From Galen:

Sitting on the soothingly cold floor of the washroom, I felt fortunate that fate decided to let me go for quite some time before catching up with a vengeance. Engaged in an activity I cordially refer to as “returning my food to the wild,” this catch and release is more enthusiastic than I had experienced in a while. Leaning over the bowl once more, I began to reminisce on what brought me to this point.

Thinking back to the meals of the last day, it would seem most likely that the hotpot Lee and I had just enjoyed here in Jiayuguan taught me a valuable lesson. Advice found at the bottom of many menus in State-side restaurants: * Consuming raw or undercooked meats, poultry, seafood, shellfish, or eggs may increase your risk of foodborne illness, especially if you have a medical condition. While the bevy of possible contamination sources was a mile long, I had my suspicions. If I were a bettin’ man, I’d reckon that something didn’t quite spend enough time in the (usually) boiling broth before I tossed it down my gullet.

Touristy Street Where the Restaurant Was

After enjoying many suspect meals in half a dozen countries, I had never found myself at the mercy of a compromised stomach. Colombian municipal water and fruits, Brazilian fresh vegetables and sushi, Bahamian conch fritters fresh from a road-side stand, and a melange of Chinese food failed to cause me any “distress.” Leaning against the wall now, I felt as though I was paying for my past culinary risks. Like a debtor, all my gastronomic loan sharks had come calling, each with a few lackeys in tow. I considered how lucky I was that we presently found ourselves in a clean (enough) hotel room with a convenience store within the lobby.

The Culprit

I spent the following day atoning for my hotpot sins and editing thousands of photos and hours of video while cautiously eating mild cracker-like cookies and sipping on Sprite. Taking a break to toss the aforementioned cookies in the wash room, it occurred to me, “Maybe this isn’t a result of the hotpot, at all.” I remembered back to high school when my band covered the chorus of the song, “Complicated,” as a part of a mean-spirited medley of dumb pop music. Oh no. My thoughts continued in that Canadian direction, “This is all because I offended the malignant god, Avril Lavigne, by poking fun at her hit single.” Satisfied with this other comical possibility, I grinned (as much as one can) as I vomited again.

Why you got to go and make things so complicated?