Last night I was sitting with Jon and Chris, sitting at a table set out on the street, drinking a beer. Up "walk" two people, a man and a woman, the woman with a large cast on her leg, walking with crutches. They ask us if we can help them find a tuk tuk, and sure, we say. But please sit down. And then hours later, we're still all sitting together, telling stories, laughing. Nice friends.
They were on a bus in Burma, four hours north of Rangoon. The bus spun off the road. It flipped once down a hill, twice, three times. All in the flash of a second. Bodies were piled upon bodies. People were dead. The Dutch man screamed, wanting to know that his partner was alive. She answered, but she was bleeding badly. He pushed off bodies, heavy weights on both he and her. He broke the glass of a window and then helped her climb out of the bus. She'd torn 34 tendons in her ankle.
They road in the back of a pickup to Rangoon, looking up a sky filled with stars. In the hospital in Rangoon the doctor wanted to stitch her ankle up, but he had no idea about the tendons. But she knew; she's a nurse. So they caught a plane to Bangkok, still all in shock. They got to a good hospital, on Sukumvit. Four days of surgery.
And here they are, continuing their travels! They want to go to Nepal.
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