In Part 1 of Ingrid’s tale, she discovered that she had Dengue Fever. In Part 2, we hear about how she was treated and what happened next.

We entered the hospital. I felt like I was walking into one of those bars in a western movie where every one stops and stares at you. My head felt dizzy and focusing was impossible. What was happening to me? Looking back, I must have looked really spaced out.

The nurse once again took my blood pressure. She shook her head, checked the equipment and took it again. Not convinced, she took it once more. She told me to remain seated and rushed off to the doctor’s room. I was called in and informed that my blood pressure was 96/80, so low that it was not pumping blood to my brain properly. I was immediately put onto a bed. Before I knew it, they were after my blood again – this time – I was too weak to care.

Noi waved a form in front of me. “What food you want?” she said. I realized then that this was not just a day visit. Thai or Chinese at 80baht or Western at 250baht. Which would you choose at those prices? I chose the Thai, signed the form and was taken to a room on the 7^th floor.

As they wheeled me into place, I looked down at the drip in the back of my hand. My eyes widened. I blinked and took a second look. Was I hallucinating? Like something out of a horror movie, I could see ants running up and down the drip and under the plaster. Was I the only one concerned about this? The nurse ignored them at first, then she carelessly slapped them away. Ow!

Two hours later, with the little energy I had, I was still removing ants from various parts of my body. I asked to be moved. Off they wheeled me to another room but, before we settled, I looked down at the bedside table and spotted an ant, so off we trouped again. Eventually an ant free room was found – it had a pet gecko instead.

During the next 24 hours, I had no idea what was happening. I was constantly nauseous, feverish, had a banging headache, backache and leg ache. I did not know if I was going to live or die. When I pressed the call button, three nurses would skip in and stand to attention at the end of my bed. After telling them what I needed, they would smile, nod their heads and disappear. Great service but no reward. After a while, I would have to call again. They had obviously misunderstood. Often, it would take lots of exhausting hand signals and facial expressions before they would realise what I needed.

Day two in Hospital. I was not feeling any better nor any the wiser as to my condition. Feeling extremely nauseous but starving, I was happy to see my first breakfast walk in on a tray. I lifted the lid and to my surprise… squid soup! Oh yuk! Not something I would eat if I felt 100%. I gave the brekkie a miss.

After the much improved lunch, I was watching a low budget Hollywood movie when there was a knock on my door, followed by the priest! Oh my God, this is it, I thought: this illness is terminal – my time has come. I was a little alarmed that he had come to give the last rights but so delirious I could not find the energy to be scared. He smiled and told me he was visiting because he wanted to practice his English.

Every day the doctor would visit at around 5pm. He would look at me, ask me if I had any bleeding or rash. I would reply no. He would nod, turn around and walk back out again … Er hello some sort of information would be nice Doc!

Over the next few days there was no improvement. It felt like groundhog day. The repeated rubbish movies on the only English speaking channel, the continual disruption of my snoozing as a piece of rubber was slapped round my arm, cutting off my circulation. A needle was jabbed into it extracting more blood, scaring the life out of me.

On the fourth night came the grand finale – the rashhh!!!! It was more than just any old rash. It lasted over twenty-four hours. My face swelled up like a car’s airbag on impact, my hands and feet swelled, went bright red, itched like crazy at first and then felt like they were on fire, aaagh damn that Dengue!

Anticlimax: on the sixth day the doctor came in, looked at me, turned around and walked out again. Ten minutes later the senior nurse entered and told me I could go home. Three days passed before I snapped out of it and got my energy back. Within a fortnight I was back on the island where I caught the disease. Crazy or not, I was determined not to let the Dengue fever put me off my trip. This was my horse and I am so glad I got back on it.

Later I discovered that the deadly Dengue Haemorrhagic Fever not only occurs in young children but also in people who have caught one strain of Dengue Fever and then catch another.

Hurry up with a vaccine. Please!

If you would like to contact Ingrid, who is currently in Chile, you can e-mail her on:gr.ing.a.rid2003@hotmail.com

The Taj Mahal is situated in Agra in the Indian state of Uttar Pradesh. It was built by the Moghul Emperor, Shah Jahan in memory of his wife Mumtaz Mahal and is the 7^th wonder of the world. It’s worth noting that the Taj Mahal is closed to visitors on Mondays.

There are three ways you can reach the Taj Mahal from Delhi. You can fly with Indian Airlines from Delhi to Agra. The airport, Kheria, is about 6km from Agra and can be reached at fixed rates by taxis (Rs 75) and auto-rickshaws (Rs 50).

There are several trains that connect Delhi with Agra. These include the Shatabdi Express which takes 2 hours, or the Taj Express 2 ½ hours or the Intercity Express which takes 3 hrs. The third option is to travel by car from Delhi to Agra. There are express bus services (a/c and non-a/c) are available from Delhi, Jaipur, Lucknow, Gwalior, and Jhansi. Distances to Agra from the following are as follows:

Mathura – 58 kms Bharatpur – 60 kms Gwalior – 118 kms Delhi – 203 kms Jaipur – 236 kms Khajuraho – 393 kms

Etna burst into our view as we explored Taormina’s Teatro Greco early one April morning. The day’s clear skies allowed us to look out across from this large amphitheatre and notice how the volcano formed a marvellous and deliberate backdrop through the semi ruined red brick stage walls. The Greek colonists certainly a had sense of place and made the most of the peak and its domination of eastern Sicily’s skyline. Two thousand years later its presence also acted as beacon – this time in fulfilling our day’s aim of appreciating a major reason for visiting the island.

