My health has been fine ever since Venezuela. If I rule out a period over a couple of weeks in Colombia, where I had a constant running nose, I have not had any problems with my health at all. I was expecting to get sick in Bolivia again, because that is what happens to most people. But I am not in Bolivia and I have already been hospitalised.

When a Peruvian town is one of the preferred holiday spots for the Peruvian upper class, it is natural to believe that it will have an impact on the prices in the town. Everything from food, clothes to accommodation are overpriced in one part of the city. That is not abnormal, though and it happens in every town in the world. It is easy to overcome. But I still get amazed when a pizza cost me more in the poor country of Peru, than it does back home. I have tried to figure out South American business strategy before and I guess I have to conclude that I just need to give up on that topic. My mind is just not build to comprehend the irrational, illogical and strange way of doing business down here. I just have to accept the difference.

Shopping around for good and cheap food, when the circumstances are what they are, is an activity many gringos find themselves doing at some point. I can simply not understand how it can be more expensive making a pizza in Peru, than in Denmark, and I can simply not understand their reasoning: the price is what it is, because water and electricity is so expensive in Peru. If that is really true, I have no problems understanding why the country is so poor, though. Someone has to do something about that, so people can start living a life where fighting for food is not necessary. I know I am not that someone, as every time I have tried to change something down here, it either goes wrong or it has no effect at all.

I like food bought on the street. It is normally quick, very tasty, cheap and you can always see how it is prepared. Everything from whole meals to snack are constantly a target for my attention while strolling about in the otherwise dirty streets and every time I see some food inviting enough to try, I will normally go for it. Many people don’t really dare eating food from the street and to some extent I can understand them. In my mind, the food from the street is a perfect way of strengthening your own immune system. I have had days without having any chance to wash my hands for most of the day, even after visits to the toilet, constantly touching dirty rails, bus seats, doorknobs, fabric etc. and still eat a meal with my fingers. I have had days where I would make the sink completely black with dirt when washing my hands after a long day of traveling, and still eat a meal with my fingers before washing my hands - and I have not been sick from it at all. I have met people that has the small bottle of disinfectant almost taped to themselves when traveling and they would use it constantly whenever they as much as think of food. These people live a padded life. They must be truly afraid of catching a very improbable and non-lethal illness from the overpriced restaurants they go to. They need to grow some hair on their chests and start live a little. And by the way - what is the point in disinfecting their hands, when they eat with knife and fork. A knife and fork they don’t even think about cleaning before use. What kind of disease can they catch when they only clean the only thing they do not touch the food with - the hands. When the food is contaminated by something, you can wash your hands as much as you like, because there is no way that washing your hands will keep you from being sick.

Hungry and thirsty, prowling for food, street food was what my appetite craved. I had previously eaten at a small street restaurant, with only two tables and a mobile kitchen, and the food was tasty rich, cheap and fast. I once again opted for this type of meal and sat down to eat. The food had been better and the chicken were a bit overdone. But for the very low price I paid, I wouldn’t even dream of complaining. At the end of the meal, I craved something cold to drink but unfortunately the only beverage available, was some sort of homemade apple juice. They didn’t have beer or any other kind of regular beverage. With a very pronounced thirst, the apple juice was my only choice - if I in fact wanted to drink at the restaurant. When being thirsty, the last thing you want to do, is walk - so I bought a pint of apple juice. While downing the juice in one go, these were my thoughts: "this doesn’t really taste good. Is this safe to drink? It doesn’t really taste safe. Has the water been cleansed? Were the apples alright? Shit - I will be ill now. It tastes strange but I am so thirsty so I need it. I do not like it at all. I am definitely going to be ill."

Leaving the restaurant with a bad taste of the beginning decay inside my body, I almost felt like a person having swallowed poison. You know there will be a bad reaction only not quite when the effect is setting in. But my stomach was full and my thirst was partly satisfied.

