The Foot

The Foot

Now you will have to excuse this next blog of mine. It is going slightly off course but I feel this is a story that needs to be told. This tale is about a foot, a foot that had a huge impact on the next leg of my tour (excuse the pun) and is deserving of an entire blog post to itself. 

If you read the previous entry you’ll remember I had joined a team of guys in Miami. For myself and two of the boys, John and Tom, we were heading to Mexico. We had an early flight at 7 am so the night before I opted for an early one and left the boys to their antics.

Around 2am a hysterical John returned to the room moaning that he’d fallen and hurt his foot. I put the dramatics down to alcohol. For the next few hours John wept and wailed as Tom and I tried to console him. 

We should have realised then that he wasn’t joking but the foot looked fine and so we assumed his tears were purely whisky fueled. Sticking to the plan, we got up at 4am to head to the airport but John was still in pain. We urged him to go to the ER (I kind of wanted to see the hunky doctors) but by this point it was either go to the hospital or fly to Mexico. John was adamant we weren’t missing that flight and so we helped him hobble along.

For the remainder of this Mexican adventure the sole focus was the foot! When I look back at our trip I don’t think about the white sandy beaches, the nachos or nights at Coco Bongo, I think of the foot. The big, fat, purple foot that caused us no end of problems. 

First came the foot and the luggage. As nice as staff were, the hassle of hauling our luggage and pushing John in an airport wheelchair was a stress. It did however mean we got to skip a lot of queues. Little tip there, if you fake an injury you may get to queue jump.

Next came the foot and a wheelchair. Arriving in Cancun we quizzed hostel staff where we could hire a wheelchair. After hours of frantically searching downtown we found one. Relieved to get a rest John collapsed into it and Tom took the handles. It was only then that we realised that is is near impossible to push a 6ft4 guy along cobbled Mexican streets. 

So then came the foot and the crutches. For anyone that’s been to Mexico you’ll know that it’s not the most urgent or ogranised of places. This meant that a lot of people said they had crutches and ran off to get them but then never returned. Maybe it was the hilarity of watching three sweaty gringos run about town looking for some random crutches. 

You may ask why we simply didn’t take John to the hospital. It turned out John’s insurance didn’t cover him south of the US border and he refused to pay the medical bills in Mexico. So a piece of BEX FYI: always make sure your insurance covers you for your whole trip and in every location. 

We spent ten days enjoying Cancun’s beaches and nightlife along with the foot. In the morning the foot lay in bed as we brought it breakfast. The foot then hobbled onto the bus for our journey to the beach and then luckily the foot could rest on the sand all day. Come night time and the foot became quite intoxicated so that the boy at the end of the foot could forget the pain. The foot then very stupidly danced most of the night until the foot collapsed in pain back at the hostel leaving its owner howling in agony. An obvious tip here: don’t dance on a broken foot.

However, at this point John didn’t know his foot was broken. We still thought it was a sprain but after 6 days John finally caved and allowed us to take him to a clinic. Armed with my basic spanish and a dictionary we stumbled through mexican procedures until a doctor finally confirmed the inevitable. The foot was broken. A small bone on the top of the foot had snapped but el medico said no crutches  or cast would be necessary, only rest was needed. And so for another 8 days the saga of the foot continued.