains, which I assume were the Andes. We made a brief stop in Arequipa, which looked like little more than a collection of mud huts.  Some people got off here, a few got on and we had to wait for refueling. Our stewardess did not speak very good English, and it was very difficult to understand her announcements, but while we were waiting in Arequipa and she was alone up near the cockpit, I could hear her singing the first line of "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" in fairly good English. There was something about that I found reassuring . . .

Flying into Juliaca gave the same impression as Arequipa, a lot of mud huts though it seemed bigger and more spread out. A four man band was playing music near the only luggage carousel - pan flutes and other Peruvian instruments. We collected our luggage and went outside, where we found a bus to take us into Puno for a more than reasonable price. Our luggage was loaded on TOP of the bus and we took off. It was around the time we stepped out of the airport that I started noticing the pressure in my head, and I assumed this was the beginning of the altitude sickness.

Our bus ride through Juliaca was interesting to say the least. It felt like someone had taken a good sized city and crammed it into the space intended for a small town. It was a jumbled mess, with people and cars and buildings crammed in everywhere. Yet I found it all fascinating. My only complaint was the bus was going too fast to get any good pictures of what I was seeing. I would have loved to have had a few hours to walk the streets of Juliaca, though from what I had read on the Fodor's web site implied it was not a safe city at all. Their advice was "Do not linger in Juliaca  . . . " and warned that it could be a dangerous place for tourists.

Soon we moved out into flat open country side. There were still a number of houses and buildings, most very small and simple, one or two rooms at best. There were many buildings which I could not tell if they were in the process of being built, were in decay, or were being lived in. We passed a long cement wall with several colorful paintings of athletic activities, making it look like there might be a some sort of multi-sports complex there. But beyond the wall was nothing but an overgrown field. Had something been there once? Had someone hoped to build it, but never got beyond the wall?

There were a lot of small farms with sheep and cows, but I think I only saw one Llama. Or was it an Alpaca? Or a Vicuna? I have no idea what the difference is. I saw one woman waiting to cross the road with a small herd of cattle in tow.

Many of the buildings had political signs painted on them. These were everywhere, even on structures that were in pretty bad shape. As long as there was enough of a wall - and sometimes a wall might be all there was - big enough for the candidate's name, that was all that was needed. One of the names that was everywhere was "Keiko", and his logo was a circle with a "K" in it. His name had a resonance to it, and I decided he was the candidate for me! Every time I saw one of his ads (which was often) I would call out a cheer of "KEIKO!!!),  much to The Doctor's annoyance.

While we were still in Julica we had both noticed a Seventh Day Adventist Church. I was raised SDA, and The Doctor is a member, though not active. On the long stretch of road we saw a sign for ADRA, which stands for the Adventist Disaster Relief Agency. There was a third sign related to the SDA church, but at the moment I can't recall what it was. Catholicism is the predominant religion in Peru, so it was interesting to see the SDA church so well represented.

My headache had been holding steady, and The Doctor was also suffering  from the same thing. He wasn't sure it was related to the altitude, but I told him I was pretty sure it was.   I told him the pressue in my heald felt similar to when I don't get my way and hold my breath until I do. He said the most disturbing thing about that statement was that I had used the present tense . . .

What???

We eventually arrived in Puno, and as we rounded a corner, there it was! The great expanse of Lake Titicaca lay spread out before us. We continued down into the main part into the city, which was another crowded city with tiny homes crammed into the surrounding hillsides. It reminded me of pictures of I have seen of Israel, but I am sure there are countless cities that are the same.

The Pirwa Backpacker's Hostel was on La Torre Ave., and the driver stopped across the street and climbed up on the roof of the bus and began searching for our bags. Mine was right near the edge so it was easy to spot, but The Doctor actually had to climb up himself and point it out to the driver.

After getting our baggage, we crossed the street and rang the bell at the hostel.  A woman answered who spoke no English, and had to call a "Mr. Carlos" on the phone.  She had The Doctor talk to him, then she talked to him again herself.    After she hung up, she gave us the key and pointed us up the stairs to the room. 

