I sent my passport in to get a page supplement and was a bit worried about it, as it’s been looking a bit… let’s just say ‘tired’. I spoke too soon in my last post, in fact. As feared, the Embassy determined that my passport was not in condition to get new pages and that I needed a new one. They were not returning my old one; I had to go there in person. It was Monday morning, and Friday I was meant to be off to Oktoberfest. A week after that, Africa. What to do?
I was first in line at the Embassy on Tuesday, passport photos and birth certificate in hand. Luckily, I was allowed in as an ‘emergency’ and went through the process of getting a temporary passport (phew!) and a new one, which is to take 10-15 days. D’oh! That wasn’t going to be in time for Africa, and there weren’t enough pages in the temporary one for the number of countries I would visit. They gave me a glimmer of hope by saying they’d put a “little note” on it to rush, but to still expect 10-15 days. I put all my faith in the American Embassy, hoping that for once my government bureaucracy could do something right, via a post-it note.
The tightly crossed fingers got in the way of a gigantic beer-stein which smashed against mine during an animated “Prost!” in Oktoberfest. Glass everywhere, I looked down to see blood on the table and thought “Oh no! Someone was cut!” And then I realized that someone was me. Blood was gushing a little too quickly out of my pinkie. It was a very small, but deep, cut across the blood vessel on the knuckle. I knew I would need stitches.
Oktoberfest (photo taken a previous year)
The Germans, ever efficient, had put massive red balloons up at the first aid stations. No matter how much you drank, there was no missing them. A friend led me towards the nearest balloon, over a tent where they actually glued my finger shut. Interesting, and definitely easier than stiches. Best of all, the nurse stated that I could keep drinking and dancing – probably until I fell over and needed more first aid. She also mentioned that the event organisers had changed the glasses a few years ago. Prior to that, she had seen far more broken bones. Now, it was cuts. Hmm.
I am meant to be using this hand in just over a week to climb Spitzkoppe, otherwise known as ‘The Matterhorn of Africa’ at 1,800m. Now, not only am I out of shape but also with a lame finger. And no passport! Oh, and a bit hung over, but that should pass… I hope.
This article originally appeared on MSN UK Travel.
