I made it across two rocks before I slipped on the third. I fell on my right shin and flopped gracelessly into the creek.
I was right next to the elephants when it happened, and made some kind of shriek because my leg hurt like hell. The guides got me out of there quickly and the elephants made snuffling, distressed noises and came out of the creek when I did, swinging their trunks and one of the bigger ones was scratching the ground with its giant foot.
“See, the elephants are worried about you! They know something happened and it scared them too.”
I don’t know if that was actually true, or if the guide lied to keep me from freaking out.
I was more than a little intimidated. I felt compelled to bow to the elephants to tell them I was fine, even with blood streaming down my leg.
No OCD concerns about germs, health, and safety over here. One of the guides patted at my wounds with his sandy hands, and the Irish nurse cringed and thought to herself: “Oh, don’t do that. Don’t do that.”
We kept hiking.