Despite a slight tugging at my heart this morning (Wednesday), I left Córdoba with a smile on my face. When the taxi driver wove his way around the maze of streets on my way to the train station, I laughed. Because my last memory of the great city is seeing an old woman (older than me, I think) texting on her cell phone, oblivious to the traffic and life around her. It's not just for the young! We oldsters are trying to get a beat on techy devices!
Today was a very different adventure for me. I experienced trepidation, anxiety, satisfaction, laughter, exhaustion, panic and elation. All in one day! So, I will start at the best place, the beginning.
When I got to the train station in Ronda, I pinched my ticket firmly in hand, pulled my bag along behind me and found a seat. I was one hour early, as planned. People were rushing all over the place, coming and going. Beside me were two doors. One was "1 - 2 vía" and the other was "3 - 8" - I looked at my ticket and my platform was a 4. The 1-2 door had a security area and the 3-8 didn't. I knew I had to go through security, but I wasn't on 1 or 2...
I leaned over to a woman next to me and said, "Hable ingles?"
"No," she answered.
So, my Spanish sort of kicked in. She had pretty blue eyes and I think she was about a hundred years old. And then she started chattering and pointed to both doors (really?).
"Es necesario a llevar mi maleta de la seguridad," I said. (It's necessary to take my luggage to security.)
Again she pointed to door number 1. It was like watching that game show years ago and I was afraid I'd pick the wrong one. I had to think. So, I went to the bathroom and lugged everything in with me, of course. Once inside, I found a young woman and explained my predicament. Her Spanish was fast and incoherent, so back to the old woman again. I plopped down and started telling myself...if I was in America, which door would I choose? Hmmmm...I should go through door number 3-8 because 4 is in there somewhere. So, I did. And lucky me, there was a security niche right behind the door hidden behind a wall. Wow...I was so happy, I tossed on my bag and purse, got through fine and ran for the escalator.
"Hola! Hola! Hola!" a woman called to me. (Oh, my ticket?)
The escalator was a ramp, not steps. I had such fun holding my suitcase so it wouldn't get to the bottom without me! Once down on the train platform, I planted myself firmly in front of Platform 4.
And sat next to a friendly woman eating a breakfast sandwich who spoke English! We were both relieved, I think. When her husband pointed to the train, we all got on...to the wrong car. It said Car 6 but we turned left into Car 10 amid a coach full of teenagers. (Where were cars 7, 8 or 9?). When their chaperone steered us into the next car, we were happy to change cars.
The couple sat behind me. I sat next to a young man and it was a quiet ride toward Ronda. When I heard the knocking, I thought someone was trying to get through the glass door that separated the cars. I ignored it and so did everyone else. When the knocking sounded a little louder, I still ignored it. Surely someone would open the door. And then the knocking was VERY loud. I turned around in my seat and a Spanish gentleman was tapping on the toilet door, obviously talking to someone inside. Interesting, I thought.
When I realized someone was locked inside the toilet, my curiosity perked up. When the man next to me said, "I think that's your friend locked in the loo."
I glanced behind me and my new friend's husband was reading a book, oblivious to the calamity. I jumped up, got his attention and we both went back to the toilet... The old Spaniard took off in one direction to find the train steward and the husband went to the front of the train. I stood there and tried to get the lock open and talked to her through the door. I think she was giggling, but I can't be sure.
When the steward came with the key, we were glad to see him slip it into the lock. The husband was back. The door wouldn't open. This time, it was the husband who stood at the door talking to her and the steward left again. He returned with a screwdriver in his hand and a tool kit. I tried so darned hard not to laugh, but by then everyone on the coach was laughing at this poor woman's predicament (even her husband, I think). The screwdriver worked. He removed the entire handle and lock. When my the woman came out, she was laughing. My kind of friend (smile). We both decided that if you are going to get locked somewhere, the bathroom is the best room to do it in...
The farms and mountains of Ronda rose above us and we arrived at the station on time. My new friends went one way and I followed signs to the bus station, dragging my roller bag behind me. I was so pleased with myself when I found it, I bought my 3,3 euro bus ticket and held it in my hand. I was thirty minutes early. By the time it was five minutes before I should be on the bus and there was absolutely no activity there, I knew I was in trouble. I zipped back into the ticket seller and showed him the time and asked where was my bus? He jumped up, grabbed my bag in one hand and my hand in his other and trotted us outside again. The bus at the end was revving its engine and I wasn't on it! My ticket seller tapped on the windshield, the driver opened the hatch and I was practically pushed up the steps. Big sigh. I was on my way to Algodonales.
