Down, but not out.

About a month before I left for India I fell and hurt my ankle. Whilst ice was being packed around my foot I blubbed like a baby, not at the pain, but at the unthinkable thought that if my ankle was broken i'd have to postpone my trip. An x-ray showed that all the bones were intact and after a week or so of hobbling around on crutches and resting as much as possible I was pleased with the speed at which the swelling & bruising had gone, and how slowly, but surely, it was getting better.

The fortnight before my flight life was crazy though. At very short notice I had to find a new flat to rent which had Dad & I racing around Paris for a week, then I had to move and unpack, run around organising change of addresses etc and catch up and say goodbye to everyone before I left. All of this left little time for resting my leg or getting to a physiotherapists, but I felt confident I would be able to hike in a good pair of strong boots and with not too much weight on my back. I purposely packed the least amount of kit possible and was pleased when my pack weighed in at just over 8Kg at Charles de Gaulle. My first few days in Delhi however prooved me wrong.

Streets here in India are haphazard and crazy; not just with the mass of people, traffic and trading that' s going on but also the trash, animals and broken ground that are underfoot. Walking down a busy street requires you look up to make sure you don't run into anyone, simultaneously look left and right to ward off potential hagglers and keep and eye out for yummy street food, glance back from time to time to move over and let cows or motorbikes past and constantly look down so as to navigate the broken pavements, rubbish and sleeping dogs. It's an exhausting exercise until you get the hang of it, which usually takes a day or two.
As I slowly ' found my feet' on my first day in Delhi the less I had to concentrate on navigating the more I became aware of how I was walking over obstacles; unnaturally leading with my left leg putting me slightly off balance but 'saving' my right ankle from a potentially wobbly landing. Looking down I realised why. My right ankle had puffed up like a poppadom and was starting to hurt. Damn. This wasn't supposed to be happening, but still it was hot and humid, i'd spent all day yesterday immobile in an airplane and was now tramping around in flip-flops. Maybe it wasn't so surprising my ankle wasn't happy.

The next day I sent off in my hiking boots and walked a lot less, but when I pulled off my boots in the night train the result was the same as the day before. Giant swollen ankle starred back at me, inflamed and angry.

"Ouch, that looks nasty", said the westerner in the bunk across from me. "Let me take a look" said Chris, introducing himself as an orthopedic surgeon from Cambridge.
He agreed with the x-ray from Paris but frowned when I mentioned I was going to trek.
"Nothing major's broken" he said, "I'll take a look again in the morning when the swelling has gone down" and handed me some anti-inflammatories.
"Thanks!", I said, thinking how chance meetings had already had me run into Tathania in Delhi, now a drug-totting doctor on a train. My travel karma seemed to be functioning well at the moment!

As ever the night on the train was peaceful and I slept well. Traveling overnight on these old sleepers is something I always look forward to when I think of coming back to India and I often wish we had something similar in Europe.
" Chai, Chai, Chai!" yelled the tea-wallah as he made his way down through the carriage. I was wide awake and as Chris was still under his blanket I bought a couple of hot, sweet brews for the both of us. It'd didn't sweeten his verdict any though.
" You see how it's swollen at the back, and how it hurts you here when I press here". I yelped.
" That means some of the small bones in your ankle are probably broken or fractured and that's what's causing the pain and swelling. You need to rest this rather than trek if you don't want to do more damage" he said looking me squarely in the eye. " That's the only treatment there is. Rest." I tried to hide my disappointment but obviously didn't do it well. "Sorry" said Chris, looking down into his tea.

I thanked him, laced up my boots tightly, swung my pack over my shoulders and jumped down off the train trying to come to grips with what i'd just been told. My ankle sent a sharp pain up my leg as I landed as if to help hammer the point home and I trudged up the road from the station in the dark, looking for a jeep or bus on up the 36km to Nainital.

As the sun rose and we raced around the switchbacks up the hills my spirit soared at again being back in India. I love this part of arriving in the mountains and no bad news from Chris was going to change that. For now I'd found what I'd dreamed of and be scared of missing when I fell 6-weeks back- being back in the foothills of the Indian Himalaya. One of my favourite places on earth!