The room was pretty nondescscript with two single beds in it. I had requested the "Matrimonial Suite" with a shared bed at each of the hostels, so I wasn't sure what was up with the single beds. The most interesting thing in the room was the rules posted on the door. They included "Do not wash in the roms do not hang clothes", "Not to leave valuables in the bed rooms have lokers", "And do not use towels mop".

Within minutes of our arrival The Doctor had already violated the one forbidding the hanging of clothes by hanging some items that were still damp from a wall mount which should have had a TV.

And in the bathroom was the sign my Fodor's Guidebook had predicted I might see: 

Apparently the plumbing in most buildings throughout Peru is so antiquated that it is easy for them to get clogged. The hostel in Lima, however, had no such sign.

In spite of the both of us having splitting headaches, we pretty much hit the road running. We took a few minutes to get settled and then hit the streets of Puno. Many of the buildings had that same "unfinished" look about them.

The street was busy with the noise of cars and taxis, and cute little "Tricycle Taxis" - tiny cab bodies big enough to hold one or two people plus the driver, mounted on oversize tricycle frames. These were everywhere, and each had its own original color and decorations.

Many of the regular taxis were also decorated with colorful flowers on their hoods.

Here and there on some of the street corners were elevated metal booths, all painted with the Inca Kola logo on them (Inca Kola is a popular soft drink in Peru). Like many things in the city, they were old and in disrepair, and didn't appear to be in use any more - whatever their original purpose might have been. I finally came to the conclusion that they may at one time have been a post for traffic cops. They all seemed to be positioned at intersections, which now had those "countdown traffic lights" I mentioned earlier, so it could be there intended use is now outdated.

Many people of course were on foot. The men probably could have blended in in America with no problem, but the women definitely stood out with their bright, colorful dresses. Almost all the women wore bowler hats with two long braided tails coming out from under the hat and running down their back, usually at least as far as their waists. Their look was very distinctive and I found it intriguing. They don't like to have their pictures taken by strangers, so it was hard to get a good picture of them, but I tried when I could.

Nina, my friend from the courthouse, had told me to expect to see a lot of children begging, especially in Lima, and it was OK to give them some smaller denominations of Soles. The lowest Peruvian paper money goes to is a s/ 10.00; anything under that is a coin, and Nina said it was good to have a pocketful of change to hand out when we encountered them. However, I hadn't been in Lima long enough to see anyone begging, and in Puno the only ones begging were old people. They did look very sad and pathetic, usually sitting on the ground or some steps and holding out their hand and calling out softly in Spanish. If I had some coins in my pocket I would usually try to give them one. If I didn't, I felt terribly guilty, and could only imagine my own mother in that situation.

And of course, Keiko's signs were everywhere . . . KEIKO!!!

We had set out in search of restaurant listed in my Fodor's that had some vegetarian fare. We headed to Lima Street, a good section of which was a pedestrian walkway with shops and restaurants running up and down both sides. I was surprised to see many of them were actually pizzerias, but there were also plenty that offered traditional Peruvian food including Alpaca meat and "Cuy", which is Guinea Pig. It is usually roasted whole, and I am sure it is delicious  . . . (?),  but I had no interest in trying it. I think I would have passed even if I were not a vegetarian. Even some of the Pizza places had Alpaca listed as a topping choice.

We couldn't seem to find the restaurant that we were looking for. We stopped at a tourist agent on the street, and though her English was a little spotty, the girl working the desk tried to help us. She even called the number in the guidebook, but it had been disconnected, so it appeared they were no longer in business.

We finally decided on a restaurant called Giorgio, that had a vegetarian section on their menu. It looked OK from the outside, but when we went it it looked VERY upscale. The tables were all set very elegantly, and a group of chefs in tall white chef hats were relaxing in a little lounge right beyond the dining area. We were the only one there, which we thought was odd, and maybe a good warning sign. But the prices appeared to be reasonable, so we went ahead and ordered. Most of the menu was in Spanish, but we were able to make out a few words here and there, and since we were ordering off the vegetarian page we felt safe. We both ordered something different, and as soon as the waiter walked back to the kitchen, all the tall hatted chefs sprang up and followed him. We were certain we were in for a splendid meal.

