Anybody who knows me or has traveled with me knows, I am
unbelievably clumsy in other countries. I don’t know what it is but something
about that foreign soil just brings it out of me! I was hoping this just
translated to temporary travels to other countries but apparently no, moving to
another country applies as well – and evidently means a higher frequency of
incidences. So at the suggestion of a friend, I decided to start a list. One
month in, here goes:
-
Dog attack (see previous blog post)
-
Splinter infection (as it turns out, I was
unable to remove one of the splinters from the Ilalo adventure. After giving it
a week to work itself out, it started to get infected and I figured a call to
the doc was in order. A few days later he got to digging with the biggest shot
needle I’ve ever seen and pulled out a thorn about half the width of my
fingernail)
-
Tree attack (there’s a ramp coming out of the
kitchen at the training center that is ridiculously slippery. There are about
3-5 victims a week, sometimes more, to this literal slippery slope. A week or
so ago my number was up and as I began my descent I descended a little farther
than I anticipated, tried to grab a tree for stabilization (I’ve got to stop
dong that) which decided instead to add a few stripes to my arm)
-
Glass! (this one was fun! It was embarrassing and painful…not to mention sticky. Some
of the groceries here apparently aren’t too fond of shopping baskets but rather
prefer to only provide the sizeable shopping cart (what can you expect from a
place called Mega Maxi). I only needed a few items so I figured my arms would
suffice. Wrong. As I was juggling the contents in my arms trying to reach for a
box on the shelf, the glass jar of honey at the bottom apparently slipped out
from beneath my arm and shattered at my feet. Panicking, I tried to pick up the
jar as best I could thinking the bottom had just broken out. Not so much. The
bottom had in fact shattered and picking it up only resulted in a stray shard
of glass slicing the side of my finger. Honey and blood do not mix well when
carrying an armful of carefully selected items and trying to find your phone in
your zipped up purse to call your friend to come help you. Not to mention I
have no idea what the words for “clean up on aisle 7” are in Español)
-
Who needs toenails anyways? (walking in Quito
the other day I managed to kick a curb I didn’t see was raised when walking.
Hurts for a second, move on…until you then kick a metal pole with the same toe,
followed by another something or other in the road. Cut to 2 days later doing a
team building activity where you had to walk in a line with balloons connecting
you. I managed to kick my already weakened toenail against the girl’s shoe in
front of me. Apparently her flats were just hard enough to finish the job the
street things had started in Quito; and 3 times was just enough to rip the top
of that nail right off! Fortunately the purple nail polish disguised the blood
just enough to not gross anyone out too much. Unfortunately my toenail clippers
were at home and I had to wait about an hour or 2 to completely finish the job
by hand)
And yes, if you haven’t noticed, this would be 5 incidences
in 6 weeks. Here’s to two years…if I make it that far!
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