How To Not Get Sick While Traveling (from someone who did it all wrong)

You know that moment when you say something and then you immediately realize that by saying it you’ve doomed yourself and it’s too late to do anything about it (except, perhaps, knocking on wood, but we all know how well that works)?

I had that moment in late December when I said, and I still don’t know what possessed me to say this — “my immune system must be way better this year, because I haven’t been sick at all.” WHAT WAS I THINKING. Actually, I know what I was thinking — I was feeling cocky because Macky had just had a terrible cold the week before and for once in my life, I hadn’t immediately been stricken down. Plus I had been eating vitamin C by the handful and even choking down the echinacea extract that Macky’s mom had been hawking since the first sign of sniffles, so how could I possibly get sick?

Obviously, I was sick within 24 of opening my big fat mouth. I might also have said “wow homeopathic medicine might actually work, I take back everything I ever said about it,” so now I’m just going to go ahead and un-take it back, because the echinacea was apparently a huge waste of my taste buds.

But this post isn’t about that cold. This post is about how, after being sick in December, I managed to get yet another death cold, less than a month later, and in New Zealand in the summer of all places, where no one should ever get sick ever because life is supposed to be perfect here.

This post is about what not to do to your body while you’re traveling and how, even though I know all these things, I did them anyway.

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1. Don’t spend 35 hours on an airplane in a two week period. Or fine, do it, whatever, but pay half a rat’s ass worth of attention to your layovers. Don’t, for example, buy a flight that has a 35 minute layover in Beijing, because you’re going to have to go through customs, and you’re going to have to sprint to a gate that’s a mile away, and the air pollution is going to turn that little jog into a gagging, throat-stinging, hacking-up-green-stuff-for-the-next-week kind of affair. And it’s just not going to be worth the 72 dollars you saved on that flight. And also, if you’re going to have an eight hour layover in Brisbane on the last leg of your journey, bring a blanket. No, better yet, bring a fucking goosedown snow suit. Because, while it may be 35 degrees Celsius OUTSIDE, the airport is going to be air-conditioned to arctic levels, and you are going going to spend your eight hours spooning with your partner on a table because you can’t both fit on the benches and you will STILL BE FREEZING. And then, you know, you’ll be sick again, less than a week later.

2. Try to avoid undue amounts of stress. In other words, don’t end up in a situation where you have to stay up until 1 am every night to call people on the other side of the world to try to frantically coordinate things that are, realistically, completely out of your control anyway. Not only is this stressful, but it means you’re going to lose about a week’s worth of decent sleep, which just doesn’t help anybody. If Macky and I have learned anything from this situation, it’s this — international shipping is an expensive shit show and we will, hopefully, never deal with it again, especially not for anything larger than say, a small dog.

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3. If you already feel like you’re getting a cold, maybe don’t go and add heat stroke to your list of problems. (This one’s for Macky.) The problem with arriving in a new place, is that you immediately want to get out and have fun, even if your body is sending you all the “fuck you” signs. This is how we ended up spending half the day at the beach, learning to wake board, picnicking, having a blast and getting sunburns over half our bodies (damn you, hole in the ozone layer, damn you). It was awesome, but it also left Macky with all the signs of heat sickness — fever, headache, nausea. And it left me googling “can you contract malaria in Thailand” and “what are the symptoms of hemorrhagic dengue” at five in the morning. For the record, I really don’t recommend googling the latter ever, much less if your loved one is exhibiting several key symptoms and you plan on going back to sleep after (“hey honey, wake me up if your nose starts bleeding or your pee turns brown, okay?”).

In case you didn’t pick up on this, we didn’t exactly get a running start on our New Zealand training trip. That doesn’t mean we haven’t been having fun, or that our trip to Southeast Asia wasn’t awesome, because we have, and it was. It just means that sometimes you can over do it, even if you’re us and you pretty much “over do it” for a living. For me, it’s a constant struggle to find and identify my limits, to balance wanting to do everything with, you know, that pesky turd called reality. And well, this past month, the balancing hasn’t gone so well. But I did ride a motorbike through Thailand, pet an elephant and eat my weight in noodles in Singapore. Oh, and I stayed up on a wakeboard for longer than 10 seconds. So if the price of those experiences is a week of coughing and sneezing, well, I guess I’ll pay up.

It's not all bad....

It’s not all bad….

Flesh-Eating Bacteria and Other Minor Annoyances

Disclaimer — I love my life. I don’t want to change a thing. I get to travel, ride bikes, and explore somewhere new almost every day. I don’t have to sit in a cubicle and I almost never have to deal with an excel spread sheet. (Except when I do and then I throw things.) I have very few complaints. However, every now and then I have a conversation with someone who is all “uggggh I’m so jealous, your life sounds so amazing and romantic and I wish I were you.” Okay, fair enough, there are romantic moments every now and then, but for some reason whenever anyone says something like this, I am overcome by an urge to throw it back in their face and say “NO, NOT REALLY, SOMETIMES IT SUCKS AND SOMETIMES MY LIFE IS HARD, TOO.” I realize this is an immature impulse, probably a product of our society’s constant victimhood peddling, but it’s also kind of true.

