A Taste of Their Own Medicine

I'm just now realizing I could have died were it not for modern medicine. Hopefully none of you will ever have to experience a bacterial infection in the digestive system. People on the Oregon Trail had to deal with stuff like that. It was called dysentery.

About a little over a week ago Nich and I went out to eat at a local restaurant called El Quincho. He really wanted to eat a steak so I said I'd split it with him if he wanted. We agreed but I told him I liked steak well done, and was also willing to try out some random vocabulary I had run across in a tourist book. When you want a steak to be well-cooked, you say "bien hecho". I was bent on telling the waiter that I wanted my steak to be well-prepared this time (this was our third visit to the restaurant). The last time I was there I had ordered a steak and it was a little on the rare side.

It turns out I forgot to tell the waiter how I wanted my steak. Seeing how I was fine last time, I thought I'd be fine again. Soon, the steak was sitting right in front of me. I picked up my knife and cut it right down the middle. I can specifically remember thinking about which half to give to Nich. I remember thinking how both halves looked the same. I ended up giving Nich the half that was closer to him. If there was ever a moment where time should have stood still, it was definitely that moment! As we were eating he started to complain, "Dude, I got way more fat than you did."

"At least your half isn't as rare," I replied.

"Yeah but I don't like fat."

"And I don't like bloody meat."

To make a long story shorter he picked around the fat and I picked around the red meat. After we finished, we paid and went back to the dorm.

Later that night I started to get a stomach ache. Thinking it was a complication of the sore throat I had had earlier on in the week, I went to bed thinking I could sleep it off. With my immune system already being down from that I didn't want to get any more sick. When I woke up on Friday morning though, I was a lot more sick. I won't go into details but I couldn't stay away from the bathroom for more than 30 minutes.

When the pain got to be more than a nuisance I decided it was time to go to the emergency room. I quickly became familiar with intravenous therapy. After a couple of hours they would give me something to relieve the pain and I would start to feel better. I'd go back to the dorm, but after a few hours the pain would come back. I repeated this process three more times.

I'm sure there are many annoying things in this world, but surely one of the most annoying must be trying to communicate to someone who doesn't understand English that you're dying. After I learned the Spanish word for blood they definitely took the fourth visit more seriously.

It was Sunday morning and they finally told me I was going to be admitted to the hospital. Those words were music to my ears! By then I was incredibly week and dehydrated. The doctors immediately started running every test imaginable. I even had an ultrasound. After all the tests they took me up to one of the rooms where an old man was already staying. I thought he was dead at first. Fast-forward past the applesauce and crackers and a whole lot of sleeping and I was out by Wednesday afternoon. The only things I can remember were sleeping and how nasty the food was. (For breakfast, Argentinians will sometimes eat cheese combined with a runny jam. It's beyond gross). The hospital however had amazing care. All of my nurses were student nurses that went to the same school as I did. They were really helpful and kind. The only awkward part is I think some of them saw me naked. I couldn't have cared less at the time, but now that I've bumped into a few of them around the school I kind of would like to know...

It turns out that the doctors were never able to find out what I had. They said it could have been anything from the food to the water to the bathrooms. All they could really give me was that it was some kind of dysentery.

PS. I'm a vegetarian now.

Outside the School

Thanks to a few Argentine holidays, this past weekend was perfect for traveling. There was no school on Friday because it was the special anniversary date of the university and no school on the following Monday because it was a holiday for the province of Entre Ríos (these people take their holidays seriously), so we were left with a nice, fat long weekend.

A group of nine of us got together and planned a trip to Villa Carlos Paz, a smaller town to the west of Córdoba. We left Thursday night for Paraná, the capital of Entré Ríos. When we got there though none of us had really planned on where we were going to stay, so there was a moment where we were all standing on the sidewalk looking at each other with expressions similar to those of deer staring into oncoming headlights. It then finally hit me and I thought to myself, “Good God, I’m actually in Argentina—what the heck am I doing?!” Just when everyone started to think we were going to have to sleep out on the street, I remembered my Lonely Planet guide book in my backpack. Now, if you think guide books are some kind of scam, you’re wrong. They actually work (at least Lonely Planet). It said there was a nice, clean (the only two adjectives a traveler should have to worry about) place to stay just a block away from the bus station.

With our gigantic backpacks in tow, we tromped off to the hotel looking very American. Unfortunately we discovered that the prices were not at all close to what was listed in the guide. You’ll realize that being American actually has some downsides, like everyone thinking you’re made of money. We realized that we were all getting scammed. But suddenly out of nowhere (and I mean nowhere) a man approached us asking if we needed any help. We told him about the situation and he started talking to the owner. After he was done he said he could get us two rooms with eight beds for 240 pesos. Between the nine of us that’s about $10 American. We got a crazy good deal! The man turned out to be on the same bus as us. He said he saw us from a distance and that we looked a little out of place. Go figure.

The next day I woke up and walked around the town snapping some pictures. The building with the white steeple is a church situated across from the town square Plaza 1 de Mayo. The sidewalk with all the urban art was also from Paraná. Our bus for Villa Carlos Paz left later that Friday morning, so I headed back for the seven hour bus ride.

The bus system in Argentina is surprisingly dependable, despite the country’s chill mentality. Depending on what company you use, you can get a pretty sweet ride. The bus ride turned out to be more comfortable than my flight. The seats reclined back sooo far. The buses are also usually double-deckers, so the top half is really fun to ride in. Feels like Star Trek. No joke.

We made it to Villa Carlos Paz that night. This time someone in our group had called ahead about a place to stay, so we didn’t feel as stupid. But for some reason we ended up at a travel agency (I was too tired to remember why). They offered us a house and an apartment for 460 pesos between the nine of us for two nights. Again, we ended up with another great deal. I couldn’t believe we were actually renting an Argentinean house for two nights. It even came with a kitchen!

The following two days were filled with a lot of walking and sightseeing. On Saturday we went to a river just outside the city where there was some beachfront. The weather was great. Later we took a chairlift up to a hill that overlooked the entire valley. The next day we checked out of our house and took a bus to Córdoba. Now Córdoba is a big city. With 1.3 million people packed into a small area it feels a lot like New York City. It also is the Argentinean treasure chest for Spanish colonial-era type architecture. I spent most of the day walking around, taking pictures of the plazas and cathedrals. The bigger church shown below is the Córdoba Catedral. The close-up is of the dome. The building with the pink hue is an art museum full of religious-type art. That night we took a night bus to Paraná. We were hoping to reach Paraná around six in the morning but the bus happened to get there early, really early—at about 3:40 AM. To all you future travelers out there, let me tell you, it sucks to have to sleep in a bus station. For one you can’t. It’s cold. It’s noisy. It’s uncomfortable. But hey, that’s traveling. The fun part is being able to say you spent half the night in a sketchy place where the bathrooms have no toilet paper and dogs roam freely.

We finally made it to Libertador San Martín early Monday morning. I was so glad to be back! I slept way past noon. Strangely enough, the UAP is already starting to feel like home.