7. A series of fortunate events

 

Life is full of coincidences that can change your path in ways you never expect—or so I’ve come to believe. Our retirement in early 2017 had launched us into a dream adventure: my husband Martin and I were cruising up Australia’s east coast on our boat, Manookatoo. We were in the Gippsland Lakes stocking up on supplies when the call came. Andrew, a friend of Martin’s from the UK, offered us the use of his company-provided apartment in Germany over New Year. It felt like fate.

We leapt at the chance. Our plan was ambitious: leave the boat in a cyclone-proof marina in Cairns, spend Christmas with family in Melbourne, then fly to Europe, with a few hours in Japan on the way and two weeks there on our return. It would cap off our first glorious year of retirement.

We arrived in Nuremberg just as snow began to fall. Our friends Petra and Detmar welcomed us warmly, and though the famous Christmas markets had ended, the city still brimmed with festive cheer. We sipped Gluhwein in the old town and indulged in Nürnberger Rostbratwurst. It was magical. Petra took me shopping – I had decided that if I was going to winter in Europe I would buy a suitable thick and comfortable coat.

New Year’s Eve started joyfully. Petra and Detmar came early to watch the Sydney fireworks on TV—a nod to their years living in Australia—and then drove us to a candlelit church vigil in a nearby village. It was solemn and beautiful, a peaceful pause before the celebration.

Back at their home in Großenseebach, the table was set for a traditional fondue. Detmar had prepared marinated meats and vegetables; the fondue pots sat ready with ethanol flames. We gathered around, dipping and laughing, when one pot failed to ignite properly. As Detmar tried to relight it, there was a sudden explosion.

In an instant, Martin, James (Detmar’s daughter’s boyfriend), and I were thrown into the wall. I looked down to see flames engulfing the front of my clothes. I instinctively pulled my top over my head, and James helped smother the fire with a rug. But the damage was done—my chest, arms, and face had suffered serious burns.

The next moments were chaos, but fortune was with me in unlikely ways. A passerby, trained in first aid, ran in and took control. A fire engine arrived quickly, and one of the volunteers happened to be a doctor. He advised the ambulance crew to take me directly to Klinikum Nuremberg’s burns unit, bypassing any redirection that might delay treatment on such a busy night.

It turned out to be a critical move. The specialist burns unit had just had a bed become available—one patient had been transferred to Munich hours earlier. I was admitted with 25% third-degree burns.

Klinikum Nuremberg is one of Europe’s top burns hospitals, originally funded post-war by the United States. My treatment was extraordinary. My face was wrapped in an advanced regenerative dressing, costing over €1,000 per stamp-sized piece. I was regularly bathed in a salt solution to aid healing, particularly for the skin grafts. My doctor, Andreas Blings, had trained in Australia and spoke fluent English. One of the nurses, Tatiana, brought her English dictionary to help us communicate.

I stayed nearly a month. Kirsty (my daughter) flew in from her holiday in Cambodia to be near me, and she and Martin rented a small flat nearby. She wore my winter clothes, including my new, thick coat! Each day, they brought food, comfort, and warmth to that sterile room. The German menu had its quirks, but Kirsty translated and helped me pick the least “surprising” options. Sometimes, she just brought chocolate instead.

Our hosts, Petra and Detmar, were devastated. But I told them immediately: “This is not going to spoil our friendship.” It was a terrible accident, but I would recover—and our bond would endure.

By Australia Day, I was stable enough to fly. We returned via Dubai in business class, arranged by our travel insurer (thank goodness for good coverage). Brett, my son, picked us up in Melbourne, and I was taken straight to the Alfred Hospital for ongoing care. My sister Janine came down from Sydney to see me for herself and reassure my parents that I was OK.

There was just one problem: we had rented out our house while cruising. Martin scrambled to find a place for us to live. A kind local agent found us a furnished Docklands apartment within two days. I was discharged soon after, and began the long process of healing.

The next nine months were filled with medical appointments, therapies, and careful routines. I had to treat my skin like a newborn’s, staying out of the sun and avoiding even mild abrasions. Our community rallied around us. Friends stayed with me so Martin could return to Cairns and bring the boat south—sailing in legs with experienced mates. Another friend found me part-time work to keep my mind active between treatments. I don’t know how we would have managed without them.

Eventually, I regained enough strength to travel again. We returned to Nuremberg in 2019, visiting the hospital to thank the staff who had cared for me. We reunited with Petra and Detmar, and later visited our friends in the UK and Ireland. I’ve only seen Japan from the plane window—just a glimpse of Mount Fuji—but maybe that’s another coincidence waiting to shape a new journey.

"Life is full of coincidences," I said at the beginning. I still believe it. Some will hurt. Some will save you. And some, somehow, will do both.

 

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