One in a million
I was visiting a childhood friend who was teaching English in Thailand. At the end of his teaching stint, he had wanted to take a 5-day motorbike trek to Northern Vietnam through the mountains. We were young, so I didn’t think much about it and said yes. I was up for adventure. Little did I know that the end of June was monsoon season. We started this trek from Hanoi, Vietnam. The road out was beautiful, lush green and expansive. The following day started to get harry. The open road quickly because a 1-lane, dirt windy road up into the mountains. The cliff dropped at the edge of the road. For 4 days we road on this road, in and out of treachery. The following morning, June 30th, we woke up and it was a beautiful, blue sky day. There were mountains and waterfalls everywhere. It was gorgeous. This was the last day on the road. We were so excited to get to our end destination. About an hour into the trek, all I remember was hearing a slight rumble, looking up and seeing the blue of my friend’s eye. I was holding onto him one second and the next, I was buried in a landslide. Within seconds after that, I was pushed into the ragging river below. I said goodbye to my parents. I thought I was dead. We had been following this river for days and huge logs were flying down it. I didn’t think I could survive it. I was pushed down the river, bopping in and out of the rapids. I felt something, something push me to the side. I grabbed a rock and hung on for dear life. I pulled myself out with all my strength and I got out. I climbed out to the side. My friend was no where in sight. I ran, in pain, back up the mountain. I could barely breathe. My chest felt broken and I was bleeding. Now I was alone and in the middle of no where. I had lost my friend and everything I owned, money, passport, etc. I wasn’t far from a grass hunt where we passed on the bike, so I walked there. The family pulled me into the bare hunt. They gave me their only pair of shoes as mine were thrashed. Then they brought me back to the road. I’m not sure how much time had passed, but eventually small vehicles pulled up to this road. It was an outlet for the small villages along the path to the main city. I was put into a truck and taken to Sapa, the nearest town. There I was put into a 3rd world “hospital”. They tried to help clean me up, but I needed a real hospital. Luckily there was a man who heard about me in the town. He brought a traveler from the U.S. to visit me and this traveler contacted my family and helped me get in touch with the American Embassy. From there I was taken back to Hanoi and then life-flighted back to Bangkok to receive more care. I later found out that my friend had died. They found his body in the river. So I survived this. When I tell it, it’s like I am having an out of body experience. It doesn’t feel like it happened to me. I remove myself from it. How do I process this??? I am so thankful I found this place. I have been searching for meaning for many years. I am terrified to share, but I need to. I hope by sharing, I can help someone, and perhaps find comfort and some meaning from it all. I just don’t know what to do with this weight.Thanks for listening.
