HAXTRAX - Greg Hackett
IT IS HIS FIRST VISIT TO FRIENDLY KAMPOT IN SOUTHERN CAMBODIA, BUT GREG HACKETT IS DYING TO GET HOME.
The gecko raises her head and glares at me; how dare I intrude on her slumber, perched on the cool top of the fridge in the ground-floor guesthouse room. “Sorry, but you have to relocate,” I apologise as I gently scoop her up and walk towards the ensuite bathroom. But the gecko dashes out of my cupped hands and disappears into the brickwork.
CHINESE INVASION
This is my first Kampot visit. Since my favourite Cambodian getaway, Sihanoukville, has suffered death by “Chinacide” - the sleepy beachside guesthouses and bars bulldozed; the Cambodian people’s annual holiday destination mutated into Chinese-only hi-rise casino-hotels. The remaining diehard, expat bar owners have migrated to Kampot, and they are not happy about the “invasion”.
After a quick recon; walking several blocks and noting the location of bars, street food vendors and the ubiquitous mini-marts, I’m back in my room. Washing my face, feet and hands, it’s clear that the newly-built bathroom, with openings in the brick walls for airflow and Cambodia’s plumbing technique that blocks the drains to cause a temporary flood, is a mosquito magnet.
SNEAK ATTACK
Suddenly, “SPLAT” - something softish and stickyish and coldish lands on the back of my neck. Desperately groping at the unseen assailant, I’m turning this way and that. Eventually calming down and looking in the mirror, I extract the offender: Fridge Gecko. The cheeky little blighter has pulled off a perfect ninja ambush; Cato couldn’t have done it better on Inspector Clouseau. And that’s not all - a warm wetness is trickling from my neck down my back ... gecko has peed on me. This time I make sure gecko goes out an opening into the garden.
Two days into my Kampot stay, and a headache expands into a severe fever with excruciating pressure behind my eyes. I can’t even drink cold beer
- this is serious.
It is the weekend and conclusion of Cambodia’s Water Festival, so no English-speaking medicos available. Even the hospital is closed. An exhaustive 100-metre stumble to a chemist results in ibuprofen and sleeping tablets. Might as well spit on a bushfire. I also buy electrolytes powder.
FEVER ATTACK
The guesthouse’s nonenglish speaking but ultra-friendly manager keeps up a supply of bottled water as I lay, semi delirious, on a perspiration drenched mattress; two more days of feverish heat/ chills, shaking, barely able to move, with forehead and eyes ready to explode, and unbearable itchiness in hands and feet.
My vision becomes blurred – this is scary. Monday the hospital opens. A tuk tuk is needed to travel the meagre 50-metres.
The “hospital experience” itself would fill a novella. In brief, after laying on a bench, shivering and watching the young doctor flirting with the younger trainee receptionist for two hours, I realise I must pay the cashier ($US cash of course) first and then comes treatment. Doctor is now very helpful and sends me next door for a blood test (more $US). The diagnosis: Low calcium. “What
The .... !” Here I am, certain I must be near death with a new strain of something with a name like West Chindwin Bungo Bungo Fever, and the doctor says I just need to eat more cheese. Hah! Try finding anything “dairy” here.
FEVER RETREAT
Then comes a week of taking calcium supplements and paracetamol, eating nothing but watermelon and sleeping. The fever subsides. I have travel insurance, but choose not to use it – the excess fee is probably more than I’ve paid for treatment.
Safe to fly, I return to Australia, but the head/eye ache and blurred vision persist and the skin on my hands and feet is peeling. My GP immediately sends me to Alfred Hospital emergency. Put in isolation (standard procedure for South-east Asia fevers, I’m told) and avoided like Hannibal Lector, a barrage of blood tests, head scans, chest ex-rays etc eliminates bacteria and parasite borne diseases, and no evidence of long-term damage.
WORTHY OF THE PAIN
The eye specialist says haemorrhaging in both of my eyes will naturally heal. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen many cases like yours in Asia,” he says, which is a huge relief. Final diagnosis: Viral meningitis. At least that sounds worthy of the killer pain I’ve endured.
The moral of the story: Always have complete travel insurance and keep up your calcium intake – eat flavoured kiddies’ yoghurt if you have to. Oh, and beware of geckos with full bladders.
(Follow Greg Hackett at haxtrax.com)