The bus had six people on board. When we left Ronda, the driver stopped three times and each time, there was nothing on the side of the road at all. The passenger got off, waved and we were off again. One town was especially quaint and two others got off. That left just me. When the driver stopped at another whitewashed town, I wished it was Algodonales because it looked so inviting. I glanced at my watch and saw it was 2:00. It WAS Algodonales. He didn't say a word and started to leave again. I raised my arm and yelled (sort of), "Algodonales?"
"Sí."
I jumped up, he opened the hatch and I grabbed my bag (good grief). I realized I wasn't in the city anymore. There were women chatting around a bench, but I didn't see Marina, the woman who said she'd be "waiting for me." After about ten minutes of being the main conversation point to those around me, I suddenly realized she may have meant she was waiting for me at the house, not the bus. So, okay. I can do this, I thought. I'll get a taxi. Since I now have the words, "ayudame" down pretty good (help me), I asked a man where I could find a taxi? He pointed to the cafe as if I'd asked for a monkey. Once inside the bus/cafe, the man looked at me the same way. I smoothed my hair and stood up tall. Maybe I was looking funny by now? I had been going through some emotional events...but a young girl came out and I showed her the address to my Air BnB. She told me to walk down the main street, past the church, across the square, next to the Restaurant Bodeguita and there's my street. Hmmmm. Okay, here we go again.
I had on my light jacket, scarf, pulling my roller bag, backpack purse on my back and my little bag filled with water and apples for later. It was a little over 70 degrees and it was all up hill. By the time I saw the church, I couldn't find the Restaurant Bodequita. By this time, I was sweating, tired and wished I hadn't worn my sparkle shoes. When the young woman came out of a shop, I nearly lunged toward her. And found I'd overshot the restaurant and the street by about four blocks. The sweet girl walked me all the way to the square. There, a Spaniard saw her pointing me toward the restaurant. He grabbed my elbow and my bag to lift me up the four stone steps. (This man-handling stuff was taking me places at least.)
Okay. I found the restaurant and the street. Yep, all uphill again. I walked until I couldn't anymore. And then a girl came to my rescue. I know I sound like I'm lost all the time, but really...? Marina, my landlady, saw me and she rushed to help me. When she opened the metal door to lead me UP, I saw a hundred steps and I thought, Oh. Lord. No.
She chattered all the way up the steps as we both lugged up my bag. Thank goodness I left bag #2 with Lyn in Los Nuñez to pick up on Saturday. By the time I'd picked each foot up and got to the landing, I was yanking off my coat, scarf, everything (almost) and she pointed out all the things I should know. She is absolutely delightful. And then she left so I could faint. My view is beautiful. My apartment is more than I could hope for. Everything is artsy and spotless.
After laying down about fifteen minutes, I was good to go. I was so surprised to see that about 85 steps had disappeared as I walked downward and counted only 15. (smile). I wish I could say this was the whole story, but I haven't reached that one other emotion I mentioned at the top of this missive. Panic.
I decided to walk down to the square and look for the flamenco shop I am going to visit tomorrow for my book research. It is only one main street, one square and a small village after all. It was a nice walk and when I came back toward my street, I sat down and what else? I found a little bodega (Mesón Tendido Cero) and ordered a chilled glass of sangria. The trees were filled with chirping birds and I am watching them closely in case I need to cover my glass with my hand. I didn't want any surprises. I wrote my post notes in the slight breeze as it ruffled my notebook pages like a lazy hand. And listened to people chatter around me. What a nice way to end the afternoon. I'm sure this place will be Callie's favorite when I write her story. Now, it was time to get back "home."
"La cuenta, por favor." (The ticket please.)
The waiter said, "uno, veinte."
I must have looked like a crazy woman. "Uno, veinte...uno?" I asked again.
"Sí."
I was stunned... sangria costs only one and twenty? (About $1.40) When I told my friend this story this afternoon, he said since it costs one third of that in the city, maybe I should have ordered three. (smiling of course)
Okay, now the panic story. I was so bedazzled over the money I saved from the amount I paid in Córdoba and the fancy, beautiful one that Lyn and I had in Benalmádena, that I wasn't thinking straight. (Good thing I didn't have three). I'm sure it was the shock, not the sangria... but, I couldn't find the number of my "house." I was walking up and down the street for about fifteen minutes. I backed up against one of the buildings in the shade and started laughing, clearly panicked. When the Spaniard came around the corner and saw me there, he walked away from me fast. So, I had to call my landlady. Why are the houses numbered up to 16 and then skip to 27? I knew I held the key to number 17. She said I was walking on a parallel street that connected to my baby street. I was about fifty steps away.
I have a mystery to solve... What happened on May 2, 1810 in Algodonales? It is on plaques and murals.
The Guitarras Valeriano Bernal shop is my adventure for tomorrow.
AND I HAVE A MAP.
No comments:
Post a Comment