I broke my collarbone in Italy. Here’s what it was like getting injured abroad.

I broke my collarbone on the Amalfi Coast in May of 2022.

I rented a Vespa foolishly thinking I could drive like an Italian.

I was proven wrong.

Here is the full account of my Italian accident and the aftermath that followed.

The Italian Adventure Begins

My friend Jojo and I flew to Naples, Italy from Palma de Mallorca, Spain where we had been vacationing for a week. We had no specific plan for Naples but found a $30 RyanAir flight and jumped at the price.

We didn’t have accommodation or activities booked when we got to Naples. This is typical for me. I like to arrive freely and figure out what to do as I go.

Someone had mentioned that the Amalfi Coast wasn’t far from Naples. Sure enough, Sorrento was only a couple hours away via FlixBus, and the coastal town of Positano was a short ride from there. We could rent a Vespa and explore all we wanted.

I had always dreamed of seeing the Amalfi Coast, and to do it on the back of a Vespa in true Italian fashion sounded like the perfect plan.

Nothing could go wrong!

Unwarranted Confidence

Driving around Italy by moped was the perfect plan at first. The cliffside roads were treacherously windy, but we were confident in our driving abilities. Though it was a bit daunting, we weren’t afraid. In hindsight, we probably should have been much more cautious than we were.

If you’ve ever been to Italy, you know that they drive like absolute maniacs. One of my favorite quotes in the whole world is from Bill Bryson in his book Neither Here Nor There. It reads about his time in the Italian capital, “The Romans park their cars the way I would park if I had just spilled a beaker of hydrochloric acid on my lap.” That’s how they drive, too.

I watched mopeds blindly zoom around corners and hairpin turns, passing tour buses and other drivers without hesitation. They somehow evaded death every time. So I thought to myself, “Betty if you drive like an Italian, you’ll also escape the clutches of a motorized death. Onward!” 

So that’s how I went about my trip. I drove my Vespa like an Italian.

I’ve learned that naivety isn’t always the best way to travel, though, which I discuss in my article: What I Wish I’d Known Before Solo Traveling Through Europe.

Positano & Amalfi

For two days, Jojo and I drove everywhere on the Vespa. It was the most glorious experience of my life. Even though it ended poorly, I would never take back the time we spent on the coast.

The views were astonishing. No wonder it’s a major honeymoon destination! I’ve never seen anything like it. The exhilaration of the wind in my hair and the steep sights around me made me feel more alive than ever before. 

It was so gorgeous that I almost couldn’t believe it was real.

Destination: Pompeii

As our trip wound to a close, Jojo and I decided to spend our last days in Italy at Mount Vesuvius in Pompeii. That morning, we packed up and got a tasty breakfast at a little café built into the mountainside. Everything seemed hopeful and exciting. Jojo said he’d drive back to Sorrento, but I protested that we drive half-and-half. I opted to start behind the handlebars.

So we took off for Sorrento. The drive was only about 45 minutes from Positano. I was feeling extra confident after driving around the cliff sides for the last three days. I shamelessly passed slow drivers with unnecessary impatience.

I didn’t realize how fast I was going as I rounded a hairpin turn. The speedometer read around 45 km/h, and I believe the speed limit was 30 km/h. So that’s on me.

I pushed down on the handlebar brakes as hard as I could, but very little happened. We were not slowing down nearly as much as we should have been. Jojo reached over behind me to pull the brakes as well, so we were both holding them down in full force. Nothing happened.

Right Before the Fall

Have you ever had that feeling when you know you’re about to crash but there’s about a five-second window between losing control and hitting the ground? I had that moment when I knew it was going to end badly. I had those five seconds to make a decision.

As we approached the next turn, I saw a 100-foot drop into the ocean to my left and a jagged cliffside to my right. I didn’t see any cars coming, but if we tried to make the turn, we’d get flattened like a bug by oncoming traffic. So I turned the handlebars straight into the mountainside.

Crunch Time

I don’t remember flying through the air. All I knew was that my collarbone was done for the moment I hit the ground. I heard the unmistakable crunch and snap of bones. The sound was deafening and, quite frankly, gross.

When I realized what had just happened, I looked around to see if Jojo was still alive. He was off to my right, the Vespa unscathed in the grass between us. I was nervous something very bad had happened to him as it had happened to me. But after a quick once-over, he confirmed he was just scratched up.

I said, “I just broke my collarbone.” He blinked at me and said, “No you didn’t.” I reassured him I had. He tried to convince me I was just in shock, but when I showed him the crooked swelling beneath my neck, he knew I wasn’t kidding.

Adrenaline is One Hell of a Drug

I’ve broken several bones before and gotten other rugged injuries, but I’d never experienced adrenaline the way I did with this one. I felt absolutely zero pain. When I heard my bones crunch, I simply put two fingers to my skin and pushed the bone that was sticking out back into my body like it was nothing. I felt nothing. It was honestly awesome.

A few cars rolled by in the other direction, their drivers paying no mind to the American tourists and the overturned Vespa scattered on the side of the road. By some miracle, the next person to drive by was an Italian doctor who spoke English. She and her friend pulled over on their moped (which I had passed just 5 minutes before because I thought they were going too slow).

