Denniblog

My recent surprise contact from somebody who knows of our 1985 exploits involving Ganges dolphins (Platanista gangetica) has resulted in me searching for more info on same (the area we visited is now a dolphin sanctuary), and some of my other haunts as well.

And behold, there is a blog dedicated to the dolphins of Sarawak. Apparently, Irawaddy dolphins (Orcaella brevirostris) are still relatively common in the area, although by-catches and pollution pose problems. There was a fledgling dolphin watch enterprise in operation while I was there (I never noticed it) and—even better—a local kajak enthusiast who might even have set me up for a field survey! If only I had known *sigh*. But there is now a research initiative and a conservation movement in place and proper guidelines will hopefully ensure responsible dolphin watching which will bring income to local operators.

Read through Pesut’s blog and—if you can—book a trip with FH-2-GO, the kayak operator. I’ll envy you!

[EDIT: with regard to my previous post, this is what I consider fair and responsible eco-tourism. I doubt that any of the local operators would ask for “thousands of pounds”. I also have a feeling that a discount is on the cards if you want to go out every day for a week in order to make notes ;)]

The review committee at Worldnomads has found in my favour (I think I have blogged this before) and have now settled my claim. The settlement is fair and it means that I can replace my backpack and sturdy boots which I will need for that Greenland trip (I haven’t given up! I’m trying to wangle one of the cheaper ‘rød pris’ tickets).

I’m over the moon! Sure, my financial situation isn’t as dire as after that SE Asia trip, but replacing the equipment would have thrown a spanner into my planning even before the high travel costs did. Greenland ain’t flip-flop country!

I’ve just received a letter from the Internal Dispute Resolution Committee at Mondial/WN informing me that they have overturned the initial decision to deny my claim.

It means that I can replace the camera in time for my trip to Prague. But I may never travel with a backpack again.

Why?

This is what I acquired when the ship docked at Maumere (Flores) and I found a cheap guesthouse directly opposite a second hand clothes market (the only one I’ve seen in Indonesia–providence or what??):

1 Microsoft Software Developer’s Conference shoulder bag anno 1999 (It wasn’t the most practical, but I couldn’t resist it for my hubby),

1 long dress,

1 pair light cotton trousers,

1 pair swimming shorts,

2 T-shirts,

1 towel,

1 each: toothbrush, toothpaste, nailclipper, razor, soap

…and that’s it. I still had my jeans, long-sleeved shirt and wind jacket but everything fitted comfortably into the shoulderbag and weighed in at under 5kg. It was enough. So, henceforth I may just travel with hand luggage (although I also carry a Swiss army knife, so I’ll still have to check it in).

And the sting in the tale? — My reply email to Worldnomads just bounced!

…I get back to my travel journal at some stage. Right now it’s about the last thing on my mind.

(Incidentally, names of employees have been removed by request)

My reply:

[QUOTE]
Further to your message from 27th March; you have attached the decline letter for claim 250053, which refers to my digital camera (separately insured). I subsequently submitted a claim for the backpack and my other belongings, stolen during the same incident, which you closed without comment. These two claims will have to be combined and I await a new reference number for use in my correspondence with IDR.

The original decline letter also refers to an enclosed brochure outlining the IDR process which I have not received. I enquired about this and received the following email on March 7th:

[QUOTE]
Dear Ms Schnapp,

The information you requested was posted to your home address on the 24th of Feb, please be aware that international mail can take up to 4 weeks to reach its destination,

Kind Regards

Y
Client Services Consultant

Mondial Assistance House
74 High Street, Toowong QLD 4066 Australia
P. 1800 066 896
F. +61 7 3305 7016
[/QUOTE]

I have still not received the information I requested.

Furthermore you have not included an address where to write to or the name of the person who will deal with this matter; which reminds me: why do you keep addressing me as ‘Miss’ and, in the case of X, even sign off with ‘Yours Faithfully’? Do I not have a name?

[/QUOTE]

Oooops, look who’s forgotten to address the lovely Miss Denise in turn! That was entirely unintentional. The rest of the exchange continues with the email I replied to above. The elements of the attached letter of decline which actually refer to WN’s decision are marked in bold:
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The insurers have denied my claim for the stolen backpack.

It isn’t so much that which felt like a punch in the stomach (although it is that part which leaves me feel winded), as it’s the way in which it was worded. When the message notification popped up in my inbox, I expected them to ask for more receipts. But the message started promising:
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…and indeed to the ground staff and medical personnel who cared for me in Amman and to Ian who looked after me throughout the flight and during our stop-over, nearly risking missing his own connection in the process.

I’ll make sure that I never run out of Xanax again when boarding a plane!

I re-iterate that, for patients with a history of panic attacks, this drug should be available without a prescription. Even two of these little pills might have saved the day.

More about this shortly.

It had to happen, given that this condition is psychosomatic. Having a panic attack on a plane was high on my list of nightmares, because I suffered my first violent attack on the day before I had to fly home from Gran Canaria— strangely enough almost exactly four years ago.

The tranquiliser capsule which my first Angel had given me wasn’t sufficient merely as a crutch. Before dinner was even served, I had to take it. What the heck, I thought: it can’t be that far to Amman.

It was far. Less than four hours later, the tranquiliser had worn off. I took half of the white tablet, but to no effect. Twenty minutes later, I chomped down the other half. It tasted like chalk. Was it a placebo?

The flight was barely 1/3rd full, so we had at least a double seat each. I tried to relax as much as possible, shaking quietly, hoping that this thing would pass unnoticed. But predictably enough, the shakes turned to spasms, throwing me clean out onto the floor. Plenty of leg room on Royal Jordanian flights.
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It was almost twelve o’clock by the time I woke up the next morning, so I figured I might as well hang on to the room for another day. My flight was not due to leave until almost midnight and I could do with the rest. Meanwhile it wouldn’t hurt to visit the local pharmacy which the Italian had said had particularly helpful staff. They might sell me some tranquilizer—some people apparently manage to get the stuff over the counter here. They might also know the name of the hospital where I was at yesterday morning. The taxi driver had kept the slip of paper, but it had to be the nearest one to the Kao San Road. I would go back there and set the record straight, retrieve my tourist card, find some way of paying that bill. However, when I tried to explain my predicament to the poor girls who worked there (they didn’t know the hospital) I was overcome by intense dizzyness and promptly collapsed again. Clearly, this wasn’t going to stop. Whatever was happening represented a real medical problem and there was no alternative but give in to it and seek treatment. One way or the other.

Damn.
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I remember only having a single beer that night. I struggled with it. It didn’t feel right.

There was a bit of banter. The Moroccon owner of the bar, which comprised just a row of tables and chairs on the pavement, was thrilled to learn that I can count to seven in Arabic and he kept clinking my bottle. I would force a grin and take a sip every now and then. Time stretched like molten cheese. Then, suddenly, I became very dizzy. I hit the floor. Consciousness contracted, as if I was perceiving everything through a pinhole.

(The following was meant to be in a smaller font size, but the relevant HTML tag doesn’t work with these settings. Never mind, I guess you’ll get the drift):
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