Life
in a Northern Town*
A Journey Faraway and Back Again (Part I)
by Lothar
Call me Ismael…- I was having some BBQ with some friends as my
mobile disturbed the perfect mood, but the news seem to be good (beware they
are no good news after midnight).
A mate
called me and told me that he split with his girlfriend and because of this he
is in trouble. My first thought - she kicked him out and he is looking for a
shelter to rest and reorganize his life. I have to admit I was totally wrong.
HE was the
one who pulled the emergency brake and split up straight before their holiday.
It was too late to cancel the booking and he was looking for somebody to
accompany. When the question came, I was
unprepared but drew fast and shot from the hip before a single question could
come to my mind. I had no fixed plans for my vacation and it wasn’t to bad, 2
weeks in Spain Costa Brava or so; pick-up same day 4pm, flight 6pm and arrival
8pm means I would be laying in the light surf of the med sea by the afternoon and
before I could get more details my mobile went flat. I had booked a trip to
I went home
in a swinging mood dreaming about the sea and the moon, the beach and surf;
beautiful girls and fun; bonfire and Spanish eyes reflecting the flames. Yeah,
life could be soooo marvellous. Sixteen hours
countdown to bring the missile on the ramp shouldn’t be a problem. When I woke
up the sun was high and the shadow low, the bells from the nearby church were
ringing – High Noon and only four hours to go. I can hear your advice – credit card
and toothbrush is all you need and the second one is a nice to have – and I
know, but you like to have some fancy clothes with you; the cool shorts and the
shirts with the psychedelic pattern and …
I stuffed
everything in my aluminium suitcase - the one the manufacturer guarantees that
the content would survive an atomic war and things like that - , I grabbed my
sunglasses and some cash and was ready to take off when the door bell rang.
The first
second I thought a stranger was trying to steal my suitcase. Wrangling with this guy I recognized that it
was only the driver trying to carry it to the car. Shaded windows and comfortable 19 °C (66 Fahrenheit) we hit the road and the first fist hit me. I
did not see it coming I did not even have a clue as my mate briefed me about
the trip. We were flying with low-cost carrier (no reserved seats, no
refreshments) and it was a 4star-plus hotel all-inclusive (okay, you don’t have
to take it all) and the real heavy stuff he was planning to do was some
cultural stuff in the town I never heard before. The journey was as expected,
the plane flew us to
The hotel
was a real “surprise booking” and therefore we did not have a room with a view.
No, it was not without windows, we even had a small balcony with one chair and
a concrete wall across the small road with Coke advertising painted before the
Spanish civil war, or at least it looked like that. I did not mind at all as I
had still the beach on my mind and the next morning I was happy as we were
merely disturbed by the rattling of the trash cans being emptied around 05:30H
while the rooms with the view were under constant bombardment of noise from the
rattling trains passing by every 30min starting around 04:30 (I found out
trying to cross these tracks one morning after a long confrontation with a few
bottles of Spanish wine).
Our quiet
rooms became a disadvantage when we came down for breakfast believing we are
residing in a 4-star plus residence. The buffet was almost eaten clean by the
people on the railway side and the coffee was slightly darker than the light
brown cups it was served in.
It looked
like that the first star of the rating was a white dwarf. We moved over to the coffee bar in the
neighbourhood for a double espresso and a bite to recover. And by the way it
was an Italian barrista
running this coffee shop but Spanish breakfast is the best in the world (next
month you will discover why - perhaps you should call me nevertheless – Ismael.
* Title
borrowed from a song by The Dream Academy
“Call me Ismael” H. Melville, Moby Dick. chap
1, p. 1