Being over the moon at finally living in China, naturally I embraced all aspects of being here with gusto. Eating traditional foods from street vendors was my main manifestation of such elan.
Oh, did I pay for that!
I am not blaming my gastrointestinal woes on that single bite of fish from the luncheon, or even on all the beer. I am blaming myself for not taking it easy, for not giving myself time to acclimate, for not remembering that, even before leaving the States I was having stomach problems. That sounds all very honorable now, but I was not so rational while writhing in pain from stomach cramps and not being able to eat anything for days. Self-evisceration was more like the thoughts that crossed my mind during those days.
I normally have a very healthy constitution. I usually can eat anything with no negative impact or any suffering of any type. For that reason I was completely taken by surprise at the violence of my stomach ills, and at the longevity of it.
You see, I didn’t know that Montezuma had a family reunion planned, and the selected location was my gut. For days my abdomen was distended, painful, cramping with such force as to wake me up from sleep. Fearing accidents, I found myself running to the bathroom every time I felt a twinge in my stomach, no matter what time of the day or night. It was quite fortuitous that I did.
I found no solace in Gas-X or Tagamet, both medications that I had remembered to bring ample amounts of. I did not need the laxatives that I had brought; I needed the opposite of a laxative, which I had brought none of.
In agony I forsook the street vendor stalls in favor of something milder to eat: bread and fruit. That’s when Montezuma’s grandchildren visited. Their contribution to the reunion was my total inability to be any further than 25 feet from a bathroom at all times. Anything I ate manifested itself in a near-immediate discharge; sometimes painful, always humiliating. Silly me for thinking bread and fruit were rich in fiber, substance and bulk!
As I could not think of anything more innocuous to eat than bread and fruit, in desperation I elected to swear food off completely. The great-grandchildren of Montezuma then put on their show. Dehydration became a real concern. So far, this had gone on for 5 days. Sam stopped by, only to find me sweating and wrung out. He was so concerned he thought he should take me to a doctor. Fever set in; chills caused me to dive into a hot bathtub, with my overhead heat lamps burning (it was 27 degrees Celsius outside that day).
For some reason, while in the tub, the thought of a ginger infusion popped in my head. A hot ginger beverage is an excellent homeopathic remedy for stomach ills; I had read that somewhere, not too long ago. After my bath brought my fever down, I felt strong enough to stumble out to the farmer’s market and buy some fresh ginger to make the infusion with.
Finally, some relief! Within the first few sips I could already feel the calming effects of the ginger. For my third or fourth cup I decided to add a spoonful of honey to the brew, to help with my sore throat. Surely all that hacking and coughing I was doing because of the air quality was not helping my stomach muscles rest.
I can’t exactly say that I felt like a new penny the day after sipping the ginger/honey mixture but I am pleased to report that I made it to class without falling on my face from the exertion of climbing 6 flights of stairs on an empty stomach. Furthermore, I made it all the way through the class without having to run to the rest room. I did have my trusty bottle of ginger water though, and I sipped it regularly, as a religious devout would chant a mantra.
The end result was that, after class I discovered I was ravenous! Always one to listen when my body tells me something, I mentally ran through my food options. Bread and fruit weren’t going to cut it. I was out of eggs and had no rice cooked, so I had to venture out to shop. As long as I had to go out, I decided to explore those options. All street vendor fare was ruled out. Ditto the local sit-down restaurant: too many unknowns on the menu. There was this chicken fast food place that had roast chicken… that would probably be the best choice. And it is in fact chicken, smaller than chickens in America but recognizable as edible fowl of the barnyard kind. NOTE: that restaurant also has fried chicken that is recognizable as such, but I thought it prudent to stay away from the fried variety.
Consensus: roast chicken!
I was nearly salivating as I walked the quarter mile or so to this restaurant. I had never actually patronized it; just looked at the menu board while walking by – I must have been planning for this. Now comes the acid test: ace-in-the-hole food source, or another disappointment?
My friends, this little chicken restaurant did not disappoint! I was fairly moaning with anticipation by the time I made it home with my little chicken, and I did grunt with pleasure as my body responded – nearly instantly, and favorably to the food.
Thus ended the siege of Montezuma and his relations. All it took was a lot of ginger water with honey, and an undersized roast chicken which I ate all in one sitting. I’m still careful about what I eat, but I have been venturing back to the vendor stalls.
There’s this one guy that makes these stuffed batter cakes… they resemble crepes, and they’re stuffed with egg, green onion, crispy fried tofu, sausage and lettuce, all wrapped up like a burrito.
Oh, Lordy! I’m hooked again!
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