Physio is a must - believe me - and don’t expect it to be pleasant either. If anything, it needs to hurt a bit - because, as they say, “no pain, no gain.” Personally, thought, not only did I find it much harder work than I’d anticipated, but it also gave me food for thought - how the body heals itself, how much education it takes to become a physiotherapist (not to mention patience) and how ingenious some of these gadgets are to help get your limbs moving again…
Life in the kitchen was just as frustrating. I could not use a knife (my left hand wasn’t sufficiently dexterous) so it was impossible to chop vegetables, spread butter or even cut a piece of cheese. Attempts to make an omelette ended in chaos, tearing plastic was hellish so I resorted to my teeth and trying to open a bag of vacuum-packed coffee reduced me to tears…
I awoke, three hours later, incredibly groggy and horribly nauseous; I could see that my wrist was re-plastered and tied to a metal pole next to my bed (it needed to be kept strictly vertical, apparently). The pain was sickening…I moaned out for water, then began babbling incoherently. Steve, a veteran friend, later described the scene as having stumbled on a crack-addict in her drug den…
“Yep - it’s a bad break” said the ER doctor, 15 minutes later as he ushered in a nurse to my cubicle. In her hand she held a syringe of morphine. Well, at least that was something. She shot the sweet liquid into my mouth and within a few seconds I felt my body relax. Dazed and giddy, I vaguely heard the doctor begin speaking…
Eduardo, however, is freaking out …and with good reason. You see, he grew up in Mexico City where robberies and kidnappings were rife, so the first thing he thinks when he sees the empty backpacks is “Twelve People have been shot and dumped out on the highway and w’re next.” Trying to allay his fears is going to be tough, if not impossible.
“But each day, over 1,300 Jordanians cross this border to Israel, to work in hotels in Eilat. Is Israel charging them a ‘Guide’ Tax?” (This, of course, is a rhetorical question - I know the answer full well).
The border guard scowls at me then turns to Eduardo. “Please control your wife, sir. ”
Our bus had not only left the Nicaraguan border late (what border guard doesn't like his siesta?) but had made two long stops because of engine problems. We finally rocked up in the capital at almost 10pm. It was late, we were hungry and exhausted, and the last bus to get us to La Ceiba had long since departed. We needed to bed down...
We took trips out to local caves, led by Mike, who knew the area like the back of his hand. Communal meals were served every night, and there was no typical guest either. From young backpackers to middle-aged couples and retirees with a sense of adventure, you never knew who you'd end up sitting next to. The only thing you were assured of was engaging company...
Putting my hand to my forehead, I knew I was burning up. After a long drink of cold water, I crawled under my net and into my sleeping bag, telling myself I was just overtired and needed nothing more than a good night’s sleep. Only a few hours later, I awoke to find myself drenched in sweat. Crying out in my sleep, the woman sharing my tent had woken up and switched on her torch, only to find me semi- delirious and running a fever of 40 degrees...
At 2am the following morning, we stumbled, bleary-eyed from our beds, dressed warmly then drank scalding hot tea to fortify ourselves. Soon we’d been dropped off at the path and the nine of us began walking, in silence, surgical masks over our faces to avoid swallowing ash. It was freezing and as we trekked on, I could feel myself making considerably more effort to breathe. No surprise of course - Mount Bromo stood at 2,292 metres...