some days the gods are kind
(This article is more like medium in length.)
March 12, 2005
Some days the gods are kind. I was going to Spain for the first time. I got up at 7:19 AM, eleven minutes before the alarm went off. I had been awake since 6:22, but had waited to get up. I was a bit excited, but could not finish packing until an employee, Slobo, arrived so I could give her the alarm for the patients.
I took my insulin shot, got dressed, and was ready at 7:25 to leave the Night Emergency Contact room I stay in. I left the keys on the doctor’s desk and waited for Slobo to arrive—she was to arrive at 7:30.
She was late. I checked the news on the computer and waited. At 7:45 I went into the kitchen as she was just coming in. I gave her the alarm and looked at her. She did not look well. I asked how she was. She said her children had fevers and felt weak—and now she felt the same. I told her she should not be working—especially as the cook. She said there was no one else. I suggested she call Finn, the doctor in charge of the clinic, and tell him she was too ill to work. There was really nothing I could do, so I left.
I went to my regular room, brushed my teeth, fixed a cup of coffee and finished packing. I had a little time so I checked my email and answered two quick emails. One from Adele, my sister, and one from Sharon, an almost girl friend from several years ago.
Martha arrived a few minutes early to take me to the train station. She asked whether I had breakfast. I said “no” and mentioned that Slobo was not feeling well. We started to talk for a few minutes since we had some extra time and did not want to just sit at the train station, but then I suggested we leave and stop at the bakery along the way since Martha mentioned breakfast. We left.
I pointed out as we were taking the luggage to the car that my regular daypack was designed to be attached to my backpack. Additionally the shoulder harness for the backpack was placed in a separate covered area so that they would not get caught in something by baggage handlers. I also brought my walking stick.
At the bakery I purchased a Danish—after all we were in Denmark—and a roll. The roll I purchase because I had called the airline to confirm my flight and ask for a vegetarian meal and found out since I was in economy class I did not get a meal. I could purchase one. The flight was on SAS leaving Copenhagen at 10:50 AM direct to Madrid arriving at 2:05 PM so I was a bit surprised I did not get a meal as this was the lunch hour, but not much I could do. Not being sure I could purchase a vegetarian meal I thought is wise to purchase the roll.
Martha brought me to the train. It arrived on time and I was on my way. I ate the Danish on the train.
I started waiting in a very long line at the airport, but I saw some SAS people helping others with electronic tickets. I asked one and she got my ticket and boarding pass quickly. She asked whether ‘aisle’ or ‘window’ seat. I said ‘window’, although I’m not sure why as I generally need to get up several times to go to the restroom since my legs tend to shake on planes. I had brought some medication for my legs, but try not to get it due to side effects. When the ticket printed out it did not give a seat assignment. It seemed I needed to get that at the gate. Fine with me.
When asked about luggage I said one piece. As stated I had my backpack (which my daypack could connect to), my daypack, and my walking stick. I decided just to check the backpack as I was concerned my walking stick would either get lost or broken. Then I was put in a short line to check my backpack. The gods can be kind since I did not need to wait in the longer line.
I went through security. They would not allow me to bring my walking stick. Now I have been able to bring my walking stick through security at the Copenhagen Airport in the past. I mentioned this and it’s been okay in the US, New Zealand, Nepal, Paris, Israel, etc. They still said it needed to be checked. (I did not mention that in India, Rome, and some airports in the US they did make me check it.) Ah well, need to check it then.
I went back to where the electronic tickets were thinking now I would need to get in the long line and it would be difficult as I had already checked one piece. A supervisor was at the electronic ticket area. I asked her and she fixed me up in only a few minutes. Some days the gods are kind.
I got through security the second time very quickly. I looked at a couple of places to purchase a vegetarian sandwich or something to eat on the plane. I found nothing. I went to the gate.
I gave my boarding pass to the attendant expecting to get a seat assignment. He said I needed to wait, but he would call me.
