It was a sheer drop to the bottom.

I was limping along the narrow mountain footpath with one arm wrapped around a disembodied length of sapling, the other around the shoulders of a local government type.

Wrapped in gauze around my fractured ankle were two egg whites and copious amounts of baijiu (Chinese liquor) mixed with a mysteriously pungent powder.

As I plodded along with the help of my crutches, it struck me this was a strange way to ring in the New Year, as I realized the date was Jan 1.

We were slogging toward Yunnan province's Zhukula village, a hamlet so remote that the main road into town is a rocky footpath about 5 km long but less than half a meter - sometimes about a dozen cm - wide, hugging the waist of a mountain range.

We were headed there to interview the inhabitants of this tiny settlement, which became home to China's oldest coffee forest when French missionaries took these magical beans there more than a century ago.

The remote village was still largely isolated from the outside world.

No other foreigner had trod there since the missionaries. I was imaging what they were going to think when this goony American hopped into town, leaning on the trunk of a young tree one of our hosts had cut down with a sharp rock.

"Don't look down," the thoughtful official warned, as we crossed a particularly treacherous stretch of loose rocks above a declivitous drop.

I was glad I had stuffed the packing on my leg into my hiking boots, rather than wearing slippers as the doctor had advised.

The day before, the exceptionally gregarious Bingchuan county officials had insisted on taking me to a rural doctor. My ankle hadn't stopped stinging more than two weeks after I had injured it.

The accident was simply the result of me not noticing an upcoming curb while walking and fiddling with my mobile phone in the dark.

I'd figured it would heal quickly. But as the days turned into weeks, it seemed likely there might be more than a sprain causing the persistent need to hobble.

I was more than happy to just hop along for the rest of the trip - and my life - until nature took its course and whatever was wrong down there fixed itself. But my hosts were too kind to have it.

After discovering two small bone fractures in an X-ray and whipping up the potently acrid topical applicant, the supremely charitable doctor absolutely refused payment.

I still have no clue why.

Perhaps it was the spirit of New Year's Eve. That mentality had at least overcome our hosts, who treated us to a jubilant night of gulping homemade wine and crooning karaoke to videos projected on a canteen wall.

After midnight, the tipsy officials accompanied me to my room, where they heaped extra blankets on my body. One added fresh pours of baijiu to my gauze and massaged the foot, while the other two held my hands and offered affectionate words.

It was somewhat surreal but very endearing, and made for a New Year's I'll never forget.

Another surprise came the next morning, when I was able to stand on the wounded foot with the other in the air.

By the end of the trip, I felt guilty for the thoughtfulness shown to me by the officials and my travel-mates, Teacher Li and Xiao Guo. They cared more for my health than I do - and really showed it.

But, ultimately, it brought us closer and made the trip more interesting.

Sometimes, I've realized, a misstep or two can make the journey all the more memorable.