I didn’t think it would get me.

But the reach of that Aztec warrior king beyond the grave has extended to the nether regions of my backside. Not to mention the vise-like grip on my intestines.

Yes…..I have what many Canadians know as……Montezuma’s Revenge. That sounds a little more dignified, a little more romantic than…..prepare yourself…explosive diarrhea.

I don’t know what did it. Could’ve been a number of things. Obviously, you want to avoid food from the street if you’re traveling to Mexico. Our sensitive northern stomachs need to be introduced gently to the culinary delights of our fellow North Americans. We’re also at a high altitude in San Cristobal….so you get dehydrated faster. You really never even know you’re dehydrated…..until you’re dehydrated. You’ve got to keep pumping that water into you. Then you usually get tired. All this can help set the table for intestinal distress. Did you wash your hands for 45 seconds 5 times a day? (No, I didn’t, although I thought I was doing a lot better on that than I do at home).

Whatever.

Fact is, I got it. And so did some of the other people I’m traveling with. It’s been about four days for me. Mercifully, I haven’t been bedridden. I’m functional, at least. But whenever I go out, I carefully plot where useable washrooms are. (In Mexico, you sometimes need to send out search parties to locate clean public washrooms). Oh, and be prepared for the fact that in some of them, there’s no toilet paper. Strictly B.Y.O.T.P. Or, you have to pay for it. These realities intensify the challenge to QUICKLY find a suitable location to tend to your business.
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It’s not the easiest thing in the world to admit to others. But you’re not fooling anyone. You emerge from your room in the morning….ashen, somewhat dishevelled, moving about gingerly, looking generally like you’ve been dragged through a keyhole. When someone asks, “how are you doing?”…it’s much easier to say, “I’m a little off, “ than “I was up four times last night with projectile diarrhea.” But everybody knows. Especially if you have a roommate. It’s hard to keep this affliction a secret. I have my own room, but everybody still knows.

There’s another matter that makes it harder to keep things to yourself.

In many Mexican hotel rooms, you are asked to refrain from putting toilet paper or Kleenex in the toilet. It’s to go in the wastebasket. That’s so the toilets won’t back up… which is DEFINITELY not something you want in this situation.

But it gets worse. You know the hotel cleaning staff will be around to empty the wastebaskets every day. (They’re like clockwork on this). So if you’re the easily-embarrassed type, you can spend a lot of time trying to arrange things in the wastebasket so that you’re not perceived as some lower life form with no regard for sanitary practice. If, by some act of Providence, you still haven’t been “outed,” then the fact that they have to replace the roll of toilet paper every 24 hours is a dead giveaway.

Time to go for breakfast…..(something light) and answer the question, “How’re you doing?

“I’m a little off, thanks. Have you got any Pepto-Bismol?”