The flight was called for boarding. I had not been. Seeing the number of people lined up for the flight I had a momentary concern the flight was over-booked and I would not be able to get a seat. I had purchased the ticket for $148 from a US website which required a US credit card with a US address. (Fortunately I have both.) In checking the same flight on the SAS website it was about $250. Thus I thought I might be at the bottom of the list and could be bumped off. I was not overly worried as I had left a lot of time between when the plane arrived and when I would take a train from Madrid to Oviedo, Spain where I was really going.
But I got a seat—4F. A window seat in the front. A wonderful seat. The gods are kind. I boarded.
I was in a standard three seat area and both the other seats were filled. One cannot have everything. There was a thin certain separating my row from the one ahead. I assumed those ahead were therefore first class. Still my seat was nice.
We took off on time. After a bit they passed out menus. But they started in the row behind me. I asked and was informed I was in a different section. I thought this meant that the first class stewardess served the row I was in. Still strange, but it made little difference who gave me a menu.
When the first class stewardess came around she did not give me a menu. She gave me a meal. A meal! Well this is quite nice, but looking at it I could see it did have meat and being a vegetarian for 30-odd years I could not accept it. So when she came around with slices of nice, warm bread I regrettably gave the meal back to her.
But I did take the bread. When was the last time you had a slice of warm bread on an airplane? I’ve never had one. The bread was wonderful.
But (you see I’m starting two paragraphs with ‘But’, some days are like that) the stewardess came back and asked whether I eat cheese. I said ‘yes’ and she brought me a tray with 2 of the side Gouda cheese dishes. Then she asked what I wished to drink. I said ‘red wine’—which since I was in first class (well, perhaps business) cost nothing.
One of my favorite meals is good bread, good cheese, and good wine. And here before me I had all three. On a flight where I was told I would need to purchase my meal. The gods can be kind.
I then remembered my insulin. I should check it and take it one-half hour before I eat, but in this case it looked like I would just check my blood sugar level and take my shot.
I tried to get my test kit out of my daypack but as I did not have much room it was difficult. I could not even see my daypack so needed to do it by feel. I thought in my struggles a couple of things fell out, but I could not be sure.
My blood sugar was fine and I took the right amount of insulin.
The meal was quite enjoyable but I had more cheese and butter then my one piece of bread would hold. Ah, but I had the roll I purchased at the bakery. It was the perfect size. Perhaps the gods even have some foresight.
I read during most of the flight and listened to my iPod. My legs did not even bother me. They normally do on flights but for some reason didn’t. Maybe the plane was a bit on the cooler side.
I tried to check what I had dropped out of my daypack. I had some additional earpieces for my earphones which were missing. I found two inserts were missing. After a while I found one on the floor and finally was able to pick it up. If I lost the other that was fine, although it turned out that I found it a bit later.
After a long time the passenger in the middle seat went to the restroom. I then had some more room and could check what I was missing from my daypack. I could not find a glove or my insulin pen.
My insulin pen I thought might be under my seat. The glove I was unsure of. I had fumbled a little in my daypack the first time going through security getting out my passport because of my walking stick. I thought it possible that the glove came out then and I had missed it.
I searched for the insulin pen under my seat as well as I could but I did not find it. I was sure the insulin pen was somewhere under the seat as I had taken the insulin and told myself I would look when we landed.
We landed in Madrid on time, about 2:05 PM. While taxiing the person in the seat behind me gave me my insulin pen. That was nice, but he did not give me my glove so that meant I must have dropped the glove getting my passport. It was a nice glove. Actually, an expensive glove. But after all it was March, I would not need gloves in Spain, and I did have a cheaper pair back in Denmark I could use for the rest of the spring if needed.
We arrived at the gate. Oh boy I’m in the fourth row I’ll get out of this plane very fast.
Not to happen. The person in the middle seat had needed to place his carry-on towards the center of the plane, thus he (and I) needed to wait for most people to get out. Still I was not in a hurry and it meant I could check under my seat for my glove.
