Dateline: Panama. Well I never thought I would say this. It's only 75 degrees F. this morning and I am cold. I must have acclimated, because I am seriously considering a sweater. This from the yogini who, in Northern California, Oregon, Washington and sometimes in Montana, forgot to put her coat on half the time until well into November or even December. But I am. Cold.
And I think I may have caught the local grunge too, although so far my only symptoms are a slight headache and the tiniest desire to cough. However, it's green. My daughter tells me that the latest word is that you can no longer tell whether your lung infection is bacterial or viral by checking the color of what a cough provides. Apparently those pesky viruses have learned to mimic bacteria and also make your stuff green now. Huh. I told her I had always been green, every time, and just figured I was sick if it wasn't clear or at least white. If I'm sick, it's green. Period.
So I guess I'm sick. My lurid imagination constantly drifts back to the fly I swallowed a couple of weeks ago. And of course, to dengue fever. I have a friend who shudders delightedly over tales of assassin bugs and dengue fever-bearing Aedes mosquitoes. But I have no fever. My daughter says that's probably a clue and I should relax.
So what does one do for a "cold" here in the tropics? My favorite "fake a fever" methods to force the old healing sweat seem a bit redundant here. By evening I am often so damp I hardly need any extra water if I wanted to wash my "dewy" clothes. So no sweat lodge variations. That leaves ingesting a ton of vitamin C and chicken soup. Last time I had a cough my taxista (taxi driver) told me I should eat lots of garlic. "Ajo, Jacqi," he said with a stern look. "AJO."
That's pronounced Ah-ho. Which sounds like a cough, itself. And brings on a round of the Spanish textual giggle: je je je, ja ja ja, jo jo jo. Je-je.