She
Discovers Barcelona By Night
Written by Journeywoman:
Ranjita Biswas
Calcutta, India
The
invitation to attend a Conference in Barcelona excited me no
end. A fan of Ernest Hemingway, I always wanted to visit the
country he wrote about so passionately. However, things didn’t
go smoothly. The plane left late from Delhi and there was hardly
an hour left to catch the connecting Iberian flight from Heathrow.
Finding the departure lounge in the melee of summer holiday
rush was a nightmare and the ground hostess warned that it was
unlikely that my luggage could be loaded in such a short time.
As
I had anticipated, there was no sign of my baggage at the airport.
By the time I finished the formalities regarding lost luggage,
it was almost midnight. I had with me only a vanity bag with
my passport and money, not even a change of clothes. I couldn’t
locate the ‘conference bus’ meant for delegates
(if it was still running this late at night). Desperate, I hopped
into a city-bound bus. It dropped me at a huge square. I saw
some cabs parked at the square but no drivers. I stood helplessly,
with no clue how to arrive at my destination and unable to speak
Spanish. Luckily, Barcelona’s young crowd party late.
Some were around trying to hail the few cabs whizzing past.
I asked for their help. A girl knowing a smattering of English
asked incredulously, “Alone? From India?” She managed
to hail a cab (bless her!) and explained to the elderly driver
to take me to the university campus. I relaxed at last as we
drove through the still-crowded streets.
Eventually,
the cab stopped in front of a building. But it was not the one,
I said frantically. I showed the driver the picture of the building
the organizers had sent. The old man almost burst his blood
vessels. Angrily he rattled off of which I couldn’t understand
a word. However, I could get the idea that my destination was
far away. Then it dawned on me, the university had moved and
he was refusing to go that far and wanted me to get out. But
I was equally adamant. I just told him: “Sir, I am a guest
in your country. Please take me there!”
I
don’t know whether he melted at my pleading voice or knew
that I was not going to disembark anyway, but he drove on though
muttering all the time.
Then
I knew why he was so reluctant. The university campus was very
far indeed. We soon left behind the city lights and were on
the highway. So here I was, clutching my bag with my money and
passport traveling with a stranger in a strange country at 2
o’clock at night. Horrendous stories of murdered women
flitted across my mind.
But
the driver didn’t abandon me. He went around the huge
campus to locate the guest house. I tipped him handsomely and
muttered the only Spanish word I knew “Gracias!”
He smiled then. Once again it vindicated my belief that people
everywhere in the world help when you ask for help.
