I think I might just have to reassess part of my website title – Float-in Fumble-about Traveller - and rename it
"She’s a Travel Insurancer’s Nightmare!"
Today, as I was flicking through trips-of-the-past happy snaps I couldn’t help noticing there were a number of shots where I’m either wearing a moon boot, nursing a fat bloodied nose or looking a tad worse for wear thanks to ‘last night’s dinner’.
I’ll admit I’m a bit of a bumbler at times, but it’s dawned on me, when I travel, I don’t just have the occasional mishap,
I’m an accident prone disaster master.
A maestro of mischanter!
And it would appear that this is something I’m really good at.
Right from the very start when on our first trip, I kicked it all off by losing my eleven-year-old son one night in Nepal, and then got us kidnapped.
Yes, pretty sure that was what was happening.
There was machete and a gun. I’m just say’n. . .
So I’ve compiled a list of stumbles, fumbles, tumbles and down-right fuck-she’s-bloody-unlucky awkward moments to ponder while contemplating the next trip abroard.
I have fallen off Mount Olympos in Turkey and sprained my ankle.
I have fallen off a stupa in a small isolated village in Bhutan and sprained my ankle.
I have fallen off a look-out monument in New Zealand, totally stuffed my back and spent the rest of week laying prone in the rent-a-bomb camper-van while Mal spent the week forcing himself to go deep sea fishing around the beautiful Bay of Islands.
And in Nepal I fell off my bicycle and sprained my ankle. And my knee. And my wrist.
But it’s not all falling over! In the Perhentians I smacked myself out on a TV Cabinet when I bent over to pick up the backpack, and ended up nursing a bloodied nose and purple eye for near on a week.
If I’m not taking a tumble, I’m having the occasional run-in with the local wildlife – in Bali’s Monkey Forest I was attacked by a monkey. . . but then so has just about every other traveller to Ubud, mind you, my monkey wanted to rip my sarong off me.
I’ve also been chased by a monkey at Pura Uluwatu, stalked by a monkey in Langkawi and monkey mugged in Thailand. And charged by a rhino in Nepal.
In Sapa I was attacked by bed-bugs, chased by dogs in Bhutan, bitten by a fish in Penang (and I don't mean the touchy-feely fishy massage nibbles, this little blighter was a face fanger!), stung while snorkelling in the Perhentians, chased some more by cows in Bhutan and in Vietnam, narrowly missed being bitten by a highly venomous snake as it slithered between my legs. Oh and it also emits a toxic poison through it's glands – like seriously, this little mother-sucker means business and so I proceeded to spend the next two days in a state of high anxiety compulsively exploring my ankle for a rash and wondering how long it would take to die from a snake fart.
I’ve narrowly missed being caught up in a bomb attack on a temple in Thailand, slept through a bombing in Nepal, arrived the morning a cyclone hit Fiji, and found myself in the midst of an earthquake in Nepal, and not realised it.
I was pick-pocketed in France, and possibly car-jacked in Vietnam – well it entailed a man hoping in our car uninvited, telling the driver to take him to some place nowhere near where we were going to and then refusing to get out until he got there.
I’ve been cursed by a little old lady in Nepal, goosed by men in Istanbul, and flipped the bird by a sweet little hill tribe lady in the Golden Triangle.
But it’s not just been me who suffers from travel misadventure.
Mal also has his own little fumble moments (funny thing is, it's always when he’s with me) – he was drugged in Thailand, escorted into a police booth in Malaysia, got stuck in the doors of a bus in Singapore (his backpack on the outside of the bus, still strapped to his back!) and was also chased by cows in Nepal, oh, and his faced swelled up and turned a very funny shade of purplish-red with strange white spots in Kota Bharu (Malaysia).
And then there’s been the times I’ve had to cut a trip short.
Like the time I’d just flown into Singapore to start a six week trip through Asia – and within 24hours of landing I developed purple bruises all over my body along with flu symptoms, thought I had meningococcal, went into overdrive, had a massive panic/anxiety attack and caught the very next flight home (dosed up on Valium given to me by a Singaporean Doctor who told me I had nothing to worry about – of course I didn’t believe him) - turned out, I had a common cold and the bruising was from the aspirin-thinner I’d taken the week prior to help reduce the risks of DVT clots.
Or when I found myself (7weeks into a 5months trip) in the Chiang Mai hospital with a severe case of stomach cramps and not-so-worried doctors – off course I launched into another panic attack, cancelled the rest of my trip (I was just about to fly into Burma) and instead jumped onto a plane for home - weeks later it was confirmed I had a lovely little amoeba taking up residence in my gut.
It refused to vacate for the next four years.
And then there was the time my darling grandmother died while I was wandering around Turkey.
Yet no matter how unlucky I’ve been - and I like to think I’ve been extremely lucky! - there’s absolutely no way I’d stop travelling, it wouldn’t matter if I’m here or ‘over there’, every little fumble makes me feel alive.
Plus I just realised, I personally know five people who’ve been attacked by sharks.
I don’t even go to the beach, let alone surf.
What are the chances of that!?
Hello! I'm Kerry
. . . a plan-nothing, have no idea where I'm going travelholic.
A daughter of the gypsies and the wife of a workaholic, I'm forever wondering 'What's over there?' and devising ways to squeeze through the barbed-wire fence of small-business ownership responsibilities and every-day life tangles to discover it.
and this is my book.
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