Life on the road is not all late-night campfires and beautiful sunsets over the open road. Sometimes it really does suck. Sometimes you’re swarmed by gigantic mosquitoes. Sometimes you can’t get some important document because you have no stable mailing address and such-and-such bureaucracy will not pay attention to your constant address change requests. Sometimes you’re just tired and hungry and grumpy and totally OVER cold showers. (See photo)

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Oh, and sometimes you contract a mysterious flesh-eating bacterial infection and don’t get it attended to until it gets so bad that you begin to worry that your leg might be about to fall off so you have your boyfriend drive you an hour and a half in the middle of the night to the closest open emergency care facility, which (obviously) is not that close at all.

So yeah, that happened. And fine, flesh-eating might be a minor exaggeration, but I did, it turned out, have a pretty healthy and potentially antibiotic resistant staph infection. FUN TIMES, PEOPLE.

At the risk of providing too much information, I will just tell you that my left leg developed a series of unpleasant, red pustules and then swelled up to twice it’s normal size. I also had a fever and all sorts of other alarming side-effects that prompted our late night journey to the ER. The doctors didn’t seem to think I was in imminent danger of amputation (but can you blame me for freaking out?!?!), but they did put me on a cocktail of antibiotics and drained my wounds (sorry sorry gross I know). I won’t, however, post a picture because, frankly, I don’t need to add to the reasons why google-image searching “staph infection” is a terrible idea.

I felt somewhat better the next day, as I no longer thought I was in imminent danger of losing my leg and that obviously puts a person in better spirits. However, I still had a fever and was largely incapable of doing anything. I spent the entire day flopped in the back of van while the others rode their bikes, shivering and sweating and doing the only thing my addled brain was capable of — mumbling my way through the Duolingo Italian lesson on animals. Luckily no native Italian speakers happened by or they probably would have been somewhat alarmed by the glassy-eyed, gauze-encrusted creature curled into a fetal position and muttering, over and over again, “the horse eats the apple, the monkey drinks the water.”

And while I won’t post a picture of my unbandaged wound, I do feel like I owe you this — the unsexiest picture of me to ever make it onto the internet…in the height of pathetic, the night we cracked and finally got a hotel room because I was just done with coping. I was trying to look positive for this photo (happy MRSA day!), but instead I just looked like a sick puppy.

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Through this entire experience, I just kept thinking how much I wanted things to be easier. I wanted chicken soup. I wanted functional internet. I wanted my own bed. I wanted more than three dollars of disposable income.

I think the main reason I get irritated when people romanticize my life is not because my life secretly sucks. Actually it’s almost always awesome. Last week it happened to suck, but don’t we all have sucky days? Don’t we all contract the casual case of flesh-eating bacteria once in a while? No? Okay, guess that’s just me.

No, the main reason I get irritated is because this assumption is the conversational equivalent of erecting a big, stone wall. Recently, I’ve become convinced that many people don’t want to hear about the day-to-day life of a professional traveler/hobo. (The exceptions, of course, are you lovely readers of travel blogs, bless yer hearts.) People want to assume that if you’ve managed to work out a lifestyle that doesn’t involve an office or a 9-5, that you have achieved the unachievable, that you are unbelievably privileged and your life is all stars and roses and midnight campfires. People don’t want to think that you’re anything like them, because then they could be doing what you’re doing, and they’re not. The truth, at least for me, is that I am poor and I live in a tent. The truth is that my lifestyle is a choice, and one that has come at what is, for many people, an unfathomable sacrifice. The truth is that I’m a normal person, just one who would rather camp with a staph infection than give up one iota of freedom. (Not recommending camping with a staph infection. Horrible idea.)

Sometimes, we're tired.

Sometimes, we’re tired.

If you want to live on the road, prepare to eat sandwiches for dinner and to sometimes be cold and wet and miserable. Prepare to be sick and very far away from a warm bed. Prepare to be kicked out of your campsite by a park ranger at least once. Prepare to be tired and frustrated and elated all at the same time. Prepare to cry every time you have to deal with a multinational company. Prepare for your phone battery to die at the most inopportune of times. Prepare to feel guilty when you buy a beer because you know your bank account can’t handle that kind of extravagance. But most of all, prepare for the moment when all of these things happen in one day and then some stranger tells you how “jealous” they are of your “romantic life.” Prepare to smile and say thank you, because in that moment you will know that, no matter what, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

It's worth it for nights like this. Photo cred: Sean Leader

It’s worth it for nights like this. Photo cred: Sean Leader

What would you give up in order to live the life of your dreams? And, because I just have to ask, has anyone else had a brush with flesh-eating bacteria???!?!

Inca Avalanche (Or, That One Time I Barfed on Ancient Ruins)

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Here’s the thing about traveling — sometimes things go wrong.

And here’s the thing about traveling as a mountain biker — you are doing something relatively dangerous and strenuous and you are hauling around extremely expensive equipment so when things do go wrong, it tends to be catastrophic. Continue reading