November 8, 2011

Let me begin this post with this: First, I am fine so nobody needs to worry about me (details are below). Second, I debated whether or not to write this post.  So far, our journey has been a pleasant, adventurous tale that I think our friends and family are enjoying. On Sunday, things didn’t go quite as we planned and it hasn’t been very fun since then.  But this too is part of our journey.  So here’s what happened.

We went to Latacunga last Thursday with plans to hike Cotopaxi and possibly the Quilotoa Loop.  We had booked a guided tour for Cotopaxi immediately upon arrival for Friday, but had to push it out to Sunday because I became sick with what I thought was altitude sickness.  By Saturday, I was feeling much better and even went to the festival. But by Saturday night I was sick again, really sick.  I had diarrhea and was passing a fair bit of blood in my stool.  I was up several times during the night.  I felt lousy. Finally, I popped a couple of tylenol, and took a Cipro as I have been taking Immodium for the past couple of days without improvement.  I had already had an occurrence with blood in my stool three weeks ago, but after a round of Cipro, it looked like everything was OK. You can imagine my concern to see blood in my stool again.  Something was definitely wrong.

When I got up on Sunday, I was still passing blood in my stool and everything passed through me like water.  I felt nauseous, weak, and had no appetite.  I couldn’t imagine hiking a mountain.  With these symptoms I knew I had to see a doctor.  I was pretty upset with this realization as I dreaded the idea of dealing with a foreign medical system in a foreign language.  Chris and I weighed our options and decided we would cancel our hike and go to Quito immediately as it was only two hours away.  Chris arranged for a private taxi to take us there as I couldn’t even think about carrying my pack and dealing with buses.  He also contacted Paola and Eduardo, our diving friends we met in Puerto Lopez who live in Quito.  They recommended the best private hospital in Quito (Hospital Metropolitano) and assured us we would find English-speaking doctors there. Unfortunately, they were out of town so that was the extent of help they could offer at that moment. They later emailed us when they were back in the city asking for updates and offering to help in any way necessary. It was very comforting knowing that there was someone close by if we needed help.

Next, we were in communication with our Health Plan to advise them of the situation. We had to provide a lot of detailed information in order for them to ascertain whether or not this was deemed an emergency.  Either way, we were going to Quito to see a doctor. Their prompt response to proceed to the hospital left me with mixed feelings:  relief that my Plan would cover this coupled with alarm that this was indeed deemed an emergency, even by stringent insurance standards.

Back to Quito we went, back to the same hostel we stayed in when we first arrived.  Talk about coming full circle.  It felt strange to be back in Quito, yet very familiar in a comforting sort of way.  We dropped our bags off at the hostel and then took another taxi directly to the hospital which was only a few minutes away.

The hospital is large and modern, like any hospital in Canada.  We went to Emergency, filled out a form as soon as we arrived, and within minutes I was in a bed talking to an English speaking physician. I was hooked up to an I.V. of saline solution as I was dehydrated, and a nurse took my blood for tests. An hour and half later, the results came back – everything looked fine.  Next step was to be examined by the gastrointestinal specialist who arrived about 45 minutes later.  During this time a urine sample was taken and also sent for tests.  The specialist checked me over and ordered another bag of saline solution, and then said a stool sample was necessary to check for bacterial infection, parasites, etc. These tests would take 1-3 days.  He prescribed three medications that I was to start immediately (total cost: $54.55).  He gave us his business card so we could contact him directly to enquire about my test results. He said blood in my stool was serious and we needed to find out the cause, but since I looked healthy (I had already perked up after the first bag of saline) and the amount of blood I was passing was small, he was comfortable for me to go back to the hostel rather than stay in the hospital overnight.  However, he made it very clear, if the amount of blood increased, I was to go back to the hospital immediately.

We were in the emergency room for a total of six hours during which time I spoke to two doctors, had 2 bags of saline injected into my veins along with a shot of medicine that had something to do with protecting my stomach from an ulcer (I didn’t really understand what it was for to tell you the truth). Blood was taken and tested and urine was collected for testing.  Total cost:  $308.81 payable before leaving the hospital.  So at the end of the day Sunday, I still didn’t know what was wrong with me, but many serious problems had been ruled out based on the blood tests.  And I was now hydrated and already feeling better.  The overall experience was very positive – aside from the language barrier, this could have been any Canadian hospital, except of course we were treated immediately with no wait times whatsoever, and we had to pay the bill when we left.

