We walked the 1km+ south through town to the Santiago de Compostela Renfe train station.
The train to Madrid was like a TGV. We zoomed along at speeds up to 246 kmh in fancy spacious airline-like seats.
The movie "X-men: Days of Future Past" played on the TV in Spanish, and as I watched the countryside go by, it seemed fitting. It was almost like I was revisiting our walk through the mountains, towns, and valleys, just from a different perspective. Plus, THIS GUY hit very close to home. lol.
I brought out our "40" cups and we shared a can of beer that I bought from the machine at the train station.
Soon wind farms gave way to solar panels, and trees to prairie and desert. I tried to get some shut eye, but managed only about an hour. I could feel my irritability level growing, due to my lack of sleep.
We arrived in Madrid after 8pm, and struggled finding the correct metro line. It was the first metro station I had ever seen that didn't have a big map of the lines posted on the wall. Finally we got help from a metro worker, and we were on our way. Cathleen found the movements of the metro "trippy," and mentioned that she had only once ever been on a metro before. Then she revealed she had also never flown to a foreign country before (besides one flight to Hawaii).
When she had previously made mention of "I never travel" and "I never fly," I had thought she had meant it in a colloquial sense of "I don't do that often." But suddenly it became very clear that she had actually *never* done many of the things she had just done on our trip. It gave me a new sense of respect for how well she handled all the truly foreign situations we had dealt with.
From the Madrid Chamartin train station, we walked the few blocks our hotel. My body was jazzed up with extra energy, after sitting all day instead of walking. I could tell Cathleen's was too (even though she denied it), because of her irresistible urge to whistle, which she had not done once our whole trip. (That energy's got to escape somehow!)
Arriving at the hotel just after 9:30pm, the nearby sidewalk cafés and bars were packed. While I checked in with one hotelier, the other hotelier tried to use his cell phone's voice recognition app to translate Spanish into English. It didn't work. Cathleen laughed that she tried the same thing earlier and it failed then too. The man pouted that he could not communicate with us. I was like, um, are you listening to us speaking in Spanish to your coworker here? Lol.
It turned out that the hotel was huge! Past the tiny front office were blocks of red brick buildings filled with rooms. The hotelier led us to a building nearly two blocks down. Our room was simple, but had A/C, which was glorious!!
Cathleen wanted to go out for a final beer, and I thought that would be a nice way to finish up our trip.
But before we went out, she wanted to take a shower, then rearrange her pack, then there was some communication with her husband over who was going to pick her up from the airport (long story, but the original plan was in jeopardy). I did some laundry and got my things ready for the morning while I waited, and got progressively more anxious about the time.
By the time she was ready to leave, it was 11:15pm. At that point, I felt it was almost too late to go out, since we had an early flight the next day, but I grudgingly went out anyway. We walked the two blocks to the main street, and as we tried to pick from among the many packed bars, Cathleen realized that she forgot her cigarettes in the hotel and wanted to go back for them. I thought about the time it would take to go get them, come back, pick a bar, get served our beers (in Spain, a 30 min ordeal at best), then drink them, and something in me snapped. "I just can't! It's too late at night!! I need to sleep!"
Cathleen was good about it. We went back to the hotel, I crawled into bed and had a big cry, and chatted with Colin on google hangouts a little, while she went outside to smoke.
I felt both angry and sad. I was so impatient with how much time she took to do everything, and I was upset that I wasn't handling things very well. Plus, I didn't want to end the trip feeling like that. We had gotten along so well the entire time, even through the times of our own personal struggles. I was just so low on sleep that I had no resources to feel compassion. I also realized that I would have been better served to have said something about my anxiety about the time when we first arrived at the hotel. Even after more than three weeks, I still had never adjusted to Spain's late dinner/socializing hours.
When Cathleen came back inside from her smoke, she said she knew why we didn't go for beers: she had just helped a Muslim family that no one else would help. She watched three separate people ignore their pleas. Finally, she asked if she could help them. They were from London, they couldn't find their hotel, they had their baby with them, they were anxious to be lost in Madrid at nearly midnight.... She said, "I'm on wifi," so they looked up their hotel and took a photo of the map on her phone.