(BELOW: The Doctor peruses Giogio's Menu)

A little while later the waiter brought us each what appeared to be two small salads. They were works of art, and quite tasty. I had been advised against fresh fruits and vegetables, unless I was eating in a good restaurant where I felt the food would be safe, and this place was upscale enough so I didn't worry too much about it. The ingredients were a mixture of warm and cold, the warm forming the foundation, and the cold on top. I wasn't sure what everything was, but it was quite tasty.

After we finished the salad the waiter cleared our plates and asked if we wanted coffee. We thought it strange to offer coffee between courses, but we were in Peru, and thought maybe that was the custom. Neither of us are coffee drinkers so we declined and he took our plates and left. We waited for the entree . . . and waited . . . and waited . . . and waited some more. We began to wonder if the salad HAD been the entree, but as we had ordered different things and been served an identical dish I thought it was just a side dish that came with the meal. Plus the waiter hadn't brought us our check, so that gave us more reason to think the best was yet to come.

But after waiting what I am sure must have been 45 minutes, we finally called the host over and asked as best we could (he spoke little English) if the dish he had served us was the entree. He brought us the order slip and pointed to what the waiter had written, which was TWO of the same entrees, and he was able to make it clear that, yes, we had already gotten all we had ordered. SO we asked for the check, and paid it and left, vowing never to eat at Giorgio's again as long as we both lived.

Neither of us had been feeling well before the meal and had hoped we would feel better after eating. This did not happen. The Doctor, in fact, was feeling worse, and I had the feeling he was fading fast. Still, we walked around some more. We went into a very old Catholic church; they were having Mass, so we just peeked in quickly and left. 

Across the street from that was the "Palacio de Justcia" which I assumed was a courthouse, so being a court employee, I had The Doctor take my picture on the steps.

We had wandered a bit off Lima Street, but we went back and got some dessert at a little walk up stand called "Helados Chepy's". The product was sort of like ice cream but not exactly, but tasty, and ridiculously cheap - at least by American standards. We sat on a bench and ate it, while watching the passers-by pass by.

I had bought some postcards, mostly pictures of Machu Picchu and Lake Titicaca, and Llamas - that sort of thing. But a couple were a little more interesting. They seemed to depict the ancient Inca's honoring of the male phallus. One was of  a clay or stone figurine of a man whose endowment was drastically out of proportion to the rest of his body - and he seemed quite pleased with himself by this fact. Another card was titled "Templo Falico Inca Uyo". It pictured a collection of statues representing the male phallus, all of various sizes, surrounding a very large one in the center. The card said "Puno" on it, so we thought we would try to find it as it looked . . .interesting . . . Sadly when I consulted my book, I discovered the "Templo" was actually 12 miles outside Puno, so we had to skip it. Still, it is nice to know such things exist in the world.

I found a little tour agent on Lima Street, that had a posted sign saying they sold stamps. I went in and asked and the young man told me they did not. I looked questioningly at the sign, and another employee who had overheard informed him that yes, they DID! I bought some postcard stamps. They were S/ 5.50 each, about $2.00 American. Later, when I was looking at them more closely, I discovered they were HIV/AIDS Prevention stamps - or VIH/SIDA in Spanish. I was surprised to see this, but glad that Peru seems to be concerned about bringing awareness to this issue, considering what a conservative country they are.

We finally decided we should head back to room and collect ourselves before finding some dinner somewhere (definitely NOT Giorgio's again!). Earlier we had spotted the Supermercado Central, which we believed to be a grocery store. I needed to get some more bottled water, and The Doctor wanted to pick up a few things for breakfast as we had to be ready to leave early for our tour of Lake Titicaca, and he wasn't sure if the hostel would be serving breakfast at that hour. So we headed over to the Supermercado; it was not at all what we expected. It was more like a "food flea market". There were two floors with long aisles, each lined with individual booths with women selling various types of food. One section was set aside for meat and we could see women chopping up meat and preparing it for sale. Nothing here really appealed to us, so we decided to see what else we might find on our way back to the hostel. I was able to find some bottled water here, but that was all we purchased.