I checked. The glove was not there. I did not expect it to be since the person seating behind me surely would have given me both the insulin pen and my glove if the glove was there.
But then I asked myself why had the gods given me this wonderful fourth row seat and now allowed me to get out quickly? It made little sense.
I checked the seat pocket of the seat behind me. I did not expect my glove to be there and yet there it was. I was surprised and happy. I listened to the gods and got my glove back. The gods can be kind.
I went to pick up my luggage. I thought I might need to go to a special place to get my walking stick as I had at other airports, but both the backpack and my walking stick were close to being first off the plane and I did not need to wait at all.
Next I needed to get to the train station. I asked where to go at a place to get buses and the lady said I needed the Metro and pointed me in a direction. I went along that direction for a while and could not see anything so I asked a police officer. He did not speak much English, but I got out my map of Spain and pointed to Oviedo. He said ‘Metro’ and pointed me further along.
I should make a quick point here. I’ve been living in Denmark where 80% of the population speaks English. According to the Danes they need to since Denmark is so small they cannot expect the world to learn Danish. The same is not true of Spain. Spanish is the second most spoken language in the world. Mandarin Chinese, of course, is the first with English coming in third. (Mandarin Chinese – 885 million, Spanish – 332 million, English – 322 million. There are different ways of determining this, some have the order as Mandarin Chinese, English, Hindustani, and then Spanish.) The Spanish do not need to speak English and most do not. And I have a tendency to go where most tourists don’t, e.g., the Metro. Thus I get myself in trouble all of the time.
I find the Metro and asked directions for the main train station at the ‘Information’ desk. He says I need a ticket and points me to the ticket booth. I ask the ticket person who also has some difficulty understanding me so I again pull out my map and point to Oviedo. He then gives me a Metro map and draws some lines and circles where I need to go. Three train changes. Lines 8, then 9, then 6. With a little help from the gods I should be able to do this.
It looks on the map like I need to go two stops before I make my first change, Mar de Cristal then Colombia. We make the first stop and begin to come up to the second, but something does not feel right. I ask the boy sitting next to me by pointing to the Metro map. He indicates that we are only coming to what I thought was the first stop. Then I see my mistake. Major stops are in circles (Mar de Cristal, Colombia), while minor stops are in much smaller half-circles and there is a half-circle (Campo de las Naciones) before Mar de Cristal I did not see before.
I successfully manage the first change, but with a bit of confusion. I need to use the stairs to get to the Number 9 line. I confirm, by pointing at the map again, that I’m on the right tracks and find that naturally I have gone down the wrong stairs. Oh, they are the stairs to Line 9 all right—but it’s Line 9 going the wrong direction. I thus go back up the stairs and down the other side.
A quick side note. The Spanish drive on the right side of the road—as the Americans and most of Europe. But the Madrid Metro cars are on the left side. I’m not sure there is a good explanation for this. I certainly do not know it. Perhaps the Metro system was built by the British. It does give me a minor excuse for my confusion though.
I note that my backpack has a few clasps undone so I place the backpack on a bench and fasten them. The train arrives and I’m on my way again.
My next transfer is Sainz de Baranda, six stops away. I get off and head for Line 6.
Wait, what’s this? In my right hand is my backpack. In my left hand is my daypack. Where’s my walking stick? I have absolutely no idea.
I think about it. It could be on the last train I just got off. It could be at the station 6 stops away. It could be on the first train that I took. It could be back at the airport. Truthfully I have no idea.
I try to decide what to do. I start going back to where I made the transfer. Then I think it’s hopeless so I start going forward. Then I say, “Well, the gods have been kind today and I do have some extra time since the train does not leave until 10:45 PM so what the heck.” I expect the possibility of finding my walking stick is poor, but I head back anyway.
Again, I find myself on the wrong tracks so I ask some ladies I had previously asked where to go. They laugh (as I have asked them before) and point to the other side. Perhaps the gods simply wish me to allow these young ladies to smile. Perhaps one of my soul tasks for today is to bring a smile to their faces.
