Stranded and Stung

One of the things we were most looking forward to in Malaysia was a visit to the Perhentians—a small group of islands off the northeast coast of the mainland peninsula. Palm trees, white sand beaches, world class snorkeling...about as close to a 'tropical island paradise' as either of us has ever been. Picture something like this, and you've pretty much got it.

We were sooo excited. Sean had never been snorkeling before, and it felt like it had been ages since we'd had a chance to just relax and not have to do anything. About three days before we were scheduled to arrive there, we learned we couldn't go. The entire east coast of the country is right smack in the middle of their annual “monsoon season”, we were told. Sadly, we were forced to re-imagine what “paradise” might actually look like right now.

We had been informed that if we managed to get to the island, everything would be shut down, and we'd be lucky if we could get back again in between horrendous rain storms. Of course, no one at the non-refundable hotel we booked on the extremely tourist dependent island bothered to mention this tiny detail, and none of our pre-trip research exposed any information about the island's weather patterns. Talk about bummed. But what can ya do? It was pretty clear that miserable, drenched, and stranded was not how we wanted to spend any of our time in Malaysia.

Such a big part of traveling is learning to roll with the punches. You work with what you've got, do your best to stay flexible, and play whatever cards you get dealt. So we altered our plans last minute. We decided to spend more time in Penang—an area we had heard wonderful things about—and try to squeeze in a little snorkeling elsewhere. We booked the majority of our remaining time (five nights) in Georgetown, Penang, and planned to spend two days and one night on nearby Langkawi Island, where we could lay on the beach and (hopefully) do a little snorkeling.

We ran into a few glitches getting there, but eventually made it to our hotel on Langkawi after a short ferry ride, two buses, a long ferry ride, and a “teksi”. When we finally arrived, we made a b-line for the nearest beach (another 25 minute cab ride away) and lounged in the sun for what was left of the afternoon. At the beach, we looked around for the best snorkeling option for the following day. There were a few different ways to go about getting our faces in the water, but we eventually settled on doing an “Island Drop”. This entailed being taken out to a private island in the bay by boat and left there for as long as we wanted (or until about 5pm, whichever came first). It was far from the most affordable option, but seemed the only way to spend any decent amount of time snorkeling, and was also appealing for obvious other reasons.

The next morning, we woke up, checked out, and headed right back to the beach and arranged our ride out the the island. The view on the boat ride alone was spectacular. As we left the crowded beach behind us and headed out among the islands in the bay, we were filled with excitement and thrilled with the choice we had made (even if it did mean splurging a bit).

 We were dropped on a secluded strip of beach about a hundred yards long, complete with an abandoned shack and a nice shady spot under an overhanging tree. Perfect! We threw down our towels, and started fitting on our masks and snorkels. We'd been given only one set of fins, but planned to take turns. Sean waded out into the water, and I followed close behind him.

We noticed immediately that the water was cloudy and the visibility poor due to the wave action stirring up the sand on the beach, but figured we'd head out a little ways and see if it didn't improve. We had been in the water all of a minute and a half, when my foot hit the bottom and I felt a sharp, stabbing pain.

I called to Sean as I flailed around, back-paddling towards the beach and trying desperately not to brush the bottom again as a moved through the shallow water. Lifting my leg out of the water, I immediately guessed what had happened. There were a handful of short black spines protruding from my foot, and a good many more barbs that had broken off beneath the surface of my skin. I had been unlucky enough to have kicked a sea urchin.

I was unable to stand or do anything about my foot with the movement of the waves, so Sean scooped me up and carried me over to our towels. I removed the spines that I could grasp, and dug through my bag for a pair of tweezers I happened to have with me. They did no good, as the rest of the spines were completely buried. Meanwhile the entire side of my foot had turned red. We had brought only our small packs on our overnight trip and had left the first-aid kit behind due to lack of space (of course!). The panic of not knowing what to do or how severe the injury might be, and not having proper supplies, was exacerbated by the fact that we were stuck out on an island by ourselves. We rinsed the wounded area with clean water and—acknowledging that neither of us knew the first thing about sea urchin injuries—decided the only logical thing to do was to call for help.