I had not thought much about the issue of anti-Muslim sentiment in Spain, as there had been no terror attacks since 2004, but a little bit of research showed the reason why bias might still exist. Another name for St James, the patron saint of Spain, was Matamoros, "the Moor-slayer." This moniker and its related mythology was first emerged during the 8th century (notably many centuries after the death of St James), when Christian Asturias fought the Islamic armies from Africa, who had conquered much of Spain. The legend states that St James appeared on a white horse and led the Asturian troops to victory over the moors in a key battle. This legend grew over time and stuck in the minds of the Spanish people, and we were told several times, by local people exhibiting great pride, how Asturias was historically the last bastion of Christianity who fought back against encroaching Islam. Although many historians consider these stories of the Moor-slayer apocryphal, the sentiment seems to be still strong. Statues of St James beheading moors are still plentiful in Spain, including a famous one in the Cathedral of Santiago, where, according to a current employee of the Compostela office, the moors in the carving are now disguised by a large flower arrangement, in an attempt to be more PC.
(I didn't get a photo of this in the Cathedral, but I'm checking with Cathleen to see if she did, and if she did, I'll post it here.)
Even after her story, I was still crying from before. She told me that she had had a panic attack a couple of hours earlier, and had taken an Ativan, which was why she was currently so calm. She had not immediately recognized the panic attack for what it was, because she had not had one since we had left Canada. She had noticed how much it physically hurt, like she was having a heart attack, and she noticed how it had been her normal everyday state when she was at home before the trip. She said it made her realize how much she needed the respite of this trip, and how seriously she needed to change the way things were in her life at home.
While I was very happy to hear that she had come to these important insights, another part me was still upset over the lateness of the hour, and our bungled attempt to go out. I considered taking an Ativan myself, but by then I was feeling a little better, and felt I needed to "feel/release" more than "shut off" my emotions, so I messaged good night to Colin and put down my phone.
We chose 6:30am as a wake up time, so that we could be at the airport at 7:30am for our 9:30am flight. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but Cathleen started getting her pack ready for the morning. There was nearly an hour of rustling plastic and her talking to herself, asking redundant questions (eg "where is x?"), or talking "to" me (eg "do you have more duct tape?") or "to" someone outside banging to get in (eg "no way I'm letting you in, buddy!"). I didn't open my eyes for fear it would start a whole new ordeal. I almost said what I had to tell my chatty Paris friend several times the year before, "I am SLEEPING!" But worried it would be just as effective as it was with my Paris friend -- ie not at all -- and then I'd be required to answer her many requests about duct tape and blankets, or else get pissy at her. ;p
I felt there was not much I could do, as she would either need to get ready then or in the morning, when we would have even less time, and I'd be even more anxious. Also, if I said anything at that point, I might have screamed it. I actually did a whisper-level yell in the middle of the night, when her body chose that night to snore-- only the second time of the entire trip!! I suppose I should have taken the Ativan after all. ;)
The next morning, Cathleen's alarm went off at 6am. I groaned loudly that we had agreed on 6:30am. She had already gone back to sleep. I dozed until 6:30am, at which time both our alarms went off. We shut them off and I went into the washroom to shower. When I came out, Cathleen had gone back to sleep again.
After two nights in a row of poor sleep, and facing a long plane ride of (I assumed) more poor sleep, I was back up at fever pitch almost instantly. It was not my responsibility to get her up and on the plane on time! And I would NOT miss my plane home because she wanted to sleep in! I considered just leaving the hotel 7am. Instead, at 6:50am, I woke her up. She grumbled about 6:30am, and I said it had come and gone! She grumbled more about, "Why didn't you tell me?" At which point I could barely muster, "You turned off your own alarms when they went off."
She threw back her covers, fully clothed. For the first time I felt a glimmer of hope that we would be able to leave on time, which we did.
We left the hotel and navigated our way to the airport, with the help of some friendly airport food services staff. ;)
We stood in line to check in and to check Cathleen's bag, because now she had her new walking poles to bring home with her. I decided to put my little pocket knife into her bag, as I'd grown rather fond of it, and decided I'd wait with her for her bags to arrive Vancouver. Then we could walk out together. A nice little moment of closure.
We got through both check in and customs surprisingly fast. We still had an hour to locate our gate. I was eager to get a coffee and some breakfast, and happy we would have a little time to do that.
