31 Aug 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, No Comments.
08/31 Toledo, Spain
We both had traveled through Madrid on our way into Portugal but neither one of us had our mind on sightseeing. We had planned on traveling through into Avila and then on to Toledo so we only got off the train to stretch our legs and find ourselves some food. When we first arrived in Toledo we walked around its outer wall. Ann was sporting a t-shirt minus a bra and again my mind began orbiting. We needed to find ourselves a room, but when my constipation needle pointed to full I need to do my business first. I assume we overpaid for our room but it was that, or well let’s just say I had no other choice. We then constructed a pile of clothes in the center of our room consisting of every article we owned with the exception of what we were planning on wearing out for tonight’s dinner. The Nile had never seen dirty water and anything that could substitute as a clothes line did. Our room was littered with wet cloth.
Toledo reminded me of being in the desert back home in California. With the coming of night the life returned. We followed the stream of renewed life and eventually ended up sitting across from one another separated by candle light. The restaurant was upscale and we were both under dressed. I was staring into her eyes knowing she could never hold back a smile from me. I kept reminding myself that our time together would soon to come to an end but didn’t want to bring up the subject. School would soon be starting for Ann and she needed to get home before the first bell. On the other hand I committed on reuniting with Jim back down towards the south of Spain. We spend the next day relaxing and just settled into the scenery. Our last day together.
We didn’t exchange any words in regards to our separation, until I was holding her in my arms at the train station. I whispered in her ear that it didn’t have to be an end and that whatever happens, would happen because it was supposed to. Then I watched a slow tear travel down towards her chin. I shared that tear. It would be a lonely train ride. I continued watching her from my window until I could no longer see the platform. I sat alone in kind of a dead zone feeling like somebody hit me up upside the head.
The morning passed, like strangers on the road, out that same window, I watched the rain roll down, a distorted view
It reminded me, of yesterday’s tears, how the years, have passed away
As if in a single day, I got caught up in the stream, I’ve seemed, to capture the words,
but I can’t remember, the faces, Just traces, of yesterday’s dream
Looking back, I see the reflection of the face, frozen, like those many framed windows of the past
Only a stranger looking back, through the cracks, of myself
A fool, obedient to a vision, from behind the window, watching, a changing world that’s not my own
Only the birds, I hear sing, about such things, how they’ll never be alone
It was a about half way into Cartagena when the unexpected presented itself. I can almost remember him tapping me up the side of my head, “No reservation, No sit here”. Keep in mind that it was a non-stop train, no one else was getting on and it was less than half full. I followed the conductor into the next car and sat where he gestured I should sit. Each seat had a flip down desk attached on the back of the seat in front and they were not the most comfortable of seats. I wasn’t interested in an argument so I took his directions and tolerated the seat. After about ten minutes a young lady arrived and had tried to place a meal in front of me. I explained that I did not order any meal and wasn’t hungry so she passed me by. Two young ladies to my right thought the opposite and assumed it was a complimentary meal and that free is always a good thing. After the meal trays were removed from those who ate the conductor came through to collect money. When he got to me I refused to pay for something I didn’t receive. “You pay, you pay”, he screamed, gaining the attention of everybody in the car. He then repeated this request again, that time at the top of his voice. He had placed me there and he knew I refused the food so on principle only; I was unwilling to yield to his so called authority. I wasn’t about to line that guy’s pocket with a twenty-dollar bill. Once he mentioned the word “Jail” the young ladies began searching their purses in attempt to assemble a payment. I handed him my first class train pass and again explained that I did not eat any of his train food. At this point the entire car was involved if they wanted to be or not. His yelling was in Spanish which was probably a good thing and helped to keep me calm. If he wanted a fight, he had it. The next step he took almost came to blows. He opened the window and held out my rail pass, threatening to drop it if I didn’t yield to his demands. At that point numerous other passengers were standing. A very large woman approached me from the far end of the car and volunteered as an interpreter. Back and forth they went. There were a few moments when the lady was actually louder. On the other hand I had no money on me. Not a penny. The conversations continued between the conductor and five passengers who were still standing. Since these conversations were conducted in Spanish I was left out of the equation. Then all of a sudden just like in the movie “It’s a Wonderful Life” one gentleman who apparently thought that this entire incident reflected badly on Spain began to pass a hat around and collected enough to persuade the conductor to give me back my pass and go away.
How does one say thank you for this type of gesture. I started feeling uncomfortable and knew I still needed to locate another seat so not to repeat that episode again. I decided to refocus my attention to writing out post cards but when I looked for my post cards they were no longer where I expected them to be. Perhaps I had left them back behind in the “You pay” car. In my searching, I discovered a young man sitting in the seat directly across from where I had been originally sitting. He spoke perfect English and explained that he was a Pasadena, California resident. Then I had felt a pat on my shoulder, “Are these your?” Apparently my post cards had slid down in-between my seat and down a couple of rows. The young man I had just met had noticed the name of Tim O’Connor addressed on one of the post cards. Through the obstacles of inquiries we discovered we both knew the same Tim O’Connor. What a small world it really is. After sharing a few more questions our worlds became even smaller. We discovered where and how each of us knew Tim. Tim had lived with his parents down the street from where my parents lived in Arcadia. At one point I had tried to persuade Tim to attend college and felt his reluctance was tied to the possibility of failure, so I suggested a Political Science class as a starting point. I had all the tests and all the test answers. Maybe they wouldn’t be the exact test questions but he’d have a pretty good idea of what to expect. As it turned out, the gentleman recognized my name from those tests. He was Tim’s so called study partner. Well it was very nice meeting you I acknowledged before I settled back into my post cards. The most important of those was to my Grandmother who I always affectionately referred to as “Nanny”. I understood that Nanny enjoyed poetry and had actually published a few of her own. So I thought I’d express a perspective on my travels that would meet with her approval, like how sometimes you wake up in the middle of it, ending up learning things you didn’t set out to learn, or expect.
I have grown, like a bird who’s flown, from his own garden, accepted and who listens to my song
in the gardens of others, to me, so much beauty, singing in life, hearing its song
I’ve been walking and wandering, as a wind through the world, time, it has gone away and I’m the one,
who’s following smiles, this world I’m loving today
I wish I could tell, all that I’ve seen, the beauty in the people I’ve meet but every piece, would seem like a dream
if I spent the time, to explain every step, It’s love, really couldn’t say any more
God has been there, showed me the way, his hand has opened each door,
and I’ve been collecting these things, that he’s shown, allowing each step to bring change
now like a feather, no longer the stone, I’m free, as a bird on the range
Finally we arrived at our destination, Valencia. I tracked down an exchange to ensure I had cash in my pocket for whatever might lay ahead and paid back two of the young ladies who donated towards my meal ticket. Jim and I had earmarked the next day to reunite. We were to meet at noon in front of the local American Express office. So I circled a hotel within walking distance, checked in and then sought out some night life. I asked a few of the friendly faces for directions but many times they contradicted what I already knew. Up one dark street I came across a familiar smell so I closed in and questioned directions. Once I had started up a conversation I inquired about the hash. “Expensive”. “Well that’s the best kind and I’m interested in forking out some cash if you can obtain me a little”. I struck up a good deal for just enough to make up one very small cigarette. I searched out some tobacco and headed towards my room. Hiding in the darkness of my balcony I lit up and ended this night watching shadows pass on the street below.
