Altitude Sickness and Cusco’s Side Streets

“If you think I am walking up those steps, I may just punch you in the face.”  I dig my fingers into my own chest, massaging the pain from my heart that won´t stop pounding.  In front of me fifty stone steps ascend to a plateau where another fifty climb higher to the upper tiers of Cusco´s San Blas district.  The colonial streets are narrow and close in with every thin breath I pull.  At over 3000 meters above sea level, I am doubled over in altitude sickness that feels like a cruel mix of hangover, heart attack, and double pneumonia.

"Excuse me... I ordered the large water!" An important remedy for altitude sickness is constant, unrelenting, (don't forget to recycle!) hydration

Three days before Christmas, Neil and I took a Cruz del Sur overnight bus from Nazca up to Cusco.  Ninety minutes after our departure, when the bus began its steady climb into the Andes, an invisible weight punched against my chest like a pendulum.  Each inhale was an empty pull of air.  No matter how deep and even I breathed, my lungs couldn´t fill.  Then my fingers began to tingle, swell, and numb over.  And as the bus began to negotiate the spiral turns of the Andean spine, a red raw headache split my skull.

Thankfully, Neil had stashed a mate de coca teabag at the bottom of my backpack.  It didn´t relieve all the pain but at least the warm tea and coca leaves helped soothe me for the remaining 14 hours on the bus.

My first time with altitude sickness was when we had just landed in Quito, Ecuador after a flight from New York City.  As soon as the airlock broke on the doors, a rush of cool breeze feathered across my cheeks, and I drew my last full breath.  Then, for 2 days straight, I wheezed my way to acclimation.

Acclimating to High Heights with Altitude Sickness

In Quito, I was stubborn.  I didn´t ask for a pharmacist’s help.  I didn´t research ways to acclimate faster.  And I suffered.  At night, if I turned on my side, I´d crush the air out of my chest by rolling onto one arm and flinging the other across my body.  I´d snap awake, gasping for air and coughing with a dry mouth, lips purple.  Even if I did manage to turn over on my side, my hands would begin to swell from being tucked under my chin or folded under my side.  So every night, I slept on my back with my hands placed gently on top of my forehead to keep my chest as open as possible.  And borrowing my best strategy against a noxious hangover, for this sickness, I slept it off.  Out of 24 hours, I´d sleep 18.

Neil thought I looked like a bizarre mummy gone wrong.  I didn´t move unless I had to use the bathroom.  I kept my eyes closed and my arms draped over them.  Regardless whether it was day or night, my constant companion was a 5 liter bottle of water.  Keeping hydrated seemed to moisturize my mouth and help my intake of what little oxygen lingered in the air.  I drank every ten minutes…and then of course had to pee every twenty.

Other Remedies for Altitude Sickness           

In Cuzco while fighting my second bout of altitude sickness, I got smart…or rather scared straight.  As soon as we could ditch our bags, I headed to the closest pharmacy with a fistful of Peruvian Soles to buy Sorochin, anti-altitude sickness pills.  Then, I invested in several  2.5 liter water bottles, positioning them strategically in my bag, beside my bed and by the bedroom door.

Besides plain water, I alternated hydration tactics by implementing a full battery of warm coca tea, called mate de coca.  Our homestay hosts even showed us their coca natural, or whole coca leaves, steeped like tea and deliciously bitter.  It gave me enough strength to eat meals and climb out of bed without fainting.  In between, cups of tea, water and scheduled Sorochin doses, I slept and slept and slept.  Over the first 55 hours at altitude, I was in bed for 45.  Other great advice from my cousin, a doctor from Rochester, New York:  Diamox, gingko, and ginger candy.

The Andean Mountains are beautiful but for travelers with low red blood cells, beware! Altitude sickness is a serious matter.

Altitude illness in Cusco was much worse than in Quito, regardless of what people postulated about acclimating to the mountains overall.  The sickness got to my bones.  I couldn’t walk up a simple flight of stairs and my appetite plummeted to a flatline.  When I was awake, I couldn´t walk more than a half block without stopping and holding my chest, fearing that my heart would just jump out.  We took taxis everywhere, to the Plaza de Armas, to San Blas, to the South American Explorers Club and back.  Thankfully, each trip was only 3 Soles or $1.20.

It´s been five days now.  I´m walking around the main plaza, volunteering at a local community center, and negotiating the stairs to my room like a champ…well, a retired out of shape champ.  Though I have to admit, when I turn a corner and see the cobbled streets slope up to the horizon, I sneer at it like the devil.

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