Travel Disaster.

I know I've blogged before about the amazing 2-week trip I took to Peru with my dad in 2006. I detailed our adventures on the floating island of Uros and the amazing sunset we watched on Lake Titicaca. I neglected, however, to tell you about the absolute disaster I experienced in Cusco a few days earlier.

When we first arrived in Peru, we spent a couple days exploring the capital city of Lima. We strolled through the Plaza de Armas, toured historic churches, ate at wonderful restaurants, and took secretive pictures of skulls in the catacombs.


After our brief stint in Lima, we flew to Cusco, the historic capital of the Inca Empire located not too far from Machu Picchu. While boarding the plane, my dad mentioned in passing that Cusco was 11,200 feet above sea level and that some tourists experience altitude sickness due to the reduced air pressure and lower levels of oxygen. I, being the confident traveler I am, shrugged it off and fell asleep.

When our flight landed in Cusco, I didn't notice any symptoms and assured my dad that I felt completely fine. As we made our way to the tiny baggage claim area, I saw a number of posters on the wall, written in English, that warned of altitude sickness and its effects. I scoffed as we got our bags and hopped in a taxi to our hotel.

However, as my dad checked in at the front desk, I started to feel dizzy and nauseous. I assumed the feeling would pass as I became acclimated, so I agreed to drop our bags off in the room and explore Cusco. This was my first mistake.

Five minutes later, I was lying on the ground in the Plaza Mayor, gasping for breath and losing my vision. Tourists and locals alike stared at me like I was the drunk girl, incapacitated and drooling, in the corner of a college bar. Luckily, we hadn't ventured far from the hotel, so my dad ran back to get help.

So, there I was, practically unconscious, laying by myself on the ground in the middle of Cusco's equivalent to Times Square (which, as you can imagine, is absolutely nothing like Times Square).


After what felt like an eternity had passed, my dad returned with the desk clerk from the hotel. Like a drunk groomsman after a wedding, they helped me stagger back to the lobby and strapped an oxygen mask on my face. I instantly felt better. They also force-fed me a couple cups of scalding hot coca tea, which is said to help alleviate the symptoms of altitude sickness. Coca tea is made from coca leaves, the raw material used in the manufacture of cocaine. It tasted like boiling grass water and I nearly gagged as I choked it down. I also couldn't help but think that this was the closest I had ever come to recreational drug use, aside from definite contact buzz at Dave Matthews Band concerts.

When I felt good enough to stand up, we made our way to the room for a long nap. My dad had scheduled a tour of the city later in the day, so he wanted me to rest and acclimate as much as possible.

When I woke up from my nap, I felt miserable. Totally miserable. However, we only had a limited amount of time in Cusco before leaving for Aguas Calientes. I wanted to see the city and I didn't want to be a burden on my dad. So, despite my better judgment, I decided to go on the tour of the city. This was my second mistake.

My stomach churned as we drove from site to site. On multiple occasions, I refused to leave the bus while the rest of my tour group got out and explored first-hand. Although I was mostly concentrating on keeping the contents of my stomach inside my stomach, I listened to our tour guide share the history of the Incas with us. I also noticed an extremely attractive, Australian guy, traveling by himself in our tour group. At the first possible moment, I did what I do best and completely embarrassed myself by awkwardly bringing up the first Australian thing that came to mind besides kangaroos and the Sydney Opera House: AC/DC. This was my third mistake.


This is my creeper photo of the hot Australian. I know he doesn't look particularly great here. In his defense, he didn't know I was taking it and didn't pose accordingly. You'll have to take my word for it.

At one of the final stops on the tour, we reached Sacsayhuaman (say it fast - you'll laugh), an incredible Inca fortress that served primarily as sacred sacrificial grounds during Inti Raymi, the Festival of the Sun. I was far too intrigued by the idea of the ancient celebration and I decided to venture off the bus and explore with the rest of the group. This was my final mistake.

As we made our way to the grounds, I started to feel more and more nauseous. I felt a tiny sense of relief when our group finally stopped walking for a quick bit of information from the guide. However, as he began to share gruesome details of the llama sacrifices held annually on those very grounds, I knew it was too late. I was crossing the vomit threshold.

Sure enough, in the middle of his enticing story, I hit my dad as a warning, keeled over, and threw up for a solid 30 seconds on sacred Inca sacrificial grounds - in front of my entire tour group and the smokin' hot Australian. Yikes.

As is usually the case, I instantly felt better. Instead of nausea, a feeling of humiliation and fear came over me. Throwing up on sacred ground and the site of an important religious festival has to be bad luck. Right? For the second time that day, everyone stared at me with a mixture of confusion, pity, and amusement. My Australian Prince Charming unzipped his backpack and rushed to my rescue with a roll of toilet paper. My dad laughed hysterically.

Suddenly, a number of old, Peruvian street vendors appeared, seemingly out of thin air. One poured some minty potion from a tiny vial on his thumb and dragged it across my forehead, Rafiki-style. Another put a few coca leaves in my hand and told me to chew them. A third tried to sell me an alpaca rug and some Inca Cola, which oddly enough tastes worse than coca tea. My dad took a picture.


Please notice I'm holding coca leaves. The look on my face screams a combination of, "Is this real life?" and "Dear God, the Australian touched me."

So, there it is. My absolute travel disaster. But hey, if I'm ever selected as a contestant, my puke extravaganza makes for a pretty good Jeopardy story. The trip itself, however, was absolutely amazing and probably the best adventure I've ever been on with my dad. I learned so much on that trip that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. I will always have a bit of Peru with me and, although it was unintentional, I left a bit of myself in Peru, too...

I just hope no one stepped in it.