Wednesday, October 21, 2015-We begin the Long, Long Journey Home

Today we began our long journey home. We don’t actually fly out till tomorrow but we must return to Madrid today, so in many ways the trip home starts when we board the RENFE bus here in Granada.

Bloodroot contacts our host Emilio, via texting on my dumb phone. I had forgotten that dumb phones possess this ability, albeit requiring much button pushing. From Emilio, Bloodroot obtains a working knowledge of the washing machine. He doesn’t lock his clothing into a fifteen-hour wash cycle like we did in Barcelona. He correctly operates the washer, then takes his laundry down the street to a business with a clothes dryer.

We walk down to the river taking a nice, leisurely, last-minute look at Granada. Walking along the byway, we see some of the river holds water while other parts do not. Not designed by the Moors, famous for showcasing water’s inherent beauty.  Although decorated like a centerpiece of the town, we sadly note that we view more of a controlled drainage ditch running through town then a glorious though contained river.

At 1:30PM promptly, Emilio arrives, picks up the apartment keys and calls a handicapped taxi for us in rapid- fire Spanish. We relax in a taxi large enough for us and our junk. We reflect upon Rick Steves’ “Pack light!” motto, but note that he travels without wheelchairs and walkers. May the remainder of our journey be this pleasant and simple!

Our journey home begins! The taxi takes us back to the train station, where waiting RENFE employees load me back on the bus. This time I do transfer to a normal seat. For the next hour and a half, covering 75 miles, we watch southern Spain’s scenery go by for the last time.

Retracing our path, reaching Antequera Santa Ana once more, RENFE people efficiently load me off the bus and on to the bullet (AVE) train. The train plays the same stupid, instantly forgettable movie again, this time fortunately half over. After another two hours and fifteen minutes, 300 miles later we arrive again back at Puerta de Atocha, the center of all things Spanish. (Remember the AVE train, a German train, proudly reaches 300 km per hour. The Spanish do have to build appropriate tracks, no?) Only Barcelona Sants rivals Puerta de Atocha.  

Back to Atocha and Madrid. This time a woman greets us, helping us off the train. She has some trouble corralling Bloodroot in the Atocha station. Bloodroot refuses to understand that cripples have their own magical way through huge train stations. After retrieving Bloodroot, who had disappeared using an inappropriate escalator, she personally walks us out to taxi-land. But we can’t find a handicapped cab. Our assistant calls the cab and speaks rapidly in Spanish. We wait and wait. The sun sets; the night cools. We grow cold. Bloodroot eventually calls the taxi too but becomes frustrated by his Spanish. Finally, Bloodroot calls again, this time saying to the dispatcher, “lento, lento, lento.” She slows down and we understand that a handicapped taxi will arrive in 15 minutes.

The cab arrives, the driver greeting us in English. We compliment him on his English skills. He replies that as the only American taxi driver in Madrid he should be good at English. We learn about his various wives and businesses and the cost of a taxi license in Madrid. He takes us out to our hotel near the airport. His brother will get us in the morning and take us to Barajas Airport. He greatly praises the food at a mall near the hotel.

But we fear that the mall will be too far away and too complicated given that Bloodroot flies out in a couple of hours for Santiago. We have dinner at part of the hotel. Despite my fears, it’s quite good. We hug Bloodroot goodbye and turn in for a short night.