Andes Nausea

I’m in northern Peru visiting some of the lesser known but no less beautiful archeological sites. Some are from peoples that pre-dated the Inca, and some are believed to have co-existed in the same era. Right now we are headed to Revash where the indigenous people of the region carved mausoleums that look like little houses into the side of a cliff. The site is at an altitude of 2800 meters - that’s almost 9200 feet for the metric challenged. That’s pretty damned high for the distance challenged. We’ve been driving for maybe two hours, maybe two years, along what passes for a road here. I’m thinking this road is as old as the ruins we’re about to visit. It’s a windy dirt road that goes up and forever up with switchback after switchback and we occasionally have to drive around a large rock that has fallen in the middle of the road. Driving around means sometimes driving right to the edge of the cliff to avoid the rock. The only thing stopping the van from careening off the side of the mountain is our driver’s will to live. I really hope he likes life.

I’ve never suffered from car sickness before, but here, I feel it like a swift kick to the gut. The nausea hits intense and immediate. I do NOT want to be that person that gets sick in a car full of people. Nope, this isn’t happening. I will swallow the vomit if I must. It’s bad enough that none of the other guests have been particularly friendly so far. I appear to be the only native English speaking person staying at the Lodge right now, and my Spanish has really been failing me. At this point in 2019 I’ve been studying off and on for around two years (I took it in high school and two semesters in college, but that was 90% verb conjugation, reading, and answering multiple choice questions - definitely not focused on speaking and listening comprehension); however, I’m realizing now that I haven’t taken it as seriously as I should have. Hindsight. Fuck off. I can order food (mostly), but I’m struggling to understand them and struggling even more to find the words in the first place. I have an English speaking guide dedicated to just me, which is nice, but it also makes me feel separate from everyone else and like I’m being judged. Okay, it’s probably just me judging me, but whatever. I’m in my head and I feel like they don’t want me here.

The van is quiet. So, so quiet. Why isn’t anyone talking? My guide is asking if I’m okay, drawing unwanted attention to me. At least we’re in the very back where no one can see us. I’ve planted my head against the seat in front of me with my stomach resting on my legs. My hands are in fists crossed against my chest. I am trying to make myself small, to disappear. I tried to sit up several times so I can see the incredible scenery out the window, but my stomach is having none of that. I’m embarrassed, I’m ashamed at my inability to converse with these people, and I’m feeling legit awful. If I wasn’t so hyper focused on just not vomiting, I might cry. I think everyone hates me. I think everyone hates me normally, but now I’m sure of it. I wonder if the gods of this place are looking for a human sacrifice because right now I’d be a willing participant.

After what is certainly two decades, we arrive. I’m more than relieved - I’m positively ecstatic. I didn’t throw up.

However, now we have to hike along a cliff face for a few kilometers to see the site. I can do this, I tell myself.

Everyone else gets out of the car and I continue to sit for a moment longer, just to be sure. The other guide with the Spanish speaking group approaches me, who I now discover also speaks English.

“Here, use this. You just sniff it,” he says as he hands me a little vial.

Yeah, okay buddy. Some dude hands me a vial in the back of a white passenger van and tells me to sniff it. Neta? The look on my face must have said everything.

“It is herbs.”

Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever you want to call it.

He can tell what I’m thinking and he smiles. “It’s an oil with herbs to help with nausea. You can put it on your wrist, but just smell it first.” He demonstrates. I’m skeptical. “There is nothing… uh, bad.” He smiles again, but not in a creepy way. He’s genuine. So I’m thinking.

I take the vial and hold it a ways from my nose at first just to check. It smells like a lovely essential oil. I’m being paranoid. I move the vial closer to my nose and inhale deeply. I don’t know exactly what’s in it, but it has an immediate effect on my stomach.

“Wow! I think I feel better. What’s in that?” I ask as I quickly hand the vial back to him because I AM paranoid. I’m thinking my fingerprints are on this vial and maybe it really is drugs. No, stop it you crazy person.

He looks at the vial and says the name of some things but it’s all in Spanish and we’ve already established I suck at Spanish. I don’t hear coca in the list of ingredients so I’m thinking it’s all okay. He hands me the vial and tells me to sniff one more time and put a little on my wrists. I do so, and I truly do feel better. I’m amazed. And so, so grateful.

We get out of the van and I feel like a new woman. I’m happy that someone else has talked to me - I feel slightly less like an outcast. I didn’t vomit, and the scenery is breathtaking. It’s all going to be okay. The clouds play along the horizon, the air is dripping with a delicate humidity, and everything is lush and green and bursting with life. My moment of inner turmoil has lifted. This is why I travel. The moments of fear where you think someone is trying to drug you, the insecurity in thinking everyone hates you, and the quiet desperation that you feel when you are holding vomit down by shear will power are worth it to experience this. To see this gorgeous view, to feel the humidity clinging to my skin, to hear the tranquility of the valley, and to smell a strange essential oil that hopefully isn’t laced with cocaine. This makes life worth living. I quietly retract my offer of being a human sacrifice and hope the gods understand.

I see horses and I’m excited because I love animals. I smile and I want to go pet it, but I’m not 5 so I restrain myself.

“If you like, you can ride a horse to the site.”

“Oh! That’s awesome. I’m a little bit shakey, but I do want to walk because I think it will actually help. How far is it?”

He tells me some random metric distance which I pretend to understand. I do not. But he points off in the distance and I see a faint white trail that wraps around the side of the mountain. My stomach claws up my throat, threatening a violent exit. Where’s that vial of not-cocaine?

“Ya know, maybe it would be good to ride it at least one way. I’d like to stretch my legs, but maybe on the way back. Would that be possible?”

“I think so. Let me find out.”

My guide arranges things for me. Meanwhile, I see a woman trying to get on a horse. She’s on a slightly elevated platform, but she can’t swing her leg up and over the back of this horse. I imagine the horse saying it’s time to retire and cursing his ancestors for not running off and becoming wild horses when they had their chance back in 1923 when the gate broke and Miguel was fast asleep from drinking too much pisco (he’s heard the story 1000 times). There’s three Peruvians trying to figure out how to help this poor woman who I think is just really nervous; but I really admire her determination and willingness to try something different.

The walk does me good and I’m enjoying the entire experience. The site is amazing and I’m thrilled I have the privilege to see this marvel of human creation. I could have walked back, but I already have a horse waiting for me, so horse ride it is. The horse is led by a woman and I feel bad - like, I’m capable of walking. And now this poor woman has to walk this damn mountain just for me. I thought maybe she’d be on a horse and I’d follow. But no, she walks while I ride. This situation is absolute shit. But it’s too late. I just have to wallow in my white guilt.

At least I didn’t puke.

All I could think as this woman led the horse up this old stone trail was that her nalgas must be harder than the stones we're walking on. She insisted on taking my camera bag, but I forgot to snap it closed beforehand. She spoke no English and I could barely remember the word for horse at this point so I couldn't figure out how to tell her to secure the flap. She was quickly annoyed by the banging racket my bag was making, so she took it off and wrapped it in this blanket shawl thing and then tied it expertly around her shoulders. Problem solved. I spent well over $100 on a bag when a simple piece of cloth basically does the same thing. The modern world is so dumb sometimes.