Fan death and the mean monkey hammock
4 Mar
Meet Amy. Hilarious, compassionate, beautiful blue-eyed, inappropriate and strong Amy. We met in Korea, in case you didn’t remember. We re-met in Cambodia, Nepal, and India… our paths purposely crossing to co-create a world of adventure and trouble.
Amy is the yin to my yang. We trade ham for radishes at meals,and trade stories about farting afterward. She’s always up for any ridiculous and spontaneous adventure. Together, all things feel right.
All things, save for a few ‘incidents’ that we knew we’d laugh at once they were through.
“Fan death” is Korean folklore. Even the most educated Koreans believe that if you sleep in a room with the fan on and windows closed, you will die in your sleep. Although it makes no sense, it terrifies most Korean people. We always laughed at the idea of fan death, up until recently.
A few nights back, we found ourselves in a three-bed room with a steel fan that didn’t oscillate. Since I had the center bed, I figured it only fair that the fan point at me. Both Amy and our Canadian NGO friend agreed, and we passed out. I awoke in the middle of the night to a cold shiver. Too much fan. In the dark, I couldn’t see the switch to turn the damn thing off. Instead, and with a smirk of trickery, I turned the fan full blast at her and then jumped back into bed. I fell immediately, deeply, and comfortably asleep.
I awoke again to Amy frantically asking me how to turn on my headlamp. I caught a shimmer of something dark covering the palm of her hand as I flicked the button to turn the lamp on. “AMY!” I screamed, realizing that the shimmer was actually blood dripping down her fingers, flowing over her palm and making a beautiful waterfall down her right wrist. “What happened!!??”
We rushed her over to the sink to see the damage. Amy had attempted to find the switch to the fan as I had. Only, she somehow managed to get the tip of her pinky caught in the wire and gashed her finger open pretty bad. We applied pressure, neosporin, and multiple band-aids. She said it hurt a ton.
The next morning we called for a taxi to take us the last leg of our journey to our current home in Nicaragua, InanItah. Amy was enamored by the tiniest baby monkey on a chain at the hostel. As we sat to take some pictures, a big mean monkey crept out from behind the tree and began leaping full force, teeth bared, straight for Ames. Luckily, his chain was just a centimeter short. He bounded back to the tree multiple times, finally gripping hold of her hair with his tail. He just barely reached her sparkly bracelet with his front hand. Amy, not wanting it to break, let her hand move with the maniacal monkey. His big incisors made contact with her thumb flesh. Like a clamp, he bit down, not letting go for a few seconds.
The next few minutes passed in a daze. I didn’t realize the magnitude of the bite, and we concentrated our efforts on collecting the special beads from the debris beneath the tamarind tree. Tico, the monkey, wouldn’t give up. He continued to spin-kick towards Amy, levitating between the chain on the tree and her bangs. Like a mean monkey hammock.
The owner came out to see the commotion. In just a few seconds Tico was curled in his arms like a baby. Schizophrenic monkey perhaps? He explained that Tico spent most of his years defending his life with razor blades in cock fights. He was trained to kill, and this innate reaction wasn’t his fault. The small sign near the tree read, “Ouch! Monkey Bites!” This didn’t deter Amy, or dozens of other travelers who also recently got bit.
In the next two days we visited two clinics and a medical center to treat Amy’s highly painful swollen monkey bite. They gave her antibiotics, painkillers, and a tetanus shot to be safe. At the second clinic, the nurse cleaned her massively swollen palm and squeezed the pus out. It was nasty yet intriguing to watch. After another day the swelling went down, and Amy was able to bend her first three fingers. Now, five days later, the hand looks a million times better. She is bruised and has a massive gash, but thankfully no infections or diseases.
Funny enough, Amy’s main concern through the whole ordeal was her gold St. Christopher charm that was lost in the debris. The hostel owner promised to rake the area, but I didn’t have high hopes that it would be found. Was this an omen? Did this event happen for a reason? We’re unsure.
Miraculously, the charm resurfaced and made it’s way back to Amy’s person. A good omen? Perhaps. What was learned here? Amy learned to always sleep in the middle, and not to photograph ‘ugly monkeys.’ This girl has experienced the hospitals of every country she’s visited, and I’m glad to come along for the ride.
MRumianowski
Dear Melissa,
Your stories are mesmerizing as they take me away from my dull existence into a dreamlike state of mind, crossing over to where you and your companions are having the best times of your lives.
Have fun, be careful, and please don’t stop journalling. (I can’t wait to see the pics).
Love,
Uncle Dave
Melissa,
I enjoyed this story and will keep reading your blog. You are an excellent writer and should someday write a travel book or just a book on your journey of life.
PS: Do you have a first aid kit? ; )
Love you, Aunt Margaret
thanks aunt margaret! i have a few band-aids, i should invest in a better one! xxooo