A bit later we passed a shop with baskets of bread out front, and they looked pretty good so we picked up a couple of small round loaves for breakfast. (BELOW: The Doctor purchasing bread for our breakfast)

When we reached the hostel, The Doctor crashed. He lay down and was out like a light. Again, I had not slept more than a few hours since Monday morning (this was late Tuesday afternoon), and though I still had a bad headache and was suffering some from shortness of breath, I didn't feel tired at all. I think I was running on adrenaline and just the excitement of being in such a strange new place. I let the Doctor sleep for a bit, but I was concerned about leaving too late for dinner. My guide book had warned that Puno was not particularly safe after dark, and I didn't want to be out too late. (BELOW: The Doctor napping in the throes of Soroche)

I hated too, but I finally woke him up. He was so sick he could hardly move. Like me, he too had the headache and the shortness of breathe, but his symptoms were more severe, especially his headache which was causing him incredible agony. He was also quite dizzy, something which I was not experiencing. He tried to sit up a couple times but would always fall back on the bed again. His face looked horrible, contorted with pain.



The altitude sickness had taken him completely by surprise. Turns out he knew precious little about the condition. While I had told him several weeks ago that my physician had given me a prescription for Acetazolamide (which I really believed helped keep me from getting more sick than I was), he had thought his chances of coming down with it were fairly slim. He figured the odds were something like one in 100, maybe one in a thousand. As he lay there suffering from its effects, he was quite surprised when I told him that based on what I had read, EVERYONE gets it, the severity just varies from person to person. I told him some people get really serious cases of it, sometimes requireing hospitalization, and in rare instances even death can occur. I told him he really needed to let me know if he thought he was in any serious danger that might require medical attention, though to be honest, I don't think either of us were too eager to visit the Puno Hospital's Emergency Ward - if there even was one.


We still needed to eat, but I told him if he didn't feel up to it I would go out and get a pizza at one of the many pizza places we had spotted earlier. It was obvious to me that he was in no condition to go anywhere, and finally he agreed that it would be best for him to stay put. So I ventured out into the streets of Puno on my own.

I set out planning to get a pizza as we had discussed, but hadn't gone far when it dawned on me that eating cheese might not be the best idea. Nina had warned about this several times, and I had even named this blog after her advice, so it really didn't feel right to be going out for a pizza. The Doctor was already suffering from Soroche, and I was not feeling all that great myself. Eating something that had the risk of giving us Traveler's Diarrhea on top of our Altitude Sickness didn't seem like a good idea. So, as I walked, I began to consider my other options. Earlier, very soon after our less than stellar lunch experience, we had stumbled upon a sign for vegetarian restaurant pointing up one of the side streets off Lima. We had walked up to check it out, and found a rather depressing looking restaurant, but in spite of its outward appearance we had decided at that time that's where we would have dinner. Now I decided I would go there and see if they did take out.  (BELOW: The less than impressive entrance to Vida Natural.)

I found the place without any trouble, and went in. There were no other customers. The owner sat at table near the kitchen wiping off silverware, and a woman was in the kitchen. The man got up and greeted me. Using hand gestures and speaking as simply as possible I asked if I could get food to go. He replied "Yes, it's OK, I understand you perfectly." Though far from perfect, he spoke much better English than anyone else we had encountered in Puno so far. The menu, however, was almost all in Spanish, so he talked me through some of the options. I told him I was interested in trying something Peruvian, and after a few exchanges with the woman in the kitchen (who was his wife), he suggested two dishes. He told me it would take a while, as they prepared all their meals fresh. (BELOW: The owner of Vida Natural, wiping down silverware.)

I sat at a table and he chatted with me a little. He asked how his English was, and I told him it was better than anyone else I had met in Puno. He said he had studied English for two years. I told him I spoke no Spanish at all, and he said "You can learn."

