I sat with my head between my knees praying to the pagan gods of the Andes that I don't vomit all over the back of this van full of people that clearly hate me. I'm offered coca leaves for the millionth time.
Are you for real?
I'm not quite ready to throw my career away, but thanks anyway.
I mean, I'm sure it's "medicinal" and all, but no... I'll just quietly cry into my pants and keep praying to gods that probably hate white people because, well, we kinda earned their wrath....
I'm in northern Peru visiting some of the lesser known but no less beautiful archaeological 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. 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. 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? I've planted my head against the seat in front of me. I am trying to make myself small, to disappear.
After what is certainly two decades, we arrive. 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 and I continue to sit for a moment longer, just to be sure. The other guide 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. 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. "There is nothing... uh, bad." He smiles again, but not in a creepy way. He's genuine.
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 and inhale deeply. 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 sheer 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 end up riding a horse back from the site — a poor woman walking alongside me while I ride, camera bag wrapped expertly in her shawl when the banging racket became too much for her. She insisted on taking it. 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.
At least I didn't puke.