Dirt-Eating Gringo Babies of the Upper Altiplano (AKA typhoid Alec)

Written by Grandpa Clint:

Throughout our ten day tour of the high-altitude tourist areas we were all plagued with regular bouts of 'travelers bowel' in addition to the more serious tummy bug that Cindy and Melania endured, and the colds that Cindy and I now have. For the most part, we were somewhat careful about diet and hygiene. I made a point of eating only cooked foods, a tactic that I had learned years ago in India. Steven followed suit on that one, as did Cindy after suffering the bug. I was also at them to use the hand sprays frequently, and to eat only raw fruits/vegetables that we had peeled, cleaned and cut up ourselves. By the end of it all, I felt like the over-protective mother-hen type, doling out the unsolicited advice.

But what about the young folks? It is pretty difficult to avoid sharing your water bottle with a cute baby when he is thirsty, and then there are those kisses and snuggles, and the fact that he wanted to feed us little bites of whatever he was eating. The truth is, wherever we went, both boys were quick to get up close and personal with the ground or floor, exploring under hotel beds and courtyard benches, checking out the texture (and sometimes the taste) of the dirt, gravel, grass, etc. wherever we stopped. Minute bits of unidentifiable refuse were carefully scrutinized, and usually offered to the grown-ups for examination and possible consumption.

Once safely back in Arequipa, with tummies settled down, both boys exhibited their enthusiasm for stuffing dirt into the back yard garden hose, then sucking out the soggy mixture that this practice created. Observing this behaviour, I entered into a philosophical discussion with my son-in-law, A.J., about the whole phenomenon. His opinion, and I tend to agree with him on this, is that this will help boost their immune systems and stand them in good stead to fend off infections later in life. Fair enough, but what about my aging immune system? Now I have never been particularly squeamish about such things. I was raised playing in a yard full of chicken pooh, and I have always believed it did me a world of good. Come to think of it though, Steven and I were discussing this whole thing one day on the trip as we watched the boys sift through the debris and dirt under a park bench, checking it out thoroughly with a number of their senses, and he pointed out to me that, whenever I took him to my parents' farm and into that same health-promoting environment, he always took extra underwear. I was reminded of that conversation again just yesterday when Alec offered to share with me some bird droppings that he was examining in the back yard.

Sooo... The questions remain unanswered. Do these tactile and sensory investigations of a whole lot of gross goodies in all of these exotic environments in fact strengthen these intrepid young travelers? And what what about the gastro-intestinal well-being of the adults that accompany them? The jury is out.