This morning we submitted my stool sample to the lab at the hospital (another $55.38 charge).  And now we wait for the results.  We are very comfortable in the Traveller’s Inn hostel, especially now that we know we have access to their very clean and very well equipped kitchen.  We are just taking it easy, laying low in the hostel.

The picture below was taken this morning after we dropped of the sample at the lab.  We walked the 3.5 km back to our hostel (all downhill) in order to get some fresh air and a little exercise.  As you can see, it’s not like I’m dying or anything. In fact, I’m already feeling a lot better so I’m certain this is nothing serious, after all, nothing serious ever happens to me.  We just need to get to the root of this issue and resolve it…..and then our journey can continue.

“La Fiesta de la Mama Negra” is described by Wikipedia as “a well known traditional festival in Latacunga. It is a mixture of indigenous, Spanish and African influences. It takes place twice a year. The first one was organized in September by the people from the markets “La Merced y Del Salto” in honor of the “Virgen de la Merced”. The Virgin is venerated because she stopped the Cotopaxi Volcano eruption in 1742. That is the reason why Latacunga’s inhabitants call her “Abogada y patrona del volcan” meaning (lawyer and boss of the volcano).

The second celebration is a party which all Latacunga’s inhabitants celebrate every year on Independence Day. It is a parade with the participation of well-known people, the army, clergy and others.

Both of these fiestas include a lengthy parade of various cultural characters, all dressed-up in various colors. The ‘mama negra’ is the last person to pass through, which is the culmination of each parade. It is a person with their face painted in black, riding a horse, and spraying the crowd with milk. Homemade strong alcoholic drinks are freely passed between one another along the parade route, which can be quite chaotic, closing the road at times and making the route unpassable.”

The second celebration took place this past Saturday in Latacunga and we were there to experience it first hand.  In fact, we got a lot more than we bargained for.  On the advice of the hostel owner, we headed towards the parade site around 8:30; the parade was supposed to start at 9:00.  It was easy to find the main parade route which passed through several blocks as the roads were barricaded on both sides, and police presence was strong.  People were lining up plastic chairs and stools along both sides of the route, renting them out for two bucks a piece.  You could buy your own stool from any one of the dozens of stool vendors for $2.50 each.  Or you could just find a spot to stand. We walked along the route for a few blocks and found a good vantage point on a concrete step about a foot above street level. We parked ourselves there and waited.  As time passed, the area started to fill up with spectators and vendors selling knock-off Nike caps, sun hats, beer, snacks, and drinks.  Right in front of us, the Australian couple we met at the reserve in Mindo set up camp with their friends. They were equally surprised to see us, although I’m not too sure if they really remembered us.

Just before the parade began, our friends from the Galapagos cruise, Dafne and Jasper, walked right in front of us.  We couldn’t believe it.  We all had a good laugh about who was stalking who, because these were the friends we couldn’t seem to shake in Santa Cruz and ended up spending a lot of time with them.  When we said our goodbyes at the Baltra Airport, we believed that was the absolute final goodbye.  And here they were in Latacunga.  They were leaving in the afternoon to start the Quilotoa Loop, a 200 km route of rough and rugged roads that pass through beautiful, isolated mountain villages and hamlets, many of whose inhabitants cling to their ancient indigenous heritage and ways. There are several popular hiking trails along this route.

Finally, at about 11:30, the first characters in the parade passed by.  Over the next hour and a half, we saw marching bands, musicians, colorful dancers, a host of bizarre characters such as the Angel of the Stars, the Moorish King, as well as Los Huacos, who represent Latacunga’s pre-Colombian heritage, and the Camisonas, colorful transvestites.  Apparently the parade culminates in the arrival, on horseback, of the Mama Negra, the Black Mother, a combination of the Virgin with African deities. The Mama Negra, bearing dolls representing her “children,” is elaborately costumed and from a container sprays milk and water on the parade goers.  We didn’t stick around long enough to see the grand finale.