At one o’clock in the morning, the fever started sneaking in on me. The otherwise warm room suddenly became chilly and I clearly noticed the annoying symptoms of a fever. Having kitesurfed during the day, my muscles were aching already, but the fever made the rest of the body ache. At three in the morning, the stomach started its emergency ejaculation procedure - leaving me with no doubt of the effect of the juice I drank six hours ago. At five in the morning, the effect of the liquid poison set in will full power. The temperature of my solitude organism was close to 40° Celsius, the emergency ejaculation procedure would now empty the content of my stomach from every available entrance and my level of energy were dropping at the speed of light. By 10 o’clock in the morning, I didn’t even have the strength to walk to the toilet. Luckily - my bed was right next to the door to the room, I reached out to open it and just repeated "help me" with the kind of voice grown men have, when they are sick.

Feeling absolutely drained for the last drop of energy in my body, the owner of the hostel helped me to the emergency room. The walk from my room to the motorcycle waiting outside was not more than 30 meters, but I spend over 2 minutes just walking that distance. Being dizzy from dehydration and depleted energy repositories, my head only wanted to lie still on a bed. The trip to the emergency room was as in a haze. Nothing around me felt real. The wind, the sounds, the smells and the sights were clearly distorted by the fever and this surreal sensation made me smile - but just a bit.

The doctors down here must be very good. Even better than the doctors back home. Just by looking at my tongue and listening to my stomach with his little stethoscope, the doctor managed to diagnose me with amoebas. From what I know by reading about amoebas, two stool samples needs to be made, to determine whether this irritating organism has entered your body. I wasn’t even in a state to complain as my fever clearly had made an brainquake in the Spanish speaking center of my brain. I did not understand much of what was being said or done, and suddenly I found myself hospitalised, drinking liter after liter of fluids from a small hole on my right hand. My ass hurt after two huge shots nicely placed on each cheek. Slipping in and out of sleep, the time passed by and the fever went away. The one shot on my butt was for lowering the fever, but strangely the pain and numbness the shot itself created, passed much later than the fever. After one day of looking into bloody fingerprints on the wall I was ready to go home. The fever was gone, I had a slight appetite and I just wanted to sleep. I just needed to eat some pills and I would be fine.

Never really recovering completely from the illness, a week later I had a setback. Yet another time the fever visited me but this time it brought along stomach cramps. Yet another night with unpleasant dreams while twisting and turning and occasional trips to the bathroom. I slept the fever off by staying a whole day in bed, but my stomach has not been perfect for a long time. Time to see the doctor again. When something is wrong with your stomach, analysing your backside end product is the only way to go. With the experience from Venezuela clear in memory, I went to the pharmacy to buy a small container made for stool samples. To my surprise they didn’t have any and the doctor at the attached emergency room gave me a relatively big plastic cup. He just took it from the water dispenser in the corner of the waiting room. "This is sufficient", he said directly into my very confused face. "No lid? No sterile container? What about contamination from the dirty streets and whatnot?", I thought to myself as he repeated "it is sufficient".

The container in Venezuela was tiny - this was huge. I didn’t really know if I should fill it completely up or just squeeze a tiny turd into it. If I had the energy and a third arm, I definitely wanted to take a picture of the sequence where the stool sample was created. I have realised that one need to see the humor in things like this. It was a funny thought and it was some sort of funny trying to make soft-ice in a cup with the wrong end of your body. Picking up the cup, putting it in a plastic bag and strolling through the streets to the laboratory was another strange experience. I was on my way to a laboratory with my shit in a large plastic cup wrapped in a plastic bag - and the person working there was going to rate my pooh.

After waiting for the result the whole day and after sitting in the waiting room with a clearly unprofessional nurse behind the desk, I finally got the result: I have an intestinal infection and drugs are needed yet another time. Yet another time I am prevented from eating properly and I guess it will do my weight some good. Food here in South America is fatty and greasy and a short diet is not a bad thing.