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.
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...
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...
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...
I’d trekked around the area, seen all kinds of unusual flora and fauna. and taken an early morning jeep drive, out in the bush, which had been spectacular. And, fearlessly, that morning, I’d canoed down the river, for over 2 hours, and found myself almost hysterical with delight when I spied a huge group of hippos not a few metres from my boat, lounging on the river banks and two or three 90% immersed in the water...
The detective motioned to two of his men and without a word they grabbed me, one by each arm.
“You, madam, are going to a side room.”
Gripping me tightly, I was walked down a long, narrow corridor, at the bottom of which was a door with bars. Sick with anticipation, I willed them to keep walking on. They stopped, and one unlocked the door. With a rough shove, the other pushed me inside. It was a cell...
No-one said a word to me. I wondered how many times this had happened before, and cursed myself once more for having travelled alone. No-one knew where I was…I hadn’t used email for over a week, and hadn’t placed a single call to Europe in over a month and a half. My parents were used to these trips of mine, as were my friends. I’d chosen to travel incognito and now I was paying the price.
As I sat on the hard wooden bench, sticky and dehydrated from the heat and hot air blowing my way, I forced myself to face the unfortunate facts. However it had happened, I was in trouble. Zanzibar was semi-autonomous from Tanzania. There was no way – even if I could borrow the money for another boat ticket – that the authorities would let me leave without my passport. And all I had on me now was close to $20...