With a cigarette dangling from her lips, she sat me down and quickly examined my body. I told her about my collarbone, and she nodded like, Yeah, that thing is for sure messed up. After confirming I needed to go to the hospital, she pulled out her cell phone and called for an ambulance.

“No no no!” I protested, “I can’t afford that! I’ll just drive back!” She looked at me sympathetically and said, “Sweetheart, you’re not in America.” Oh. I forgot about that. A free ambulance, what a concept!

A Free Ride to the Hospital

Within a few minutes, the ambulance showed up. A woman in her early twenties and two older men jumped out and started cleaning me up. My shoes had both flown off in the crash, and I had bits of grass and dirt clods all over me. I looked so dejected it was almost comical.

The EMTs told Jojo they were taking me to the hospital in Sorrento and requested he follow them. On the Vespa. That we just crashed. It miraculously didn’t have a scratch on it and it still worked, but I was very nervous about him driving it since the brakes had failed us already. He promised to drive carefully.

The paramedics strapped me onto a stretcher and the doctor squeezed my hand, assuring me everything would be alright. I thanked her profusely. Guilia, if you’re reading this, I am eternally grateful.

The older EMT told me to give my “boyfriend” a kiss goodbye. I said Jojo was not my boyfriend, but the man refused to load me into the ambulance until something happened. He kept making kissy faces and saying “keeees, keeees!” Jojo reluctantly gave me a peck and left to collect the Vespa. The ambulance doors slammed shut and the Amalfi Coast was out of my sight for good.

Painkillers, Please

By this time, the adrenaline was fading fast. I started to feel a horrible ache in my collarbone that radiated through my shoulder and neck. It became excruciating after a few minutes, and I begged the older EMT to give me some kind of painkiller.

He just squeezed my hand and kept making kissy faces at me. He clearly didn’t understand what I was saying. The young girl spoke a tiny bit of English, so I tried communicating with her from then on out.

She eventually understood my request for painkillers, and they hooked me up with an IV full of who-knows-what. I confirmed with them that Jojo was still following the ambulance on the Vespa before sliding into a blurry state of consciousness.

Waiting at the Hospital

When I arrived at Sorrento Hospital, I was loopy from the drugs. The paramedics opened the door to unload me and I immediately yelled at Jojo, “Hey! I’m on drugs! I feel amazing!” He looked concerned, to say the least.

I waited in the lobby, my arm in a makeshift sling that the EMTs whipped up. A few other maimed souls came in, one of which was also in a Vespa accident. He was leaking blood from a wound in his leg all over the floor. Nobody but me paid any mind to the trail he left behind. It just became part of the lobby like a modern art piece.

Jojo returned the Vespa while I waited, and the company didn’t even blink at it. He told them the brakes were shoddy, but they gave him a thumbs up and let him go on his merry way. When he came back to the hospital, we waited together for some sign of what was next.

The doctor came in calling for “Oord.” My last name is Hurd, so I didn’t catch it at first. After a few repetitions, I said, “Hurd?” The whole staff burst out laughing and impersonated me in a mocking tone. “Ohhhh Huuuuurd,” they kept saying. It would’ve been hilarious to me if I hadn’t been wilting in my wheelchair for the last three hours.

A technician took my X-rays and instructed Jojo to buy a back brace for me at the next-door pharmacy while I waited for my results. When the technician viewed the scans, her eyes widened and she looked at me with deep concern.

Medical Miscommunication

“Is it bad?” I asked. She chuckled nervously and responded, “No English.” I pointed to my collarbone and gave a thumbs up and a thumbs down. She just let out a long ohhhh and an odd laugh. I was sufficiently confused. She didn’t show me any photos.

“Do I need surgery?” I asked. She said no. “So it’s not that bad.” She said yes. “Yes it’s bad or yes it’s not bad?” And she said yes again. I gave up on trying to understand and figured it was probably bad considering the look on her face when she saw the X-ray. I still thought maybe it would heal on its own and I wouldn’t need surgery. Little did I know!

Bills Not To Be Paid

A doctor told me in broken English to wear my back brace and see a doctor immediately in America. He gave me oral pain medication and said I was good to go. I was in so much pain that I begged him for something before I left. A nurse took me behind a curtain and gave me a shot in my buttcheek. I think it was a steroid of some sort, but I’ll never be sure.

What baffled me – and still floors me to this day – was that the hospital didn’t charge me a cent. I was there for at least six hours. They transported me, X-rayed me, and gave me pain medication all for free. The only thing I paid for was the back brace at the pharmacy, which was only about $30. I’m pretty sure I would’ve racked up at least $2,000 had I been in America.

I didn’t have traveler’s insurance, but they didn’t even ask if I did. I took out my credit card and asked who I should pay, but the nurses just smiled at me, said “Bye-bye!” and waved me out the door. I never received a bill, nor any word from Sorrento Hospital ever again. I’m not sure if that’s normal or if I missed something, but that was a win.

