I arrived in Hualtuco, Mexico on a drizzly Friday evening after ten hours of flying and eight hours of layovers; I was delirious with exhaustion. I had been given the opportunity to work on a luxury yacht in Mexico. It had long since been a dream of mine to travel and get paid for it, and my dream was about to come true!
I stood along with the rest of the passengers and patiently waited for my luggage. I watched while almost everyone else claimed their bags and went on their merry way eager to begin their trip. The customs agent kept pestering me to hurry up and leave while I tried to explain to him in the wrong language that my bag had not arrived. He angrily directed me to the counter to fill out a form and told me they would contact me once they located it. I didn’t understand what he was upset about. I was the one with the lost baggage, but it wasn’t a big deal, a slight inconvenience, but certainly not the end of the world. I never pack anything that I cannot live without into a checked bag, and I always carry what I absolutely need inside my carryon: two bikinis, my face products which have been siphoned into shamefully small containers and snacks. I was prepared for whatever my trip had in store for me… or so I thought.
The city of Hualtuco is quaint and charming with parks and squares everywhere you look. There is a park in the center of the town framed by old-fashioned souvenir stands and rustic restaurants. It is so enchanting; it looks like a Mexican Disneyland minus the rides, but I didn’t get to spend much time in the actual town. It was off to the boat.
My first day of work was to be Sunday, but on Saturday there was a celebration. One of the workers for the yacht was celebrating her fortieth birthday. The boat was anchored. Guests, including myself, were shuttled from shore to ship by small skiffs. There was drinking, dancing and unfortunately, mosquitoes.
Before the night was over, I realized I had been bit three times by something. I was not concerned. Who ever heard of Malaria in Mexico? Dengue in Hualtuco? The locals did, that’s who.
Days past and with the help of Dramamine I managed to get my sea legs on. The job was going well and this was the trip of a lifetime. But on Wednesday morning when I woke, I realized something was wrong. I came down with a fever and the ship’s captain told me to rest. And so I did. I was so debilitated. It felt like someone had stuffed sleeping pills in my mouth when I hadn’t taken a thing. I got up on the second night and tried to work, but I was worthless. My body felt like I had been beaten like a piñata. My spine felt like someone grinded the vertebras together. My feet hurt as though I had walked ten miles barefoot through sharp gravel. I thought I had a nasty flu. Another day and a half went by, and I began to get worse. My equilibrium went Richter. The boat felt like it was fishtailing at fifty knots when in fact we were anchored in calm seas. Then came the nausea and vomiting and all that went with it. I hadn’t eaten anything except for a few insignificant bites of crackers and trivial sips of Gatorade for two days. I got to the point where I couldn’t even keep those down. My blood pressure dropped, my condition worsened and we were five hours out of port when both the captain and the ship’s doctor decided I needed to go to the hospital to be treated for dehydration.
Several hours later we arrived at what we were told was the best hospital around, but I like to refer to it as the “Kill Bill” hospital. They put drugs unnecessarily in my I.V. which made me feel worse, there was a bug on my bed and I shared a room with a cockroach, but I made it out alive. After seven more days of strict bed rest and gallons of carrot juice, I was well enough to travel, and get the heck out of Mexsicko!
By: Joy Kalke