Driving anti-clockwise around the Parco d. Etna allowed a plan of seeing how far we could actually get into the heart of Etna to be hatched. As our steady passage along a somewhat haphazard route succeeded in drawing us closer towards Etna, all seemed to bode well as we strained our necks along unhindered views of the still snow caped peak. But more and more we bumped into the consistent problems of vague road signs & our poor navigational skills and as such we found ourselves failing to penetrate very far into the park at all, apart from a few impassable trails near Bronte. Even at this point our first lava flows, whether hundreds of years old or more recent, looked impressive as their long since cooled remains lie amid the trails of destruction wrought across the surrounding countryside. Walking on top of these flows felt like walking out onto the remains of a burnt out BBQ – the crunching steps sounded much like the point where the charcoal can be crumbled into nothing and lacks any density.

Time and lack of progress soon concluded that heading inward from the north west was going to fail and as an alternative we struggled round to the southern entrance at Belpasso. Finally, after passing through a number of grey, industrial communities we started to get drawn in towards the dwarfing centre. We moved up through kilometres of ever switching roads, across grander lava flows and on past a more disturbed countryside. Our road finished at Cantoniera d’Etna (a mere 1881 m above sea level) and we crossed up on to a landscape that looked like a cross between the moon and a war hardened battlefield. Varying craters from previous eruptions littered the scenery, whilst the main peak stood away up another 1500 meters. Even at this level heat and steam still rose, whilst swirling winds and eerie silences added to the atmosphere and only machines being used to repair the most recently damaged roads broke the spell.

Etna’s continual eruptions have generated huge outpouring of ash, which over time has settled as dust into everywhere. We noticed that it covered the remainder of the winter’s snow and formed much of a crater we clambered up to get a better view of the quickly clouding over peak. Walking up such dusty surroundings made staggering across a sandy beach in heavy boots seem easier, as each step gained cost us half a stride backwards. Our calf muscles ached for a respite by the time we reached our wind blown crater rim…

Once back in breath there was time to enjoy the stunning views – south through the hazy sunshine towards the eastern coast of Sicily and round behind ourselves and up to towards the now almost shrouded summit. Our photographic urges found us trying to capture the surrounding colours of a fired furnace contrasted reds, yellows & deep charcoals and across the horizon toward the remnants of a chairlift which had been left upright, like hairs on the back of a hand. Down below many of the restaurants and administration buildings had either been completely brushed aside or remained semi submerged within the lava flows! These sights left me wondering how such a natural force can discharge so much power and toss aside all human activities with disdain!

Such was the magnetism of Etna and its surroundings that it was with some reluctance and much lateness that we found ourselves moving on from this step of our Mediterranean tour. However when looking to fulfil the ever present needs of food and accommodation, even Etna’s charms could only sway for so long…

If you’d like to contact Matt, to ask him any questions or ask advice, please e-mail him on: matt

This beautiful cottage that dates from 1614 has been converted to a Youth Hostel. Thanks to fellow Globetrotters Jeanie Copland’s organisation, we met in the middle of National Trust land with Polesden Lacey estate in front of us. Those who arrived on time had the pleasure of starting the weekend at the Pilgrim pub in Dorking. The two who were late put up their tents in the dark, having a spot of trouble when the tents kept sliding down the steep slope.

The Youth Hostel might be a good half an hour walk away from the nearest means of transport but that didn’t mean a quiet and relaxing night: the owls seemed to be in the biggest chat room ever above us, and Elvis the pedigree Dorking cockerel (who does not deserve to have his photo shown here) kept us awake for the most of the night. The green woodpeckers were not wasting their time either and you could see them just in front of the place.

An arduous walk on Saturday got me and our party to the top of Box Hill after which I retreated gracefully with John back to the camp whilst the more energetic people in our group decided to add another 5 miles to do the shopping. Yummy dinner followed in the evening.

On Sunday there was a 1936 reproduction of Lady Greville house parties. Can you imagine! We witnessed 1930's Mercs and Bentleys which all in all seemed a bit too posh for an average Globie so we moved on for a long walk.

Brilliant weekend. Thanks Jeanie and Tracey for getting it so well organized.

Good news and bad news for our friends, Ryanair. On the one hand, they recently reported a 44 percent year-on-year increase of passenger numbers. They say that they handled 2.141 million passengers in August 2003 compared to 1.487 million a year earlier. Internet bookings rose 2 points to 94 percent. The average load factor (the average number of seats sold as a proportion of seats available on flights) fell by five percent to 78 percent in the three months to June, while yields fell 14 percent. Ryanair blamed the decline on the launch of 50 new routes, the weakness of sterling against the euro, the one-month closure of buzz, the former budget unit of KLM Royal Dutch Airlines it snapped up earlier this year, and cheaper fares.

The bad news is that a French court has ruled that subsidies it receives in Strasbourg are illegal. Air France's subsidiary Brit Air filed the case against Ryanair, whom they said were receiving unfair subsidies. Ryanair said that when the Strasbourg Chamber of Commerce approached Ryanair requesting it fly to Strasbourg, Air France was only carrying around 3,000 passengers per month on the London route and in August 2003, Ryanair carried over 18,000 passengers on this route. “Air France has been downgrading services from Strasbourg and other French regional airports, having withdrawn from 10 direct international routes from Strasbourg alone in the past 8 years,” said a spokesperson.

“Ryanair's partnership with the Strasbourg Chamber of Commerce led to 130,000 additional visitors to Strasbourg and the Alsace Region, resulting in increased revenues to the airport and increased tourist spend to the region, along with the creation of approximately 200 new jobs. All this will be lost until our appeal has been heard,” they said.

As a result, Ryanair have suspended flights to Strasbourg and switched to nearby Baden Baden across the border in Germany. (Oh yes, another case of flying to a different country!)

Another law case is pending. Ryanair are waiting to hear about a deal it has with Charleroi Airport, near Brussels, where it has established one of its bases.