Guayaquil from above

It’s not Malaria

The sickness is finally starting to abate as we plan the Guayaquil trip.  It all started with the notorious diarrhea that South America is so infamous for bestowing upon hapless gringos, and it grew until it felt as though every part of my body was systematically destroying and rebuilding itself to adapt to this brave new environment.  For over two weeks, I’ve received a daily visit from a low grade fever, only to have it flush itself out again each night as I lay sweating.  Intermittently, the fever’s carried headaches, stomach aches, sore throats and every other side effect imaginable, though worse are the times when there are no symptoms at all; it gives the false impression that the sickness is gone.

Said false impressions lead to false confidence, and I leave the apartment disguised in perfect health, only to find myself dizzy, exhausted and shivering in the most inopportune places.  I’ve emptied my stomach on busy city streets, turned my ass into a nauseating vice grip on public bus lines to spare myself the ultimate olfactory embarrassment and nearly passed out in line while waiting to buy a single carton of milk that was neither requested nor needed.

I’m not above riding a cold out, but two weeks into the misery with a regular diet that has deteriorated into two bottles of pedialyte a day with a Pringles chaser, I throw in the towel.  A doctor’s sign, visible from our respectable vantage point, calls to me more emphatically with each white-knuckled visit to the bathroom.  Dr. Ching is an Asian in both name and form, but speaks English with a standard Spanish accent; it’s certainly far better than my Spanish with standard English accent, and with a fever of 102 I’m in no mood to practice verb tenses with him (is it “vomito” or “vomite”?).  After reciting a malady list longer than Schindler’s, he tells me quite calmly:

“Well, I am fairly sure you have Malaria.”

Sweet blog.

I hadn’t expected to have a top-rated disease down here at least until January.  It’s always good to be ahead of the curve.

He orders a blood test, which down here can still imply a house call.  Two men in lab uniforms arrive at the door of my sixth floor apartment the next morning carrying medical bags filled with syringes, test tubes, bio-waste, etc.  They crave my stool as well, and provide a small plastic cup and spoon combo for the solitary trip (thankfully) to the bathroom.  It’s a bit of a surprise, but not one I have a problem providing for; I make “those” visits almost hourly by now, despite not always having any offerings for the porcelein gods.  Hell, I can’t even remember the last time I’ve flatulated with confidence.

Noon the following day, I receive a mostly positive voice-mail.

“Mr. Davis.  This is Dr. Ching.  I have your test results in and you do not have Malaria.  Your stool is very good.  Your blood shows a slight infection I do not know.  Come over and pick up a prescription I leave for you and you will be better.”

I follow the advice and take the slip of paper to the pharmacist without actually checking to see what the doctor ordered.  A minor mistake.  The pharmacist looks at me curiously.

“No.  Es Holistico.  No tengo aqui.  Holistico.”

Holistico?  Holistic??  I look down at the paper and see I’ve been prescribed echinacea.  Swell.

Ecuadorian pharmacies are a bit more open than their US counterparts; even without a prescription, I could get everything short of morphine with a simple show of my urgent need.  Supposedly.  I explain the symptoms and immediately receive some antibiotics.  Three days later, I’m well.

Lesson learned: Self-medicate.

The Guayaquil assignment and Halloween

Two weeks wasted in bed.  Two weeks of awkward, middle-of-the-night bathroom visits, cold sweats and bizarre fever dreams including one where I’m convinced the current state of the US economy has been directly caused by my laying on the left side of my bed, leaving me with intense feelings of guilt every time I wake in such a position.  In the States, two weeks would be an epic vacation, so the awkward nature of spending that much time in a foreign land almost entirely bedridden isn’t lost on me. In addition to the assignment — or possibly complementing it — are two girls that Joe recently befriended with a strong desire to be our unofficial guides to their city.  Halloween’s far more a gringo holiday than an Ecuadorian one (their main event comes two days later on the Day of the Dead), but the girls aren’t above throwing a good gringo holiday party, and what could be better for that than a few actual gringos?

