To New York

Days 19-20, Wednesday-Thursday, January 8-9, 1997

Despite all the excitement of this trip, I was actually looking forward to go home now. I was a little surprised and disappointed at how the fast pace and all the excitement had worn us down so quickly and taken a toll on our physical condition. We checked out at noon and waited in the hotel lounge. I remembered that here I was in Rio, and yet I never got a chance to walk on the beaches of Copacabana. We couldn't do everything that we had planned for the lack of time, the lack of energy, and the lack of cooperation from the weather. But I must at least go walk on the beaches of Copacabana.

Ed was still pretty sick, so he stayed in. I walked along the beaches of Ipanema and turned onto Copacabana. It was a sunny and hot day. It didn't take long before I began buying bottles of água sin gas. Without the haze, the curved beach of Copacabana and the Sugar Loaf in the distance were in clear view. I found a sidewalk stall, bought myself a beach towel, and picked up a T-shirt as Ed had requested. I wasn't too disappointed about the walk. Now I could say that I had been to Copacabana, and I bought myself a beach towel there just like I had wanted to before the whole trip. I caught a bus back to the hotel and was pretty glad to get some relief from the air-conditioning. Everything was winding down. We were just waiting to begin the trip home.

We caught the transfer bus to the airport that runs along the beach front boulevard. Our timing couldn't have been more perfect. The bus came just as we were crossing the street. We were thus fortunately spared of the punishing combination of heat and heavy backpacks. Our VASP flight was at 8:15 p.m. There was more waiting at the airport. Ed called his doctor in Boston to schedule an appointment. Much to my consternation, he had refused to eat for the last three days because of the sore throat and drank very little. He looked a shadow of his normal self, but was still stubborn like a mule. I had long depleted my supply of pain killers, antibiotics, cough lozenges, and the like to be of any help. He would have refused taking my prescription antibiotics in any case.

We sat near the front of the plane to São Paulo. Shortly before takeoff, some passenger decided to go up to the cockpit and pose for a picture. The pilots didn't care. They chatted with the stewardesses and passengers. More people followed. More flashes. I thought for night flying, the pilots should avoid exposure to light to help with night vision. Well, maybe instrument flight rules are different. Ignorance is bliss. Knowledge is power. The somewhere in between is the worst. Half ignorance and half knowledge is paranoia. But I was getting sick again myself to worry too much about it.

I was getting worse with a splitting headache and a fever. The dry air made the inside of my nose feel like it was burning and cracking. I draped a moistened paper towel over my face. It actually helped a little, ... if you were ever in a jam like this. I had to get up to fetch water no less than four times through the night. The flight felt so painfully long. The body must subconsciously know that the most physically demanding phase was over, so it stopped putting up much of a fight against diseases. The moment I got home in New York and got in bed, I completely collapsed, and my fever shot up to 103 F. The home advantage was that I had the help of medicine. Everything was under control by the next morning.

We had an absolutely fabulous and fantastic trip, even though we came back two complete wrecks. The saving grace might be that as a result we actually looked forward to coming home, even though it was all gloomy and cold at home.

After he got back in Boston, Ed wrote me the following letter (edited):

Hi, Mr. Headacheman:

Since coming home is an integral part of any travel, I thought I will present my last report to you:

I came back to Boston in one piece (actually three pieces: myself and my two pieces of luggage) Thursday afternoon. The bus to Port Authority runs quite frequently and efficiently; I got to the bus terminal only 10 minutes too late for the 9 a.m. Greyhound bus.

By the time I arrive in Boston (ca. 2 p.m.), my throat was already 80% better, in that I could eat and drink if I wanted to. Nonetheless, I dropped off my luggage at home, and ran off to the MIT Medical Center for my appointment made the day before in Rio. I whined to my physician about my sore throat and "horrible" conditions. She looked into and probed my throat, and I coughed all over her. She said it's not mono, nor is it something else more serious; probably just a bad case of tonsilitus. So I am on a penicillin regimen for 10 days, and was asked to see her again tomorrow for a check up. As of today, there is still a bump in my throat, but I can eat and drink without any pain at all and am feeling perfectly fine otherwise. What a pity that I am not in Rio NOW!!!!!

I was listening to the Howard Stern Show on the bus to Port Authority, and realized how I enjoyed so much the familiarity of his voice, even though I used to dislike listening to his show. Anyways, it was a very strange feeling that day we returned to NY. It seemed to me as if I just woke up from a long long dream, and now everything real has returned to me: the grey skies, the nibby winds biting at the ears, and the leafless tree branches; these are the realities of my life. And all the colors, sounds, motions, and excitement of these past weeks seem so unreal as if they are mere memories of a long sweet dream!

...anyways, half of my pictures have already been developed (I took advantage of Walgreens' special this week: 2nd set free); so far I don't see any X-ray damages to the films :) The other half will be done Monday.

Lastly, I just want to shake you hand and say, "A trip well traveled." (should have done this at JFK!)

later,
edcon