I mentioned to him that I had been a vegetarian all my life, that my parents had raised me that way. He seemed quite impressed and asked why that was. I told him my parents were Seventh Day Adventists, and started to explain how a healthy diet was part of their belief, but he had already called back to his wife and told her that I was "Adventista". To my great surprise, he told me they were SDA as well! And of course he was surprised. I told him I was no longer a member myself, but had never had any desire to start eating meat.




He told me that business was very slow; he said they got about 20 customers a day, while most other restaurants in the area got about 80. The whole time I was there, no one else came in.

He was correct in that the food did take a very long time to prepare. I could see that it was already getting dark out, and I was a bit concerned about my walk back to the hostel, but more concerned about The Doctor. While I waited, the owner gave me a complimentary smoothie of some kind (he told me what was in it but I didn't quite understand), and after digging around among some flyers for a few minutes finally gave me one on Puno that was in English to read while I was waiting.

At long last the food was ready. I paid him, and asked for his name. He gave me the business card of the restaurant (which didn't have his name on it). Before I left, I went back to the kitchen window and thanked his wife. She seemed like a very pleasant woman, though I don't think she spoke any English at all.  (BELOW: Although this menu from Vida Natural is in Spanish, see if you can find the two words which, in my humble opinion, should NEVER appear on a menu . . . !)

It was dark out when I left the restaurant, but almost immediately I encountered a fairly good sized group of students - probably high school age - coming down the street, carrying their books and wearing school uniforms. I figured if it was safe for them to be out, I might not be in too much danger. As it turned out, I didn't feel ill at ease at all at any point on my way back. There were still plenty of people out milling about, and most of the shops and restaurants were open and busy. It didn't seem any worse than a typical night in Boston or New York City.

A couple times earlier in the day we had seen an attractive young man wearing a nice purple woven Peruvian style shirt.  We had seen him twice, hanging out in two different parks we had passed through.  The first time, he had made eye contact with me, and seemed to follow us with his eyes. I got the distinct impression that not only was he gay, but that he was also "working". The gay lifestyle is tolerated, but far from accepted in Peru, and I can honestly say I don't think I had noticed anyone else all day that could have passed for being a "Friend Of Dorothy". At one point earlier in the day, we had passed a group of women in their traditional dress, both adults and a few teenage girls. The girls were looking at the Doctor and myself and whispering and giggling. I had the distinct impression that it was because they had picked up on the fact that we are gay, and saw us as something of a novelty.

Anyway, there was a certain sadness about the young man we had seen in the parks, and I had felt sorry for him and his plight in life. He was like one of the dozens of stray dogs we had seen that day all over the city,  alone and unwanted.    We complain about our lack of gay rights and the prejudices we still face in America, and often we have just reason to do so.  But seeing this young man made me quite thankful that we have found as much acceptance and freedom as we have.  On my way back to the hostel after dark, I think I saw him again, though I can't be sure. He was on La Torre Ave, in front of the Peru Rail train station (which looks abandoned but I believe is still in use). He was drunk, almost staggering down the sidewalk toward me, and finally he just gave up and leaned up against the wall of the station for support. He was a very side sight.

When I got back to the hostel, The Doctor had not stirred from his bed at all. I told him about meeting the owner of the vegetarian restaurant and his wife, and he was interested to hear the story. I divided the food up in the take out dishes, and put them on the floor. I can't even tell you what the dishes were called, or what was in them for the most part.  One had some gluten based meat substitue in it which was quite good, but also mixed INTO the food were French Fries - not a side dish, but IN the entree itself.  The Doctor had previously mentioned that he had had some dish served to him  that way prior to my arrival.  Frankly, I could have done without it.  The other dish was Quinoa based dish, Quinoa being a grain that is also very popular in soups and dishes in Peru.

I sat on the floor and ate mine, and occasionally he would lean over off the bed and take a few bites, and then fall back onto his pillow. He finally gave up and pushed the food away.

I was quite worried about him; we discussed the possibility that he might be too sick to make the tour of Lake Titicaca the following morning. Based on the way he felt and looked right then, I knew there would be no way he would be able to go on a boat tour, but we both agreed that we would have to wait and see how he felt when he woke up. 



When I went to bed I had no idea what the morning would hold.