Las Penas

Guayaquil’s a big city — the biggest in Ecuador by a few hundred thousand.  It’s the financial capital, but completely off the radar as far as tourism goes.  A boutique hostel there’s offering us the royal treatment, free of charge, in exchange for a write-up with a slightly positive bias.  There’s hardly a glut of places like this willing to dispense goods and services just to get a fluff piece written up, but there are enough that it makes my temporary journalist gig more than worthwhile.  Quito’s perpetually locked into a surface area defined by the mountains and volcanoes that frame it, limiting expansion a bit.  Guayaquil, on the other hand, sprawls out in every direction with no clear boundaries for where the city ends, save than the Guayas River it sits on.

My excretory issues grant me a miraculous reprieve during the eight hour bus ride from Quito, and we get in to town with an hour to kill before the party.  The staff at Manso are friendly but almost entirely mono-lingual, and we give up quickly on trying to explain to them how we’ll be staying for free in their establishment for the weekend and settle for simply accepting a room to change into proper Halloween attire.  Getting the journalism discount can wait for now.

Halloween with the minions

A cheap set of red horns and a plastic pitchfork made my choice of devilish wear an easy one, though I probably should’ve considered the implications of rocking the Satanic vibe in such a superstitiously Catholic country as Ecuador.  Women and children quietly gasp “Diablo!” as we make our way down the street, and empty cabs pass by without stopping.  There are others, predominantly children, dressed up for the evening, but Halloween isn’t really their holiday and costumes tend to focus on happier, more cartoonish fare.  Four children in a row, all Spiderman, grant me a wide berth as they pass with wide eyes.

Manso’s doorman flags down a rather beaten up blue 80’s Ford with, ironically enough, flame stickers on the rear window to announce the transportation of el Diablo to all.  Joe had met Monserrat, or Monsy, on a previous assignment and while she would act as our tourguide throughout the weekend, she’ll be a vampire tonight.  The party’s small, but made up of a wide selection of creatures of the night that quickly take to calling themselves my minions — a nice icebreaker, if mildly sinister.  But on the positive side, I never need to make my own drinks.  We shmooze, dance (it’s not an Ecuadorian party without dancing) and play an assortment of drinking games, though the fever I’d held at bay for so long finally broke through and I collapse on the sofa, drained, playing the quiet, devilish spectator for the latter hours of the party, the sunken eyes actually enhancing my look for a change.

Yancy and Nancy (I'm the one in the devil outfit)

Joe and I spend the Saturday guide-less, making our way through la Malecon 2000 (the new boardwalk, erected unsurprisingly in the year 2000) and Las Peñas.  The latter was once one of the slummier areas of Guayaquil, despite some fantastic waterside views.  Similar to Tacoma Park in Maryland (and any number of spots in New York City), the artists took over and, with the help of the government, reestablished the area as a tourist attraction with pastel-colored homes bunched in upon one another overlooking the Guayas.  La Malecon is equally attractive, with no shortage of fountains, parks, restaurants and statues clustered together along its entire mile-long span, but both are tourist attractions for an older crowd, limiting the excitement I can force upon the backpacker sort that reads The Ecuador Reporter.

Climbing the 500 steps to the lighthouse at the top of Las Penas

One of the many parks along La Malecon 2000

Monsy and Nancy — Robin Hood from the previous evening’s party — pick us up for some sushi.  The prices, unfortunately, aren’t that different from sushi prices in the States, though the addition of banana, plantain and yucca make for some interesting combos.  We’re told that the itinerary for tomorrow is as follows: traditional Ecuadorian brunch at Nancy’s place (I’m guessing plantains will be involved), a local park with both a zoo and playhouse and then a birthday party for Nancy’s gorgeous friend Catalina’s brother.  Apparently birtday parties are huge here, and the addition of a few gringos won’t matter at all.  In fact, it would end up enhancing the party quite a bit.

I love this dog