In the last episode, I forgot to add an interesting detail. When I plopped down onto the grass and didn't get up for a while, a passerby crossed from the opposite side of the street and sympathetically asked if I was okay. I assured him that I'd had worse (which is true), and that I seemed to be able to walk (which is also true).
I slept poorly. My leg hurt a lot, despite the painkillers. I didn't go to the doctor right away, relying on the famous Russian "maybe it'll pass," and besides, early the next morning I had a highlands tour waiting for me. I really didn't want to miss out on it (though you'd think losing a leg would be way sadder). As a result, I got up at half past seven in the morning (an unprecedentedly early hour for me). I hobbled, leaving plenty of spare time, to Rabbies Cafe, which is located very close to the center and is where the tours of the eponymous company start. As it turned out, there were almost a dozen minibuses parked there, with several driving the exact same route. I was given the name of the driver-guide, which turned out to be Stephan. The dude, a short, middle-aged guy with a surplus of torso and a deficit of hair on his head, turned out to be a massive joker and started firing off jokes right from the get-go. I suspect that guides are bred this way, wherever it is they spawn.
A crowd of young Indians hopped into the bus with me, along with a couple of Qatari Indians, and two Malaysian Chinese, with whom I established the best contact. I would have, of course, preferred less exotic travel companions: not out of any racist considerations, but rather for ease of communication. As you know, the further away from the north you get, the thicker the accent, and the more incomprehensible the cultural code.
I asked for a seat where I could at least somewhat straighten my leg, which was completely incapable of being in a bent position anyway, and the journey began.