The Long Ride Home

When we got outside, Jojo helped me hobble to the train stop just down the road. We still had a couple of hours back to our Airbnb in Naples. The seats were full, so I slid down the wall and cried for the first time that day on the train car floor for almost two hours. It was a pathetic scene.

I called my mom sometime on the ride home. I had been putting off the phone call all day because it was her 60th birthday and I didn’t want to ruin her celebration with all her friends. I knew the news would put a knife in all her fun.

Nonetheless, I left her a message letting her know I was fine and that I would be returning to Arizona the next morning. You can imagine the frantic voicemails I received later that night.

My Host with the Most

Back at the Airbnb, Jojo cut off my shirt because I couldn’t move my arm to get it off myself. He showered the dirt and blood off of me and brushed my hair and teeth. Every single move I made hurt terribly. I could hear my bones crunch every time I made the wrong move. I never knew how many body parts were directly connected to my collarbone until then.

My Airbnb host translated the Italian painkillers and offered me weed to help with the pain. I politely declined because I feared I would get drug tested at work (missed opportunity for sure). After a sleepless night, we took off for the airport first thing in the morning.

The Perks of Being Broken

The airport was a surprisingly nice experience. That’s because I didn’t have to do a damn thing. I ordered a wheelchair at the Naples airport. The request rolled over to London, Houston, and Tucson. I got to cut all the lines, didn’t have to carry any bags, and boarded first for each flight. It was kind of awesome.

My flight attendants gave me plenty of champagne to take the edge off the pain for my 11-hour flight from London to Houston. The bubbles and the first-class seat helped (oh, the perks of being a flight attendant), but that was the most uncomfortable flight of my life.

An Abnormal Homecoming

Back in Tucson, my dad had been calling surgeons everywhere to get a consultation ASAP. The hospitals in Arizona couldn’t read the disk with my X-rays from Sorrento, so we had to do that before scheduling surgery. I had an appointment that weekend for photos. 

I got to see the X-rays this time, and now I understood why the Italian technician looked so shocked. My doctor told me it was the most severe collarbone break he’d ever seen.

The Insurance Fiasco

We scheduled surgery later that week. But a few days before the operation, the doctor called and said he didn’t take my insurance. I was upset, but he referred me to another doctor who was definitely viable on my plan.

Another surgery was scheduled, and I couldn’t wait to get the procedure done so I could finally get a good night’s sleep. I’d been having my parents prop me up with a dozen pillows every night so I wouldn’t move in my sleep and wake up crying in pain.

But two hours before my surgery, the new surgeon called. He said my insurance covered him, but it didn’t cover the surgery center. How they figured this out just two hours before going under the knife is beyond me. But that was strike two.

Another surgeon called me that afternoon under the referral of strike two. She had scheduled my operation before she even met me because she knew I needed it done immediately. I had been home for two weeks at this point and I still hadn’t had the operation. We were finally on track after confirming multiple times that my insurance was valid.

A Collarbone of Steel

A metal plate and seven screws later, the surgery was successful. Most collarbones never look aesthetically the same again after a break, but my surgeon did such a perfect job. Aside from the screws sticking out of my skin and a thin white line, you can hardly tell anything was ever out of place. I’m so grateful for her expertise.

The Aftermath

What I thought would be a quick recovery and prompt return to work turned into a disaster. I ended up losing my job as a flight attendant because I was out for too long (seems illegal but apparently their policies are legit).

I had to go back through the full set of interviews and seven weeks of training all over again to return to work nearly a year later. It was awful. But that’s a story for another time.

I applied to be a writer at Travel Lemming while recovering in bed for three months. I ended up getting the job, and here I am! That was a godsend, so at least something good came of my accident.

Healing and Moving On

My collarbone fiasco on the Amalfi Coast makes for a funny story now. I mean hey, how many people can say they crashed a Vespa into a mountain in a foreign country? (A lot, according to the Sorrento Hospital staff.)

It was quite a tumultuous experience, and it changed the whole course of my life by having to move home and losing my job. Maybe things happen for a reason, or maybe Americans just shouldn’t rent motorized vehicles they barely know how to drive in a treacherous environment. But who knows? It’s all part of my story now.

Want More? Listen to My Italy Podcast Episode!

If you liked this post, you’ll love my Italy episode on the Travel Lemming Podcast. It’s available on YouTube, Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts (just search “Travel Lemming Italy”). 

I talk about breaking my collarbone in Italy at minute mark 25:55.

Lea Rose and I also discussed places to visit in Italy (07:04), the best things to do in Italy (16:15), how to get around Italy (23:36), Italy travel tips and etiquette (27:20), why more people should visit Italy (03:56) and all the other common questions about travel to Italy.

Download now and remember to listen to the entire episode before you arrive in Italy.

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I hope you enjoyed this chaotic account of my Italian accident! I broke my collarbone on the Amalfi Coast, but it could’ve been so much worse. I’m glad I can laugh about it now!

To read more about my travel mishaps (and how to avoid them), check out my article on the time I got deported from China for having the wrong visa next!