But at the other side of customs, Cathleen pouted that, "We still have an hour left? We didn't have to come into the airport yet. We screwed me out of a smoke!" I blew up. "I screwed you?! By getting you up out of bed and navigating our way here and through the airport at the minimum time we were supposed to be here?! And then by luckily getting through customs faster than expected?! Somehow that's me screwing you?!" I was furious. She tried to explain that she only ever thought in terms of "we," and couldn't say "I wanted a smoke," because we're all One, but that only fueled my fire, as *I* didn't even want a smoke. I had a rant at the tip of my tongue about personal responsibility and codependency and how "our" motivations and actions would look very different, if told from my perspective, but I let it go.
Instead, I found our gate (another hot issue, because even though we walked right by the board, she didn't look herself but instead asked me (then made me doubt and double check myself after still not looking herself, bristling that I would even suggest it), which had been happening in various different manifestations throughout the whole trip. When I was feeling strong and generous, I could look past it; when I was feeling weak and tired, it stuck in my craw).
At our gate, I sat down and she took off. I cried some more, and did some clearings. (No, I have no shame doing these things in public.) I was proud of myself that I "stayed," both in the emotion and in the physical location, as my old habit would be to run too.
My logical brain knew that all of this kerfuffle was happening because (1) I was too low on sleep, which made me feel "unsafe," because I felt I didn't have the resources to deal with things as they happened, which was exacerbated by feeling the pressure and criticism to take care of things for us, and (2) she was immanently going home to a chaotic and stressful home life, which was cranking up her anxiety and thus amplifying her other insecurities. The timing of the blow-up (our last day in Spain) was not lost on me either. Even knowing that, my emotional brain still needed to do its thing. Lol.
By the time she came back, we had both gotten to an ok place. I was glad, because despite everything, Cathleen had been the best travelling partner I'd ever had. Normally, I couldn't get through more than a couple days with someone before I hit my breaking point.
Perhaps it helped that this trip was spent walking every day, and much of that was alone. But I wanted to give credit to Cathleen, that she respected alone time and quiet time, was fairly direct about her needs -- and fairly obvious about them on the odd time when she wasn't direct ;) -- and, like me, she was trying to move her through her journey consciously, and so was searching for and seeing her own subconscious motivations (even if not always immediately), which meant that when we did talk, it was often therapeutic and constructive. On previous days, we had joked about our "morning therapy sessions," where we hashed out the previous day's experiences through a psychological and spiritual lens, and questioned ourselves and each other, to get what messages and lessons we could. Usually, that would be the bulk of our conversation for the day.
Boarding the plane, Cathleen stared at her "window" seat: there was no window. She groaned, "It's really just that kind of day." Since I was close to collapse, and just wanted to go to sleep as soon as possible, and had seen most of Canada from the air already, I offered to trade her for my window seat, which was in front of hers. That cheered her somewhat. I put on my noise cancellation headphones, fell asleep and got a couple hours of rest. That cheered me somewhat. Lol.
Athough not yet fully "myself" after I awoke from my nap, my anger level was seriously reduced, and I felt much more agreeable, if still a little weepy. I was glad that I could go home and sleep as much as I wanted over the next few days.
I was looking forward to seeing Colin and my dog Rory. I was looking forward to microbrew beers and the ocean. Oh man, was I looking forward to machine-washed clothes! I was looking forward to a pillow that didn't give me a headache and a shower curtain/door that actually went all the way to the floor! (We seriously had ONE on our whole trip, in Santiago. Did Spaniards enjoy wet floors? Were they too poor for that extra length of curtain/glass? Did they have some special showering technique that prevented water from escaping the tiny shower curtains/doors? Nothing I tried worked. It remained a mystery to me!)
I helped Cat fill out her customs form, and we smiled that we were both using the yellow pens we received from the kind lady at the sandwich cart in Vilabade.
When our flight landed in Toronto (a little earlier than expected, I might add), my first priority was making sure Cathleen made her tight transfer. Somehow, we ended up on different flights for the Toronto to Saskatoon leg of our trip, even though the rest of our itineraries were identical. My own flight to Saskatoon was not showing on the board, which concerned me, but since it left hours later, I made sure she knew where she going first.
