Hot water in Ecuador: A public service announcement.

“Agua caliente.”

Hot water? Are you freaking serious…

The water that morning was a nice glassy texture, gray with rainbows of color glistening when you looked closely. The sun was coming up, but behind the clouds to give us a nice comfortable paddle out to easy going four foot waves. No wetsuits needed when surfing the warm equator waters. We even had the cliff-lined scene to ourselves because we were the only ones in the party town of Montanita, Ecuador to wake up before 8am.

Each of the three of us chose our little peak to play on, we were up, but coffee wouldn’t be served until 10 and we were not not fully awake yet. Three gringas surfing solas and taking in the experience.

I paddle over to the main peak near the golden cliffs, which was usually overtaken by other surfers mid-day. One open ride, then two, I didn’t have to share. I paddled back out to the peak each time after a long right. After a few more, I decided to paddle back towards my friends. It had been an hour or so and maybe time to get breakfast in our hippie hostel with an elephant-size Buddha statue at the entrance.

I dug into the water with my right arm for momentum, then my left. Ouch. I felt a tingle on my right lower bicep. Oh ouch, what the heck. I stopped paddling and sat up on my board. I brought my right arm in front of me the best I could to have a look at what was happening on the surface of my skin.

Damn! It started to burn more and I could see a line of red starting to pulse against my not yet tanned pale skin. I looked over at my friends, they were still 50 yards away and this stinging was starting to hurt. The shore looked like a better bet than the long distance, so I started towards the white sand, finally floating onto it after paddling with my unaffected left arm.

I got out, salt water dripping down my face and beaded on my arm. The red line was more defined now, thicker and pronounced, a clear swirl of a tentacle that had wrapped around it formed. Looks like I’ve been lassoed.

The clouds were still up and the waves were still coming in easily. My friends looked like they were going to stay out a little longer. I tucked my board under my arm and tried to wave them down to show I had gone in. I waved and looked at my arm again. Shit, it’s starting to blister!

Beginning to panic, I walked briskly through the hut-like restaurant and across the sandy road, passing Buddha and entering into the quiet outdoor breakfast area. No one was awake. I leaned my board on the table not giving a shit if someone took it. Ok, jellyfish sting for sure, I tried to calm myself to figure out what to do. A little strong. Ok. No one is awake. Dammit. Every outdoor advice article I had read mentioned that urine would do the trick.

You got this. I grabbed a turquoise coffee mug off one of the tables that had been set the night before and headed up to our room with a shower. Luckily, with the warm ocean waters and lack of wetsuit to warm up, I hadn’t really peed during the surf session. I squatted over the toilet and filled up that mug with a nice yellow solution.

Pulling open the shower curtain, I stepped in with my cup of jellyfish sting cure and poured it down my arm. It was warm and I expected instant relief. As the piss dribbled down to my fingertips, I felt nothing. The light red areas of my whip-looking marks got darker and the dark red got bubblier. Fuck.

I looked in the mirror and saw the slash getting up near my neck. What if I am allergic and I suffocate or it goes to my heart and I die! Having no idea what kind of jellyfish was the culprit, I went to worse case scenarios, mixing up Steve Erwin stories with Diana Nyad’s experience. She had swam from Cuba to Florida, but upon first attempt was hospitalized for swimming through jellyfish infested waters. Her bloated face came to mind. Where is there a hospital in Montanita?! I was going to die in Ecuador while everyone slept in the hostel and I suffocated in the bathroom smelling like pee.

Charging back down the wooden stairs, I figured I should go back to my friends who could at least help me find someone awake to get a taxi or figure out what we need to do. Back across the sandy road, I ducked under the restaurant’s hut to see too older local men sitting at the empty tables that looked over the surf spot.

They took one look at my arm and said, “agua caliente.”

“Hot water?”

They both nodded. “Muy caliente.”

“Enserio?” I asked, but their response didn’t matter, there was no way hot water was going to cure this beast of a sting.

I sighed, trying to decide what to do. Glancing out at my friends, they were making their way in, but still pretty far in the distance. I made eye contact with the men, they were probably wondering if I was going to take their advice.

“Ok fine!”

I raced back past the Buddha, up to the shower again. Cranking the dial all the way to the left, I waited for it to steam and then leaned my swollen arm in to the hotness. INSTANT RELIEF. I stuck it in further and let the hot, hot water burn the rest of my skin, while stopping the stinging burn of the jelly.

Thank GOD. My panicked fears of being hospitalized day three of my vacation had subsided. Actually, thank those guys.

I let the water run until we were out of hot water. Moments later, I heard my friends coming up the stairs and into our room.

“Hey! Where did you go!” they looked at my arm, “oh my god! Are you ok?”

I recounted the story. “Yeah! Hot water! I had no idea.”

“And pee didn’t work???” They were in disbelief, staring at the turquoise mug that sat in the corner of the shower.

We ate breakfast and the cook recommended I go to the pharmacy afterwards for a Benadryl. “Si, el pipí es un mito.”

“A myth?”

It turns out, peeing to relieve a jellyfish sting is mostly based on myth, with some thinking the recommendation was created by locals to make white people look dumb at the beach.

My stinging swirl marks lasted a few days, but the pain was gone with a little hot water. I felt lucky I hadn’t duck dived and engulfed my face with the tentacle. I managed to only have some light surface damage to my arm.

The next day, I recounted the story to a few Australian guys over breakfast, who also were in disbelief of the false remedy.

“You mean you ran back here at 7am to pee in a coffee cup!” He laughed and took a sip from his mug, then looked at me, then back down at his turquoise mug. I gave him a look. “Aw, come on! You know no one is really washing these things!”

And so my public service announcement spread. Unless you have really hot pee, don’t bother. Just stick with that agua caliente.

Caroline Walsh’s comedic memoir, Fairly Smooth Operator: My Life Occasionally at the Tip of the Spear, will be available September 2021. Visit carolinenw.com or follow her on Instagram to keep up.