02: Rough Landing

Stepping off the plane in Cusco I immediately noticed a shortness of breath. I knew altitude sickness affected many travelers here. I, always prideful of my Colorado roots, estimated that I should have an advantage over the “thick-blooded lowlanders” arriving here.

I could not have been more wrong.

The local remedy for altitude sickness is coca — either a tea, or the raw, dried leaves of the plant. They even sell coca in the Cusco airport, positioned next to canned oxygen inhalers. But after following my ayahuasca dieta for several weeks, I was wary of putting a strong plant medicine in my body, worried that it may interfere with the “Spirit of Aya.”

I arrived at my hostel at 8:00am, far too early to check-in. As I waited in the lobby for my dorm bed to be cleaned and readied, I steadily felt my condition worsening. The shortness of breath continued while nausea slowly crept up from my stomach, and lodged itself in the back of my throat. I reclined on the couch, closed my eyes, and tried to meditate myself into a parasympathetic state to ease my body. The cramps came on next, occupying the space from my sternum to navel, pulsating in waves until I found myself writhing in pain trying to escape it.

In a Wilderness First Aid training with NOLS this past summer, I had learned that the best remedy for altitude symptoms is to descend as quickly as possible. I pondered my options for escaping my situation here at 11,500 ft, but could not fathom mustering the mental or physical energy to plot a retreat to a lower altitude.

Next, came lower gastrointestinal distress of which I will spare you the details. This is not part of the classic altitude sickness symptom set, so I believe I was being hit with a 2-for-1 special of altitude sickness and traveler’s “upset stomach.” I began to feel like a zombie making my way to the bathroom, almost too weak to stand or walk, yet I was compelled to do so every 20-30 minutes. I knew I needed to drink water to prevent dehydration, but I was too nauseous to take more than a tiny sip at a time.

After two hours of this, I hobbled to the front desk and, steadying myself against it, pleaded with the receptionist to get me into the first available bed, offering to pay for an upgrade to a different room if necessary.

I was in luck — a top bunk had just become available. Ascending the ladder to my loft, I found myself gasping with each slow and deliberate step up, as if I was a climber attempting Everest without oxygen. Finally at the summit, I collapsed there and fell asleep for six hours.

I awoke around 5:00pm, feeling a bit better but still very weak. The last thing I ate was a quinoa-chicken bowl in the Lima airport at midnight the night before, and despite the nausea, I knew I had to get some nourishment in me.

I used google maps to find an organic juice bar and cafe, a 20-minute walk from my hostel. I did not realize the terrain I would encounter on this walk. Initially, a steep descent down uneven cobblestone streets, traversing the city’s central Plaza de Armas while being accosted by hawkers pushing everything from bracelets to Machu Pichu tours. Finally, a walk up the adjacent hillside, a stair-stepping, zig-zagging ascent up more of the colonial city’s labyrinth of streets.

Finally arriving, I plopped down exhausted from my trek, and ordered the most delicious thing I could think of — that might actually be able to overcome my nausea — a jugo mixto, con piña, mango, y banana for potassium. Almost too weak and too nauseous to drink, I slowly and reluctantly took small sips, resting my forehead on the sticky table between each one.

The proprietor, noticing my fatigue, kindly asked if I was OK. I explained I had just arrived today and was feeling very sick from the altitude. She related her story of arriving in Cusco two years earlier, and how it took several months before she felt fully acclimated. I shuddered at the thought of feeling this way for even a few more hours.

Before I could respond she handed me a paper bag filled with organic coca leaves. “Hold them in your cheek” she said. “You’ll feel better.”

After choking down the rest of my delicious smoothie, I paid and thanked her profusely. Wadding up a ball of the dry, bitter leaves and stuffing them in mouth, I began the long trek home. By the time I reached the Plaza de Armas again, I was already feeling a bit better.

“Wow,” I thought, “did I really just hobble all the way across Cusco at night in search of organic coca leaves?” I chuckled at the notion of organic, non-GMO illicit drugs. And at the absurdity of my own predilection for natural and organic food. I texted my family the below photo, with the caption “You can take the boy out of Boulder, but…”

I continued to use the coca leaves, along with some muña tea (another tip from a local) the next day. I felt better and better, and by day 3 I no longer needed these supplements, my body had successfully acclimated.

Lessons Learned

Travel has a way of humbling you — getting you out of your comfort zone, exposing hidden hubris and fragile confidence of the egoic mind.

When in Cusco, do as the Cusqueños do, and trust in the wisdom of local plant remedies.

Altitude sickness can affect anyone, regardless of your physical condition or baseline living elevation.

Organic Coca Leaves

You wad these up and stuff ‘em in your cheek for altitude sickness.