[Been busy, blah blah blah, so here’s one from the vault. I think I’ve resisted publishing this one because a) it’s scatological, and b) I’m not sure the post quite works, but maybe you’ll find the punchline worthwhile.]
Chris and I were hiking the Dientes Circuit, the southernmost trek in the southernmost inhabited spot on the globe. The Dientes Circuit winds through some low Andes on Isla Navarino, just before the Andes drop once and for all into the sea. The primary industry on Isla Navarino is king crab fishing, and because he who controls king crabs controls the world, Chile has erected a tidy little naval base on the island. Impressive looking warships sail up and down the Beagle Channel pointing their guns at desolate stretches of Argentina, which points its guns right back.
Isla Navarino makes a small claim to history as the final resting place of the boat that rescued Shackleton’s crew, but the island is better known for the Mikalvi, a bar where thrill-seeking yachties congregate after making the treacherous trip ‘round the horn or the treacherous trip across the Drake Passage to Antarctica. Technically the Mikalvi is a not a bar but a boat, an old tug that has been sunk in a few feet of water just off the main pier. In addition to having a nice fireplace, the Mikalvi serves excellent king crab sandwiches.
A few days into the circuit, Chris and I drank untreated water from a stream. Our guidebook assured us the water was safe, and after some deliberation we threw caution to the wind. After all, the stream looked so clean and harmless, and, well, what was the worst that could happen?
The stream we drank from, it turned out, was infested with beavers. This should have come as no surprise. Every stream in Tierra del Fuego is infested with beavers. Argentina, in an effort to develop its fur trade, imported 15 breeding pairs of beavers in the 1950s. Today, Patagonia has no fur industry, but it does have 75,000 beavers. Busy, busy beavers.
A fun fact of which you may not be aware is that beavers are major carriers of giardia. Chris and I were certainly not aware of this fact, at least not until we were informed of it a few days later by some vacationing U.S. forestry officials. “Beaver Fever, they call it in Wisconsin!” one of them told us with unconcealed glee.
Here’s what Chris and I did know about giardia:
- The onset of giardia occurs at least a week after exposure. Until onset, victims have no way of knowing whether they are sick.
- Giardia can’t be treated with regular antibiotics.
- Giardia is extremely unpleasant. I won’t belabor the point, but suffice to say that you don’t want to share an elevator ride with a person suffering from giardia.
A week later, we were hiking in the Torres del Paine national park. We still didn’t know whether we had giardia, but we had decided not to wait around the hostel to find out. Instead, we packed extra toilet paper and set out on a 10-day hike.
On only the second day in, I sensed that something was amiss. A quick conference revealed that Chris was experiencing similar tribulations. We spent the better part of that night madly scrabbling for the tent zipper and racing off into the bushes.
Although the facts seemed plain, nothing about our situation made much sense. Giardia is a nasty disease, but aside from the single symptom, we were both in fine health. Our hike the next morning was mainly notable for how good we both felt. Moreover, the timing of the illness was suspicious. Could we really both have been hit with the disease at virtually the same minute, eight days after drinking a few sips of bad water?
Dear Reader, by now you are wild-eyed with suspense. Fret not; the mystery will soon be solved. Allow me to supply the missing clue.
The day before, Chris and I had eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch. Americans are among the few people in the world who willingly eat peanut butter, so we were excited to find an imported jar of the stuff in a Chilean supermarket. We grabbed some peanut butter and a jar of jelly and hit the trail.
While preparing the sandwiches on the second day out, I scrutinized the labels on the jars. My Spanish was then even more rudimentary than it is now, but I definitely remember at some point wondering aloud, “Why does this jar of jelly say ‘Keep out of reach of children’?” In a truly breathtaking display of denial, Chris and I chalked up this warning to differences in cultural attitudes toward condiments, and left it at that.
The next day we scrutinized the jelly label more closely. Product name: Cierulax. Manufacturer: Garden Laboratories. Dosage: 1 teaspoon. Yes, Chris and I had prepared for ourselves a lunch of peanut butter and laxative sandwiches. Because the jelly was only supposed to last us for two meals, we had been careful to eat exactly half the jar. After finishing off our ration of bread, we had dug into the jar of laxative with spoons.
Anyhow, it was a massive relief (waka waka) to know that we didn’t have giardia, and I can give my highest recommendation to Cierulax, which is both effective and delicious.