After going to the right tracks I connect my daypack to my backpack and release the shoulder harness for the backpack. This way I will have both hands free.
Why did I bring my walking stick? First a bit of walking stick history.
While living in Vermont I owned a house and was involved in the community. As part of the community I tried to contribute to it in many ways. One way was to take a course on tracking the native animals. The idea was to determine the animals natural corridors between their winter and summer habitats. In this way the community could protect those corridors from development, thus keeping those animals native to Vermont. The course lasted 5 days, but each was in a different season—that is, except for the first and last class. I purchased my walking stick as part of this “Keeping Track” course. The walking stick has paw prints on it of several Vermont animals. It’s almost as much of a trademark with me as my hat, although the hat I wear even when not traveling.
Ah, but back to why I brought it. Well, a walking stick is quite useful while walking in the mountains. It was in Nepal. It also came in very handy while walking the hills of the Faroe Islands—especially going down some very steep cliffs. And I am hoping to do some hiking in the southeast part of Spain, although at the moment I’m heading to Oviedo in the northwest.
But the second reason—possibly the main reason—I brought my walking stick in simple protection. It’s quite well known that a theft will attack those who appear the weakest. A man with a walking stick can, at least appear less weak then one without one.
While on a plane to Israel I talked to someone who had taken up Japanese stick flighting. I even bought a book, Bo: Karate Weapon of Self-Defense by Fumio Demura, due to him. Although I have not really practiced it as I found I needed more room than my bedroom has to do the exercises. But the thought is that I should be able to use my walking stick for a bit of protection.
In heading back to where I made the last transfer I also thought about the last time I lost my walking stick. I do not mean the times I forgot it for 2-3 minutes. No, I mean the last time I thought is was gone for good. That was at the Taj Mahal in Agra, India. Then I had gotten so enthralled with taking pictures that I completely forgot my stick. It was not until some 45 minutes or so later I realize it was not with me. I did remember where I left it and went back to try to find it. It was gone. Without much hope I decided to ask the guards. They had indeed taken it and were still admiring it. They kindly gave it back to me.
But this time was quite different. I did not remember where I had left it—and there were no guards.
Would it make a great deal of difference to me if I lost my walking stick? No, not really. I enjoy the stick. It’s like a friend on my travels since I generally travel alone. But it is a material object and if the gods decide someone can use it better then I—or I have become too attached to it—well, then let the gods give it to him or her. I will admit I would be disappointed, but only a little. I’ve lost much more along the way.
In traveling back the 6 stations where I had made the transfer I had already half decided to go all the way to the airport. I got off the train and looked over to see whether my stick was on the bench across the way and … You know the answer. Some days the gods are kind. My stick was there. It did seem like the fellow seating on the bench was waiting for the next train to arrive before he grabbed it—but I ran up the stairs (well, walked fast I did have this heavy backpack with me) and down the next and got my stick before the next train arrived. Thus I retrieved my walking stick. It was by itself for about an hour and somehow managed to not get taken.
Thus I once again take the train I’ve ridden before and am headed back to the main train station. I manage to get off again at Sainz de Baranda and head for Line 6. This time I have my daypack and backpack together and am using my shoulder harness so both are on my back and the only thing in either hand is my walking stick.
I get on the Line 6 train and go the three stops to Méndez Alvaro. Ah, finally I’m at the train station. It is a bit strange as I see several signs for buses and none for trains.
I walk out of the gate for the Metro area and ask the Metro ticket person where to go for the trains. He points me to another booth. It must be the train booth.
Not even close. The person in this booth says I’m not even at the right station and I need to go back onto the Metro, continue on Line 6, then take Line 10 to the real train station as it turns out this is the bus station. (Of course she said no such thing, but in an attempt to be briefer I decided not to go into the convoluted conversations with her and back at the Metro ticket booth where I did need to purchase another Metro ticket even though the first Metro person told me the wrong place.)
