Late one afternoon, I twisted my ankle.
It happened whilst I was descending a short flight of stone steps in the temple at Karnak, just outside the city of Luxor. In the fading light, mesmerised by the massive stone columns all around me, the largest in the ancient world, I missed a step, stumbled and fell.
When I got up, my ankle hurt.
That night, back in my room, it began swelling up.
I was staying in a seedy end of Luxor, in a low budget hotel. It reminded me of Old Dehli; there was a maze of narrow streets thronging with people and traffic. I liked the area. It was boisterous, run down, and colourful. It was a place where one could get pleasantly lost in, especially in the evenings, when it was cool and everyone appeared on the streets.
But that evening, I couldn’t go anywhere.
The pain in my ankle was searing.
I hobbled to a small backstreet restaurant but half way through my meal, with the pain throbbing in my ankle, I realised I needed medical attention. It occurred to me that I might have broken my ankle and it that was the case, then my trip was over.
The owner of the restaurant ordered me a taxi and told the driver to take me to the casuality department of the nearest hospital.
All I needed was a doctor. But I was in no mood to argue the point. The taxi appeared and away we went …… Read more