Ill fortunes (Day 7)

The day started out with a choice: follow the easy road and be in Manang in four hours or take the Upper Pisang route which is three hours longer, more strenuous, more scenic and follows a trail instead of a road. Krissy and I had talked it over the night before and had agreed that if it was raining again, there was no point in the taking in the scenery of rain clouds. When we awoke the sun was shining brilliantly. However, the pleasant weather was a poor indicator of the ill times that lay ahead.

At first the trail wound it's way along a hillside through a pleasant screwpine and juniper forest. The views of the Annapurna range were astounding and only got better. We crossed a suspension bridge and began to climb a long series of very strenuous switchbacks. They seemed never ending and at 11,000 feet both of us were sweaty and breathing hard. At the top, we were awarded with a great view from a chorten (Buddhist monument). And no more switchbacks!

We pressed on and went through a couple villages before stopping for lunch. On the menu there was something called Mustang Coffee that piqued both our interest. A nice little coffee drink to help us finish the hike would be nice we thought. When Krissy put in our order, the guy apparently laughed when she said Mustang Coffee. Not a good sign.

A man brought the drinks and laughed as he set them down. "Why are you laughing? What's in this?" Krissy demanded.

He pauses from laughing long enough to tell us, "Milk, coffee and wine."

Oh shit. I knew what he meant when he said wine. He meant rakshi, which is a local rice wine that's strong enough to strip paint. Maybe the worst part was how it looked. It had a light tan color with a thick yellow layer of grease on top. Krissy and I exchanged worried looks.

I took a sip and it wasn't that bad. It tasted vaguely alcoholic, more like whiskey than wine, and appears to have no milk or coffee in it. By far the most disturbing part was having to wipe grease from my mouth after taking a drink.

Thankfully our food arrived. In between wolfing down bites of fried noodles I continued to sip n the "coffee." If I could turn back time, I would rather dump the rest of the drink on my head than finish it, but at that moment I thought "I don't want to be rude and not drink it all." With a Herculean effort I downed the rest in one big gulp. Krissy stared at me wide eyed and, shortly thereafter, followed suit.

We felt pretty light on our feet after that. From the restaurant we had about three hours to our destination, Manang. We practically ran the whole way. I was feeling great until we reached the village of Bragha, 20 minutes away from Manang.

I was unusually exhausted, thirsty and my stomach was slightly upset. I wanted to stop for a break but somehow I knew it was a bad idea. We approached a mani wall (a Buddhist shrine that had some particularly intricate carvings. Excited, Krissy paused to look and I gave her a stink eye you could smell (I later apologized).

We made it to Manang and at that point my stomach was doing backflips. We checked into Hotel Yeti and I had to chase a kindly gentleman out of our room who was listing all the wonderful amenities of the place. The only thing I cared about was that we had a private bathroom. I thank Lord Shiva for that!

I threw down my bag and began rooting through it for something that would help. I took an Immodium A-D and sat on the bed. It took me seconds to realize that was not going to do the trick. I ran to the bathroom and puked violently.

For the next four hours I vomited, puked, threw-up, ralphed, tossed my cookies, booted, spewed, blew chunks, hurled, yakked, up-chucked and barfed. After twelve times I lost count. I was delirious at that point and all I could do was moan and thrash on my bed until I threw-up again. I was convinced it was just the Mustang Coffee and I'd be fine once I got it out of my system. Krissy wasn't so sure. In between one of my bouts she found out that there was a 24 hour doctor at the Himalayan Rescue Association Nepal (HRA).

Tired, very thirsty, in pain and now convinced I had something worse than food poisoning I began, with Krissy's assistance, to stumble across the street to the clinic. The doctor, Hazel, immediately saw us in and began taking my vitals. Everything was normal so she checked my abdomen.

"It's a little rigid and distended," she said.

I thought, but didn't say, "Oh no, those are just my rock hard abs." At least my sense or humor remained undamaged.

Dr. Hazel said she had seen a lot of people for intestinal bacteria that week (trekkers and Nepali's alike) and was convinced that was the problem. She gave me two options. One, take a powerful anti-vomit shot and start slowly hydrating or, two, get hooked up to an IV.

I knew the shot route would be quicker. I've been hooked up to an IV for dehydration twice in my life before and I knew it would at least take all night and the whole time I would be thirsty. Plus, an IV drip in the Himalayas? That must cost a fortune!

I went with the shot and was soon very slowly sipping oral rehydration salts. It tasted like I imagine tepid, used bath water would tasted but I didn't care. It was a liquid and it was going down, not up. I took the antibiotic Ciproflaxin and was sent on my way.

The doctor was convinced I would crash at some point and get some sleep. But any time I tried to lay down my stomach would gurgle and heave. So I stopped that, sat upright and continued to sip on the bathwater.

Krissy was having some trouble sleeping too. Earlier, she had felt her stomach do a little tumble and she grew concerned for herself. After seeing what I went through, she wisely took a Ciproflaxin also. It must have helped because she didn't have the violent episode I did. She did have to make a sprint from her bed to the toilet around 2AM. Only once though. Wuss.

As a footnote to this day I would like to assert how lucky I was. If I had ignored my feeling during the hike and had paused for water, that may have been long enough for my body to lose control right there on the trail. If we had been in any of the smaller villages I likely would have been evacuated by helicopter. Manang is one of the only villages along the Annapurna Circuit that has English speaking doctors and a 24-hour clinic. Finally, it would have been much worse if I kept having to run to a communal pit toilet. I probably would have caught some other bacterial illness. In all reality, it could have been a lot worse.