Off again on Line 6. This time for another 11 stops. Then onto Line 10 for 8 stops. The stop I need to get off at, Chamartin, is much closer to the airport than the bus station. I make the transfer at Principe Pio to Line 10, and finally arrive at Chamatin. “Finally”, that’s a nice word. I’ve had enough of the Metro for a while. I even find an American couple to confirm this is the main train station and briefly mention that I first ended up at the bus station.
The walk from the Metro to the train station is not that far, but by now I’m tired of carrying around my backpack. It is a bit heavy and I’m not getting any younger. I’m glad I’ve finally arrived at the train station.
I go to the train information area and show them where I wish to go and the train I wish to take. They do nothing more than, intelligently, send me to another line for a ticket.
I get into the second line. I give all of my papers to the counter person showing him that I wish to take the Costa Verde train, Number 00831 to Oviedo leaving at 10:45 PM and arriving at 6:57 AM. We then have a few rounds of he does not speak English and I do not speak Spanish. He finally indicates there is no such train and points to the website page I printed out where is shows “LMXJV D”. Now this is the English version of the train schedule, but the day abbreviations are in Spanish, e.g., L= Monday, M = Tuesday, X = Wednesday, J = Thursday, V = Friday, S = Saturday, and D = Sunday. Note there is no “S”. There is no Saturday. And it is Saturday. And the next train does not leave until 8:00 AM on Sunday morning.
I have made my plans around the train schedule. The train is a sleeper train and I have planned on sleeping on the train. Now I will say that I have ridden sleeper trains before. I rode one several years ago from Copenhagen to Stockholm. They are certainly not as romantic as the moves make them. Four men snoring away in very small bunk beds is not romantic. And one advantage of a train is the scenery—which one cannot see at night.
Still, this was my plan and I was not sure where to go from here. Back to the information line I guess to ask. No good. They only have information about trains—and only in Spanish at that—nothing about buses or hotels.
What to do? What to do?
I could try to eat and then get a hotel. The problem is I expect a hotel in Madrid without a reservations might be somewhat expensive. And I am lugging around a fairly heavy backpack.
What to do? What to do?
Why had the gods sent me first to the main bus station—which was certainly out of my way?
What to do? What to do?
By now it’s after 5:00 PM. It will take at least an hour to take the Metro back to the bus terminal. Should I go? Should I determine that the gods would rather I take a bus?
I’m tired. I’ve especially tired of carrying around my backpack. I have noticed that I’m getting any younger. After all I am in Spain for my birthday!
Still, on reflection, I head back to the bus station. The gods have been kind today there must have been some reason they sent me to the bus station. I should try to listen to them.
But do I really expect there to be a bus, this evening? No, but I’m thinking there might be a hotel near the bus station which is a bit cheaper then near the train station. And, at this point, I’m curious as to why the gods had me go to the bus station first.
Back to Line 10, back 8 stops, transfer to Line 6 and another 11 stops. I’m back at the bus station once again.
My plain is: check for buses, eat (by now it’s after 6 PM), and determine my next steps—probably where I will sleep: bus station, train station, or hotel.
I check the buses. Is there a bus? You know the answer. Some days the gods are kind—especially if you take the time to listen to them. There is a bus. The bus leaves at 8:00 PM (time enough for me to eat and relax a bit), it arrives at 1:20 AM (5 hours and 20 minutes, whereas the train would take 7 hours and 13 minutes—I asked and no one could explain that), and the bus cost 27 euros (13 less then the train—not including the extra expensive of a sleeping car). I am very glad I listened to the gods.
I eat a nice meal. I think at a little lower price than I would at the train station, read a little, call the hotel in Oviedo to tell them I’ll be arriving early, relax, and get on the bus.
It has been years since I’ve taken a bus other than a city bus. It seems they have changed—at least in Spain. This one has several monitors which play a movie—just like in an airplane. Like an airplane it also has multiple channels to plug my iPod earphones into. I also have a complete double seat to myself. The movie is in Spanish—naturally. For less cost then the train and getting me there faster it’s wonderful.
