Where Am I? St. Jean-Pied-de-Port, France – Starting point of the Camino de Santiago Compestella (I just wish I was ready to start.
How far did I walk today? 3.74 miles – but I’ll add on after dinner
Sorry for the length of this one – had to vent!
A few people made comparisons to the film Wild when I described my trip, and I finally saw the film on the flight over here. I’m not camping or cooking outdoors, but other elements of the film matched challenges others faced on the Camino. (Pack weight, blisters, etc.)
My favorite scene was when she was interrogated by a guy writing about Hobos. “I’m not a Hobo!” she insisted, but her answers to several of his questions didn’t help her case.
That scene came back to me this morning. I went to the train station in Bayonne this morning at 8:30, and the station agent did not speak English. Still, I was able to make out that the train was out of service for construction (which I vaguely remembered reading before) and the next bus was at 11:07 AM.
I got breakfast and went for a short walk. I saw most of the city last night, so I stopped at a park bench along the river. I had nothing to do other than walk aimlessly around the city. I had a phone, but it was almost out of battery. I was smart enough to bring a charger on my carry-on bag, but I packed both power converters in my main bag which was still en route.
So I just sat on the bench by the river. Then, I looked at the little sling bag that I carried on, and represented the only possessions I had.
I realized it would be hard for me, sitting by the river with this little bag, to convince anyone I’m not a hobo. The bag looked funnier when I got on the bus, and everyone else had a full Osprey pack.
My knees were jamming into the seat in front of me, as there was less legroom then the plane. Still, it was a nice ride. When I got to the hotel, the pleasant woman at reception informed me that my bag had not arrived yet. She had the decency to make a sad face as I explained my problem.
Once I dropped my bag in my room, I needed to find a converter. In this sleepy little village seemingly isolated from civilization, I had to travel 22 steps to find a store that carried what will become my 3rd power converter. (€15 that I’d rather spent on lunch) There were many other tourist traps to explore, but I first needed to call US Airways to find when my bag would arrive.
My family insisted before the trip it would be more cost effective to bring my dad’s cell phone that would allow unlimited texting overseas, but would charge $1 per minute and only gets 100 MB of data. Per month. Who needs a phone call if you can text any cell phone or e-mail or FaceTime from any WiFi hotspot?
Apparently US Airways is stuck in the 20th Century. You can check your bag’s status from their website, but it only read “status open.”
The paper they gave me at the airport listed two numbers. It had their main line and one for those traveling in Europe. I called the operator quickly reassured me that my bag had safely made it to Brussels. This would be fine if I was near Brussels and not in fact 700 miles away in a small French town that nobody knows how to pronounce, including the European operator.
I asked how long it would take for the bag to get to St. Jean-Pied-de-Port.
“I don’t know,” she responded.
Should I book another night here?
“I don’t know.”
So I confirmed the hotel address that I gave the baggage desk in Paris, and went sight-seeing. As I came back and checked in with my mother on FaceTime.
I tried to appear calm as I explained this to Mom, but this did little to ease her nerves about the situation. When she asked for the number to call, I agreed to call again myself.
This time though, I was going to get straight answers. This time, I wanted to talk to an American. When I dialed the 800 number, I was greeted by a computer voice asking for my reference number. Unfortunately, like most high school students, computers talk better than they listen.
After five rounds of “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that,” I finally got a real live American citizen – yawning directly into my ear. (It takes American efficiency to communicate “It’s 6:45 AM here in Phoenix, what the hell do you want?)
After giving her my info, she then politely informed me that the bag arrived in Paris at 7:00 AM – yesterday. I moved on with my next question before realizing that I did not land in Paris until 7:50 AM yesterday.
When I pointed this out to her, she asked if she could put me on hold. This seemed fine and normal at first, but after 10 minutes on hold, I remembered my good friends at AT&T were charging $1 per minute. After 15 minutes, I hung up.
I tried calling again, but was disconnected after another $4.
I then asked mom to call for me. That phone call lasted 1:40. Not just short of 2 minutes 1:40, 1 hour and 40 minutes.
In the end, they informed my mother the bag is still in Brussels. The bag will fly from Brussels to London and then from London to Paris. Why not send it to Paris directly? “We do not operate any flights directly between those to cities,” replied Tomas the friendly US Airways representative. They do not operate these two flights carrying my bag either, but somehow, this will save them $3.42 or something. What has not been explained yet is how my bag will travel the other 525 miles to the French Pyrenees.
Matters might be a little simpler if the hotel I asked US Airways to deliver my bags to had a vacancy to stay here an extra day. Instead, I need to find another hotel room in town so I can be close when my bag gets to this one.
“This is the best of all possible worlds” was Voltaire’s cynical refrain in Candide. I’m starting to worry that the play Saturday was an omen for my trip! But hey, I’m not a hobo. I’m just between places.