Fortunately, we had a cell phone with us and had taken down the number of the guy who dropped us off. He hadn't been planning on coming back to get us for another four hours, so Sean tried desperately to overcome the language barrier and explain to him what had happened and that we needed him to come right away. Eventually, he understood. We waited for what felt like forever, but was actually more like 40 minutes. When they finally arrived, Sean carried me to the boat and we headed back to the  main beach. Knowing that we were no longer stranded or alone and that some sort of help was available at the beach was incredibly comforting, and from that point on, we mostly found our ordeal to be pretty funny.

As we pulled up on the beach, a crew of guys ran down from the lifeguard stand carrying a backboard. I laughed and insisted that it was overkill, but they didn't seem deterred in the least. Four full grown men carried me the whole 20 yards up the beach as I giggled incessantly at the absurdity of it all. At the lifeguard stand, a group of people gathered to offer assistance (and to see what the fuss was about). The first aid I received was interesting, to say the least. One guy scraped at the barbs with his fingernail. Another squirted my foot with vinegar. But the strangest part was this:

Apparently the local's treatment for sea-urchin stings is to whack the imbedded spines repeatedly with a plastic shoe horn? It's entirely unclear where this practice came from, and what the logic behind it is, but it seemed to work (kind of). The redness disappeared almost immediately, and the pain (mostly) subsided within a few minutes. I was able to hobble around on it for the rest of the afternoon, and it seemed to improve steadily afterwards.

It's hard not to feel sorry about our snorkeling adventure being ruined (twice), but I guess sometimes things just don't work out the way you plan. And when you're traveling, chances are, some sort of adventure is in store wherever you go, whether you plan it or not.
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*Foot Injury Update* For anyone feeling especially concerned (or inexplicably interested in the goings on of my appendages): I have had a strange tingling sensation in my foot that started 2-3 days after it was stung. I feel it only when pressure (of even the slightest sort) is exerted on one particular spot where the sea urchin spines entered. When this “sweet spot” is touched, or the muscle around it flexed, a tingling sensation shoots up my foot, finishing at the tip of my big toe. I can only assume that one (or more) of the spines that remain in my foot is interfering somehow with my nerves, and is creating this disturbing sensation. I intend to visit a “real” doctor or hospital the first chance I have to get a proper exam done and figure out what's going on. Unfortunately, there aren't any appropriate facilities in the Sumatran Jungle—where we are currently—so when exactly this will happen, I'm not entirely sure. The good news is, I'm still able to walk fine, and the condition seems to be stable (read as “well, at least it's not getting any worse”). Rest assured that we're on the look out for signs of infection (of which there are absolutely none) and have zero idea what to do beyond that.

*Update #2* Yesterday we made the difficult decision to skip some of our time in Berestagi to come into Medan and see a doctor. We started off at the hospital, where I was asked simply for my name, date of birth and (of course) religious preference before being seen by a general physician. Her English was pretty limited, but she took a quick look at my foot, gave me an injection of something she said was "to calm the nerves", charged me a mere 10,000 IDR (about $10) and told me to come back at 5 to see the neurologist. Feeling a tad skeptical about all this, we phoned the local US embassy to ask their advice. They informed us that medical care in Indonesia is generally sub-par, and they would recommend going to Singapore or Vietnam for anything serious. They also gave me the name of the doctor who the embassy employees use for small stuff here in Medan. He went to school in the UK and speaks English well, they told me. I called to make an appointment and went in to see him late this afternoon. He seemed to think the sensation I'm experiencing is related to the tendon rather than the nerves, and was of the opinion it would probably go away in a month or two (!?!). He was somewhat concerned about infection and prescribed a course of standard antibiotics (which we've already got with us) and a topical antibiotic as well. He seemed far more interested in where we were headed next, and in offering us unsolicited advice about malaria (as well as popular tourist destinations), but hey, if he's not worried, perhaps I shouldn't be either? In any case, there's not a whole lot more I can do about it now, short of flying to Singapore (which of course, I'll do if it gets any worse). Otherwise, I suppose I'll just wait it out and take my Cipro...

It's been an interesting few days to say the least. The whole incident has made us both very wary of foreign medical services, and has left us feeling extremely thankful that neither of us has incurred a more serious injury abroad (knock on wood). We've become frighteningly aware of how much we take reliable medical care for granted in the states, and what a hassel it can be to seek care elsewhere. Hoping this is a solitary experience for us, because though being sick or having an injury is never enjoyable, it's even less fun to deal with in another country.