Mayim Rabim

The ex and I took a trip to Peru and Bolivia to celebrate the end of his medical training. The trip was amazing: the Amazon, Macchu Picchu, surviving off granola bars and canned tuna, the gold museum in Lima, the alpaca wool shops (I knit). It was such a learning experience and culturally enriching.

But, let me tell you, getting your period in the Andes and having it continue while in the Amazon was no picnic. First off we were pretty high up in the Andes. Like needing to take medication up. Like crisp cold air up. Like some people needing additional oxygen up. Like altitude sickness up. And then down in the Amazon – below sea level – it’s hot, buggy, muggy and muddy. Oh, and did I mention the pit toilets.

OK, so the trip continues. The cans of tuna dwindle. The staining stops. The counting begins. Everything goes like clockwork.

We arrive in La Paz a day before it would be time to use the mikvah. I’d done my homework and knew there was a mikvah. This, being in the days before ubiquitous email addresses and Internet sites, I had a phone number and the name of the attendant. Of course, like many telephone numbers over seas, this one was not working.

I tried looking up mikvah in the phone book. Yeah, right. Baño religioso? Nada.

I tried looking up the synagogue in the phone book. For security reasons, not listed.

OK, so now what? At least the ex spoke Spanish.

So, being the resourceful person I am I said let’s look up Jewish names in the white pages. I found one Esther Levy. Sounded promising. Said ex got on the phone and asked 1. if she was Jewish (she must have been more than a little concerned) 2. and if affirmative did she have the contact information for the baño religioso? Si!

Ex then called the rabbi and explained – in his high school level Spanish – that he was Ploni ben Ploni and a member of Congregation XX in City, U.S and that Rabbi So and So was our rav. He then said that his wife, Plonit Plonit bat Ploni Ploni ha Kohen, needed to use the mikvah. The rabbi seemed more than a little surprised at the request. He did, however, pass on the name of the attendant.

Ex then called the attendant (a man?!). He repeated the same spiel. No dice. Mr. Attendant said that the water was cold. So, I could handle a few dunks in unheated water. I thought back to the many stories of women in Communist Russia who braved ice covered mikvahs in secret. Nope. Mr. Attendant said it would take several days to bring up the temperature in the mikvah and no, I could not use it – freezing or otherwise.

I’m not sure if Mr. Attendant thought I was some nut bar who wanted to get into the mikvah for nefarious purposes. Right. Malicious skinny dipping. Face it, if I listed my Hebrew name, my father’s Hebrew name, the location of my shul and the name of my rav and if I actively sought out using the mikvah wouldn’t that say something? Guess not.

I remained unavailable for the rest of the vacation. Considering that part of my marriage and ex's lack of abilities in that department, it wasn't such a hardship. Notice: he's my ex.

We flew home two days later and I was back to using my community mikvah by nightfall. Later I shared this story with our rabbi who was mildly amused. Happily I’ve arranged subsequent vacations to coincide with my available times or pregnancies. And so ends my South American vacation and my attempt to use the La Paz mikvah.