The Mija Chronicles

Mexican food and culture, on both sides of the border

health

Not so scared of Montezuma anymore (and hoping he doesn’t smite me by saying so)

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On my first visit to Mexico City in 2003, I didn’t eat any fruit or salads or street food because I was terrified of coming down with Montezuma’s Revenge. I didn’t even want to say the word, or think about it. Contracting… you-know-what… in a land where you can’t even throw your toilet paper in the commode? It sounded completely awful.

Now that I’ve suffered two bacterial infections and have learned the difference between “Montezuma’s Revenge Lite” and “intestinal hell,” I’m much more at peace with the idea of a little gastrointestinal stress as the price to pay to live here. Diarrhea happens. It’s a fact of life. This city has so much to offer in the realm of food and drink that you really can’t get mired down in the fear, because it’d take all the fun out of living here.

For instance, it’s pretty magical to eat a taco standing up and douse it with salsa from a plastic bucket, or to sample the homemade requesón (the Mexican version of ricotta cheese) from the lady at the tianguis. Or to drink a homemade agua de mango, or sip mezcal inside the fading, formerly opulent Bar La Opera, where Pancho Villa once rode in on his horse and fired a shot into the ceiling. I’ve never gotten sick once by doing any of those things.

Of course, one has to exercise caution. But I’ve slipped on that lately. I now brush my teeth with tap water, like everyone else I know. I disinfect only certain items from the tianguis, such as lettuce and tomatoes. Apples and carrots go straight from the market into my mouth. And it’s fine. I even bought chorizo verde from a tianguis dude last Sunday and fried it up last night. Who wants green sausage and eggs.

It’s just funny how things change. We’ve been here barely five months. My dad got a little sick when he came to visit last week, because his stomach wasn’t used to the spicy food. I tried to calm him down by telling him that at least he didn’t have giardia or salmonella.

“If you had that, you’d really be in bad shape,” I told him. “You’re going to be fine. It’ll clear up in a few days.” It did.

The war between an alien bacteria and my sweet, unassuming stomach

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Last year, I got sick from eating bad food in Mexico, and it was enough to pretty much scar me for life. I had no appetite. I was on the verge of throwing up — but didn’t — almost constantly for three weeks. And of course I was always in the bathroom. I got so dehydrated I started slurring my words, which scared my mom. And me.

A few friends asked me: “Girl, you look good, have you been working with a trainer?” And I was like, “No, I have a freaking PARASITE in my stomach!” And of course everyone who knew I was sick always asked me what I ate. But trying to figure that out is futile. Everything I ate looked and smelled normal.

Since I moved here, I’ve tried to be extra cautious about what I eat. But I threw caution to the wind in Patzcuaro. Which may explain why, on Sunday and Monday, I got a mild fever. That segued into heavy stomach-rumbling, and finally, last night, the alien bacteria’s grand debut.

Between 11 p.m. and 5:30 a.m. last night, I could barely leave the bathroom. (Thank god we have Wi-Fi in there.) I cried a little bit. I cursed my stupidity in eating anything questionable only a week before my dad’s first visit to Mexico City. I tried not to get sucked into the useless argument of wondering what I ate, but I couldn’t help myself.

This bug may have come from one, if not all three of the following places:

1. The horchata I drank with my street-side carnitas in Quiroga. I think I may have seen a dead fly in the container.

2. The bean taco I ate, prepared by an indigenous lady we met in Santa Fe de la Laguna. Her kitchen had a dirt floor, so I’m assuming it may not have been the cleanliest thing in the world. At the time, I thought: This woman has nothing and she’s offering us food. It’d be rude to say no.

3. The carne apache tostada I ate from a very popular vendor on the square. Carne apache = ground beef that’s basically raw, but “cooked” in lime juice for several hours and refrigerated. It’s a Purepechan delicacy. And a HAVEN FOR SALMONELLA.

Going to the doctor at 11:30, so we’ll see what he says.

It’s weird, because I’ve been dreading this moment since I moved to Mexico. What if I get sick like I did last time? What will I do? And now that it’s here, I’m actually kind of at peace, because there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. The bacteria’s in control, not me. (This is what she says now, on Day 1 of not being able to eat anything.)