The bus ride is mainly dull—it is night after all. I read a little. We do stop once for 20 minutes or so for a food and rest break. I’m a little concerned as it seems everyone gets off the bus and I start to think I need to transfer buses. I don’t. Also the bus is a little warm—naturally the Spanish like it warmer then those of us from up North—so my legs start to shake. I take 3 pills, then a second 3, and finally a third 3 before they stop—much more than I normally would take.
We arrive in Oviedo on time. I get a taxi directly to the hotel. There is a mix-up as I’m arriving a day early even though I did phone them. The mix-up is so bad I think I have the wrong hotel and phone for directions. This, of course, is a minor comedy of errors as the phone rings in the reception area where I am. Since it’s my mobile phone going through Denmark and therefore long distance the front desk clerk wisely does not answer. We quickly get it straightened out when an English speaking patron comes in.
I go to my room. It’s been an interesting day. I feel a bit strange. I notice that if I turn out the light I see exactly the same with my eyes open or closed. I even take my blood sugar at 2:02 AM to see whether that’s okay. It’s fine. I fall asleep fairly easily.
Quick points. I do not wake up until 11:30 AM having slept all night long. Normally I get up 2 or 3 times to go to the restroom. I’m still feeling a bit strange and realize it’s due to the medication I took for my legs. Generally I take two or three pills—on the bus I took nine.
I also realize in the morning the reason everything looked the same with my eyes open and closed. I’m on the top floor with the only window a skylight and it has a very tightly closed shutter on it which keeps out much of the light. In a totally dark room what one sees with his/her eyes open and closes is the same. Go into a closet or the bathroom at night to confirm it if you do not believe me.
Now for the test. You knew there was going to be a test didn’t you?
This is the way I live my life. I constantly try to listen to the gods, God, my soul. Is this how you live your life?
A rational person might explain away everything. The glove. The walking stick. The bus station. The glove dropped earlier and the person forgot to mention it. Who would want a walking stick? The word for train in Spanish is “tren” and thus they might not have understood me—and after all I just showed them the map of all of Spain and asked how to get to Oviedo. (This last is a very big stretch as I did say “train station” to two people.)
All true.
But would a rational person check the pocket behind his/her seat on the airplane believing that he/she had probably dropped the glove while getting his/her passport out when doing through security?
Would a rational person have gone back for his/her walking stick having no idea where he/she had left it? Especially if it seemed a good chance he/she left it on one of the trains?
And let’s take a moment to ask whether the walking stick easily could have been taken. What was really the possibility of the walking stick being taken? Of course it’s hard to tell especially as I am not familiar with the Spanish culture and the Madrid Metro crime statistics in particular. But I left the stick for at least an hour and I would liken it to leaving one’s hat or gloves. You will need to determine for yourself whether you would have gone back.
As another aside I should mention that the walking stick did come in very handy while taking three long walks. One in Oviedo up to some religious monuments. One in Rótova walking in the mountains. And a last one in Sella walking again in the mountains.
And, in fact, the walking stick was lost by the airline on the way back. I assumed it to be another minor tests of the gods to determine whether I was really willing to give it up. Most luggage lost is recovered in the first 36 hours. My walking stick was not. So I expected it was needed by someone else. Then after 40 hours I was told they found it and I have it again.
Would a rational person have gone back to the bus station having spent numerous hours already in the Metro and being very tired of carrying around a heavy backpack?
Finally, would a rationally person have done all three? Would you?
And a spiritual person? What would a spiritual person have done? I like to think of myself as a spiritual person and I did do all three. Would you?
This has certainly been a minor example of listening to one’s soul, the gods, God. Perhaps though it’s been worthwhile. Perhaps you have learned a thing or two—which might be only how I live my life. Perhaps we both have learned a bit. And perhaps we will all listen to God, our souls, the gods a little more in the future.