I have been hesitant to record this little story but have changed my mind since reading in a recent WordPress newsletter, of one writer’s experiences with constipation! If it’s okay to write about constipation, then I figure I’m ok with this.
My traveller’s tale dates back to July last year on the path of the famous Cinque Terre walk – between Vernazza and Corneglia to be precise. It was a stunning day, a mid-morning temperature hovering around 32 degrees Celsius, not a cloud in the sky and not a breath of wind. It was heaven. My daughter and I set off on our day’s trek – equipped with bottles of water – after a lengthy breakfast of delicious pastries and two long blacks (coffee that is!).
We had to be very careful. The path was steep and narrow with ancient steps of uneven height and camber.
It wasn’t too long before the call of nature came and thankfully there was a thicket to the right of the track. I checked that the people in front were well ahead and that there was nobody too close behind, then ducked into the bush with my packet of all-purpose tissues.
Ket kept watch.
We’re not talking big trees here or dense foliage – we’re talking sparse, few leaves, lots of stalks and lots of air. I was crouched low – as you do – for the ground was uneven.
As I was pulling up my britches I stumbled and I fell backwards. Fearing a less than ideal landing spot I grabbed the nearest vine with both hands. OMG, the pain! The vine was covered in extremely sharp long curved prickles. I screamed in agony and when I got secure footing looked down at my hands.
They were not only covered in grit and blood but were torn to shreds! What a disaster …
One doesn’t want to make a fuss, especially in such embarrassing circumstances. So I used the few tissues I had left as tourniquets and clenched my fists (while gritting my teeth) to help dull the pain. We trudged on … I was not a happy camper …
We soon arrived at a little cafe perched on the cliffside. We ducked in and ordered coffee to give me an excuse to use the bathroom and give my hands a good wash, get all the grit out. I wound more paper over the wounds … I must have looked very peculiar trying to drink my coffee with hands wrapped in tissue.
An hour or so later we descended the hillside to spend some time at a beautiful swimming spot. Calm tranquil water, crystal clear and warm. I wasn’t at my best but stoically endured the sting of salt water on my cuts and grazes.
The wounds took several weeks to heal during which time my hands were not soft like a baby’s bottom.
I’m sure there’s a message in here somewhere.
My daughter said that my mistake was in having two long blacks so early in the morning!