I wrote this in a little notebook while on the flight from Madrid to Dallas, and then Dallas to Mpls. It's long and irritating and there are no photos until the very end, so you're excused from reading it.
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11:30 a.m. Madrid time
On the plane, ready for take-off. I’m so sweaty you’d think it was July in Miami instead of December in Madrid.
We went for breakfast at the hotel before leaving for home this morning. It was nice to see some of the people in our travel group that we’ve gotten to know, and who have expressed concern about Dad/Gpappy. Don and Larry sat together and talked, while Janet and I joined a table with some British folk who’d just arrived in Madrid. I was happy to see Larry laughing and having a good time with Don, enjoying a final desayuno español. The Spanish equivalent of Gustavus sticky buns are everywhere in Spain, and this hotel had the perfect farewell buns! After breakfast our travel group went off to a conference room in the hotel for a lecture about Madrid’s history, art, and architecture while we got ready to leave for the airport. We were sorry to miss the lecture. The equivalent talk in Barcelona was outstanding (GaudÃ, GaudÃ, GaudÃ!).
Luisa (our tour guide) had ordered a taxi to arrive for us by 9:20 or so, but 9:20 “or so" came and went, so we went outside and got our own cab. Good thing, because there was no sign of the other one as we loaded our suitcases and got ready to leave.
The cab driver entered the fixed rate for the fare to the airport (30 euros) onto the meter and off we went. We'd been so caught up in getting medical help that we hadn't visited a bank to get more euros since getting to Madrid. Never mind, because we weren't going to need them. I paid a phone bill in the hotel with euros rather than using a credit card, and we left for the airport with enough in euros to get some water or a snack if we had time for that. Traffic was moderate in the heart of the city, and lighter as we got closer to the aeropuerto.
As it turns out, certain cab companies will only take cash. Up until now, every cab we rode in accepted credit cards. When we pulled up to the curb at the terminal, I handed my credit card to the driver as he simultaneously broke the news that he only takes cash. Uh-oh. Larry and I had 10 euros between us. I’m pretty sure I said, “Oh shit.” The cab drive said no problem, just go inside to a machine. Yes, there are cash card machines in the Madrid airport, but they’re hard to find when you’re in a hurry and already flustered. After almost ten minutes of going through the airport and trying to keep track of where I’d been, I found two machines side by side, long lines leading up to each. Within a few minutes it became clear that the machine in the line I was in no funciona. It didn’t work. I got into the other line, which had now grown longer.
I got into conversation with a woman in line (in Spanish, which somehow was easier than English at that moment). I told her I needed to get euros to pay for the taxi, and she said I should use my credit card to pay. I explained the dilemma, and she made a noise of disgust and said, “They just say that because they don’t want to do it. They all take credit cards.” Ay yi yi!
When I finally put my American Express card into the cash machine, I realized I didn’t have a PIN number for this card, only for my Visa card, which was at home in St. Peter.
Frantic, I ran back through the check-in area and outside to where Larry and the cab driver had been having a nice conversation about raising teenagers, and about his trip to the U.S. some years before. He’d visited San Diego and North Dakota, if you’re wondering.
Despite the male bonding, the driver still said no to a credit card. He didn’t have a machine to run the card, so cash only. Next offer: American dollars. No, he said, it’s too complicado. I was starting to envision the police showing up. By then Larry had found another ten euros, so we were getting closer. We ended up settling on 20 euros and somewhere around 20 dollars, so he came out ahead.
Now it was time to tackle the distance to the ticket counter, long lines, and slow agents. The agent who finally helped us wanted to know where we were from because she had a friend in Florida. Named Potts. Mike Potts! Go figure! Not our nephew Mike Potts, but close enough. Next stop, seguridad. Chaos, of course. Then an O.J. Simpson run through the airport, dodging madrileños who were in a hurry and had too much stuff with them.
Next stop, the customs check of our passports, and a stamp to prove we were in Madrid. Now a long walk and three long escalator rides down, down, down to the train that would take us and a frenzied crowd of travelers to our terminal. Then up, up, up three levels, long moving sidewalks, and more corridors to get to the gate. Thank goodness we found bathrooms at that point. Of course, no toilet paper available in the ladies bathroom, except in one stall, so there was much sharing of t.p. and Kleenix among the women in line.
Out into the gate area, more chaos. Almost boarded a plane to Marakesh by mistake. More seguridad, and finallly, the right gate!
We’re in, we’re on, we’re off!
Many hours later we arrived in Dallas, walked a thousand miles through customs, re-checked our bags, took two more tram rides, rode escalators up and down, etc. only to find out the agent had closed the door to the plane about 10 seconds before we arrived at the gate. Two more hours to wait, but we made it to Minneapolis by 11 p.m. to be greeted by Charlie and Annie, who were the proverbial sight for sore eyes! Here they are while waiting for us, taking pictures of each other and sending text messages back and forth rather than talking. Thanks, C and A. We appreciated your help that night.
The good news is that Larry's blood sodium level is now much better, and we have great memories of the parts of our trip that we want to remember. Truly, all is well that ends well.