She was worried that she might have to pick up her checked bag in between flights, but a friendly clerk assured her, with a laugh, "With that many transfers, you shouldn't have to transfer your own bag!" Lol. He did also check the computer. Lol.
As we walked, I had the chance to tell her that she had been the best traveling companion I'd ever had; she mentioned she realized she "didn't need to be angry to say goodbye," which was a pattern I had seen a few days prior, but not mentioned out loud to her. We were on the same page. We walked arm in arm, brimming with happy tears.
I went with her through customs and into the security area for her gate, then tried to deal with my own mysterious missing flight issue. Other flights in that timeframe were on the board. No one I asked seemed know what was happening. One clerk finally scanned my boarding pass and told me my flight had been cancelled. And of course no Air Canada employee would tell me to just check in, so I kept getting shuffled around from desk to desk.
I finally logged in to the airport's wifi, and found a long series of emails from Air Canada, starting after we had already left the hotel that morning. My flight AC 1125 cancelled, rescheduled for AC 7575... then that was cancelled, and rescheduled for AC 147... I didn't know what to do. Should I just self check-in at the kiosk?
By that time, I ended up in a line of very upset people... and one clerk for the long line. Two separate women just completely lost it! They were yelling and demanding instant attention. I was scared to leave the line to try the self-serve kiosk, in case it didn't work and I lost my place in the long line.
Finally, another clerk started walking down the line, asking what each person's deal was, so I got helped ahead of schedule, because she could help me right away. She told me to try the self-serve check-in kiosk, and to come back into line if it didn't work. I think the couple behind me had the same issue. So I got checked in and on my way. Then I got a skip ahead in security too.
In the end, my new flight was flying directly to Vancouver from Toronto, and getting in two hours earlier. I noted the three "shortcuts" I had just received, and was grateful, although I wished it could have all been less stressful.
I managed to catch Cathleen on google hangouts to tell her what happened. She was just boarding at her gate. I mentioned I had just been writing a blog entry (Week 3 Review) about the exact phenomenon I just again experienced: starting together, finishing the journey alone; starting on the expected route, but finishing on a different route; not having the "closure moment" that was expected. She pointed to the moment we had while walking down the airport hall, and I agreed that some part of me must have known what would happen. Then she messaged that she didn't believe in "endings," to which I answered, "that's in the blog too!!"
So it was an interesting final adventure to the chapter. But of course, the story never ends. Which had also been a theme of this trip.
I found my gate and noticed it was right next to a bar. Just what the doctor ordered! I ordered a beer, and listened to Chumbawamba declare, "I get knocked down, but I get up again!" I saw a woman getting a delicious looking thin crust pizza, but thought to myself how one piece would suit me perfectly.
A man at the bar chatted me up very briefly. He asked if I was from Calgary, totally not hitting on me, just being polite. He ordered a pizza. After a while, the waiter asked him if he wanted to pack up the rest, and he said, "No no! It's too much!" So I commented, "Yeah, they looked really good but I was thinking how it was just too much!" Then he asked, "Do you want the last piece of mine? It's got chili flakes on it though..." Sold! So I got exactly what I wanted! One piece of the delicious pizza. The waiter brought over a plate for me. I wanted to tell the man how his generosity touched me, after my boarding pass woes, but he got up abruptly and left without a word.
I paid and went back to my gate just as the plane was disembarking. At my feet was this:
Looking up, I saw one of the ladies who had been freaking out in the help line. I waved and smiled. She waved back and smiled sheepishly. She looked much calmer and happier now.
Boarding was a bit of a zoo, with many many passenger calls. I assumed it was because people got transferred onto the flight the last minute, like I did. The flight was packed. I was assigned the centre seat, instead of the window I wanted, but it seemed like I was not to get my usual window seat on any leg of this trip home, just as everything else was not "usual." I took it as a concrete sign that my path had irrevocably changed... I was on a new path now, which didn't adhere to the old ways.
Colin arrived to pick me up with a local microbrew beer in a cooler pack. We drove home and he had made a raw cheese platter from Les Amis du Fromage. My dog Rory acted like he didn't recognize me... until I earned his love back with cheese. ;) Then we walked to the sea, and I dipped my hands in the ocean. I was home.
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