Solid like a rock

Throughout this trip, I have resisted a strong tendency to get scatological in the blog. I say “strong tendency” not only because my natural sense of humor drifts (stampedes?) towards the potty, but also because developing world travel commonly leads to discussions of an intestinal nature.

However, in deference to the dignity and propriety of my grandmothers – regular readers of this rag – I have explicitly avoided certain topics. Until now (sorry Gigi and Grammy).

With just three days to go until we board our flight from Buenos Aires back to the US, I have just (fingers crossed) emerged from a hellish week of intestinal distress. I will spare you the details, but needless to say it rivaled my experience in Laos and exceeded the Chilean and Thai experiences. Ah, the parts of travel not frequently covered in Conde Nast.

And lest I be accused of “only child” behavior, I must add Erin had it pretty rough too. Her bout hit in La Paz, where she saw only the inside of our Radisson Hotel room. Luckily, she emerged from the tunnel after a few days.

I, on the other hand, got on board for an eight-day ride.

We can point to no particular meal, no specific drink. But something in Bolivia latched on and refused to let go. We threw Cipro at the little beast and it only chuckled. Gatorade by the gallon kept us sentient, but the fever and constant trips to the “small room” made for a tough week.

Luckily, our apartment in Buenos Aires was nice and the cable TV had lots of channels in English.

Now that I am approaching human again, I have had a chance to reflect on this aspect of our trip. And frankly, if there is one thing I will not miss for a second, it’s the stress I have felt for the past nine months at every meal. Fine dining, street vendors, airplanes, cafes – they all pose risks. We never knew from where the next attack would be launched. We ate cautiously, but we needed to eat. And always, the risk was there.

I have not had a salad in nine months. I’m sure I could have eaten salads, sometimes, without problem, but I decided I would avoid them. Too risky. I have been dreaming of a Cobb salad for about three months now. I love a good, meaty salad with bacon.

So as we prepare to re-enter American society, there are many parts of travel I will miss: new experiences, beautiful landscapes, lots of free time to explore.

But there’s one thing I will definitely not miss: intestinal distress. Bring on the salad.