Don’t Drink the Water (Lima, Peru)
Let me say it off the bat: Don't drink the water in strange places, especially other countries.
You have to know your limits when you travel. In Latin, they call that temet nosce, or the knowledge of oneself. You alone have the responsibility to look out for your own needs.
When I get excited, which I often do when I travel, I have a tendency to ignore those needs, and this weekend I paid the price for it. Consider this an invitation to learn--either from me (the easy way) or on your own.
Temet Nosce – Know Thyself
One thing I do know about myself is I have a weak constitution. I get sick a lot, and I get food poisoning even more. You'd think I would practice more caution, especially in other countries, where different conditions make for very different reactions to food and water.
I didn’t. Here is my story.
When I arrived in Lima last Sunday, I just wanted to shower and go to bed. After I cleaned up, unpacked, and got into bed, I contented myself with sleeping the rest of the day.
I awoke at dinner time, famished and thirsty. Cheerfully taking in the fact that I had made it safely to Peru (on my list of 12 places to visit in 2022), I got dressed and headed out to explore.
Without thinking, I filled my water bottle up in the sink and took a big swig. The unfamiliar taste immediately reminded me of the hazards that come with drinking tap water in some places, especially overseas, and I poured the rest of it out. Unfortunately, it was too late. I had chugged more than half the bottle.
Don’t Drink the Tap Water
Whether it was that or the sketchy (but tasty) ceviche I had for dinner that night, I’ll never know. And until Friday night, I didn’t really think about it at all. The thought occurred to me halfway through the week, but I dismissed it with a blasé “crisis averted” flick of the wrist. I thought I had escaped the perils of dirty tap water. I was wrong.
It can be hard to pinpoint the cause of food poisoning. I assume the water I drank that night got me, but it could have been any number of things. I already mentioned the ceviche, but I had eaten and drank so much else during my first week in Peru.
In no particular order, I had pizza, roasted chicken, more ceviche, prepared food from the grocery store, and a half-liter of sangria with ice. This, of course, wasn’t all I ate, but suffice it to say anything could have caused the terrible weekend I endured.
I choose to blame the water because our guides explicitly warned us about it. No one said, “Don’t eat the ceviche,” or, “Avoid [undisclosed pizza joint] at all costs.” They said, “Don’t drink the water, and always order your drink without ice.” Woe to me who ignored their advice.
A week passed, like I said, and nothing happened. I felt fine and had an easy time getting into a routine that would work for me during my stay in Peru. I went out with other members of our Remote Year group, ate out almost every night, and started practicing my almost nonexistent Spanish on the street.
The only other possible cause I could think of also involved water from the pipes. Different pipes. More disgusting pipes.
Don’t Drink Out of the Bidet Either
First of all, it wasn’t intentional! I know what a bidet is, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t insist on drinking out of anything in the bathroom, especially anything that close to the toilet. I know this. You know this. Let’s get on with the story.
My first full day in Peru, and again I know what a bidet is, I thought I’d take a minute and figure out how one of these bidet things actually worked. They aren’t common in the U.S. I’d doubt it if more than half of Americans had ever actually used one.
That notwithstanding, I took it upon myself to learn this contraption. It was a small-ish dish, level with the toilet, that looked like a ceramic cross between a toilet and a water fountain. It has three knobs on the back of it. One marked blue for, ostensibly, cold water. One marked red for hot water (careful!). And one with no markings in the center for…well…that’s what I was on a mission to find out.
Bent over with my face hovering over this strange new fixture, I turned the cold-water knob, and water flushed down the sides like a toilet. Makes sense. I turned the hot-water knob, and the same thing happened. If I had thought about it for even a second, I probably could have guessed what the middle one did. Too bad I didn’t think.
Still hovering over the bidet, I turned the middle knob. Before I had time to react, water shot straight up into my face. Some of it got in my mouth. I gagged and spit, but the damage was done. I had drank the tap water, and now I had drank bidet water.
Then I Got Sick
Friday morning, I woke up tired and a little achy. By Friday night, my stomach was in knots. Surely, I had food poisoning. And you know what? Who could have possibly predicted this completely unforeseen outcome?
Now, two days later, I still haven’t left the apartment. My stomach is in constant distress in a way that makes me wonder whether it will ever heal. Of course, I’m being dramatic. I know it will. But still, this sucks, and I want it to end.
Yucky
The moral of this story is to be smart about what you put into your body, especially when you arrive in a new place. Assume the water is poison until somebody tells you it’s not. Go to nicer restaurants until you adapt to the food. And never, I mean never, lean over a bidet.
Having gone through what I went through, I leave you with this final piece of advice: treat bidets like guns, and never look down the barrel of one.
OK for now.
~CS