The parade characters tossed candy to the crowds, and shots of booze were handed out as well. Others didn’t bother with shot glasses and just poured booze down the throats of anyone willing.  After awhile, I observed a pattern to the parade:  First, there was a group of colourfully dressed dancers, followed by a marching band or other musicians, and then the highlight would be a guy carrying a full pig on his back. Men dressed as women would intermingle amongst these main characters along with those dressed in white doing cleansing rituals to unsuspecting spectators along the way.  Once this entourage passed,  it would be repeated again and again with new groups of dancers, musicians, etc.  Each group seemed to represent an association, a store or some other entity.

I was intrigued by the guy carrying the pig. Clearly it was heavy as he would walk only a few steps, twirling around a few times, and then he would stop and rest the pig on a table that was carried behind him by his entourage for this purpose. As he walked, his legs buckled under the weight of his load and his face strained from exhertion. When he rested, he swallowed copious amounts of water (at least I think it was water), smiled for photos, and then mustered up his strength again for another few steps and twirls. This was repeated for the entire length of the parade – a distance of over 2 km.

Restaurateurs set up stalls on the streets, and served Latacunga’s most famous contribution to Ecuadorian cuisine, Chugchucaras; deep fried pork, pork rinds, popcorn potatoes, maize, and plantain.  I practically gagged at the smell of the grease from these vendors!  And of course, beer vendors were everywhere.

By 1:00, we decided to head back to the hostel; we had no idea how long the parade would go on, and we were sweltering under the mid-day sun.  We navigated our way through the crowds trying to find our way to the other side of town, but on every turn our passage was blocked.  After about a half hour of walking pretty much in circles we ran into a group from our hostel, Peace Corps workers that we met at breakfast who assured us they knew their way around town.  They too were trying to get back to the hostel and suggested we join them.  They backtracked towards the parade and before we knew it we were right back to where we had been standing except now we were on the street in the middle of the parade!  Crowds of people lined both sides of the street on both sides of the barricades – and there was no apparent way to exit.  We pushed our way through the sea of bodies; blindly following our Peace Corps buddies, hoping they knew where they were going.

When we ducked into a little restaurant for a reprise, we discovered only two of the Peace Corps group remained; they had lost the rest of their friends in the confusion. Daniel and Hannah suggested we all stop for a bathroom break and a snack before facing the mob again.  We tried a local favourite, chochos – a bowl of small white beans topped with toasted kernels of corn, slivers of red onion and soaked in a vinegar based sauce. Delicious.

Once fortified, we made our way back onto the street and tried once again to find an exit.  It was unbelievable that the parade route had been configured in such a way as to not allow anyone to exit. This was a disaster waiting to happen.  There were thousands of people throughout the parade route, many drinking excessively, and some getting aggressive when their passage was blocked for any reason.  The large police force seemed incapable of controlling the crowds. There were many families with young children and babies in their arms caught in this mix too. Every possible exit point – side streets off the main parade route – were impenetrable as you can see from the photo below.

As we pushed our way through the crowds, we kept getting pulled into the parade. As gringos, we were easy targets – Hannah was nabbed for a “cleansing ritual”, then it was Chris’ turn.  This was all in good fun.

Every few steps, people were trying to pour booze down your mouth or offered shot glasses of who knows what to drink. I had a few sips but gagged at the taste. Chris was grabbed by one of the guys dressed as a woman who was yelling Viva Latacunga, Viva Latacunga. Chris was a good sport about it all.

After two hours of pushing through the crowds, trying to find a way out, there was still no exit in sight.   The parade just kept on coming – more muscians, bands, dancers and strange looking characters. And more rowdy spectators.  It was no longer fun.  We were exhausted fighting the crowds, and I was feeling faint in the heat.  We just wanted to get away from the craziness.

Finally, we saw a few people pass through a barricade to freedom.  We weren’t the only ones trying to get out and all of a sudden we found ourselves caught in a mob forcing their way to this almost imperceptible exit.  The power of this mob was frightening and made me understand how people get trampled to death when crowds lose control. Chris took this shot of the crowds just before the surge began.

And then, we were out.  What a relief.  Nobody was hurt (that we knew of), although Daniel was pick pocketed during this final surge of bodies but he only lost a few dollars. We were all exhausted and made our way back to the peace and quiet of our hostel where we stayed for the rest of the afternoon.