Surprise Logic Continued

Logic being as it is, I always thought when I was making my arrangements, I would be able to get off the train in Biarritz and there would be a bus or taxi waiting for me to just hop into and get taken to the airport with time to spare for a café and a fatty pastry. But, logic took me and threw me in the mud! Not only was there no bus going in the direction of the airport, but there wasn’t even a taxi in sight. The outside of the station was deserted. It was only about an hour and a half since I started my journey and the morning was just getting underway.

But Biarritz is a very lazy town in the early hours, and if I saw anyone they were usually school kids on their way to class. These kids dressed much more familiar to me than the kids in Spain. There was more of a Californian – “Yo bra - surfs up!” vibe to their threads. Billabong here, Volcom there. The town of Biarritz holds many surf competitions, bringing in many surf legends.

The sport of surfing in Biarritz goes back to the 50’s. San Sebastian is also a surf town in many respects, but the emphasis seems to be more on Basque culture rather than on California. Walking past these would-be counterparts, I realized that not only was I not at the airport, but also that I was already lost. Finding a bus stop, I looked at the sign and realized the next bus that could take me to my plane wouldn't arrive for another four hours! The schedule was like that of an old movie theater playing artsy, black-and-white flicks at inconvenient times to discourage those who weren’t devoted enough to the genre. So, I started walking with my backpack - straps fully taught.

The town must have been designed with darts and a blindfold. Nothing made sense, no streets seemed to head anywhere near the center of town, and the bus stops seemed almost too close to each other to actually be helpful. I soon felt the center of town must be down the park hill and over the next hump of teal, leafless trees.

My one goal was to find a taxi, any taxi. I headed as fast as I could to where I thought the nearest taxi could be. Soon, an hour had passed. My shoulders hurt and I hadn't peed since Spain. The town center seemed to just always be around the corner. My feet and back were tired so I found a bus stop in the middle of an industrial part of town close to an old grocery store. I was already up for about a day and hadn’t eaten a real meal in three. My trip was a shame and I should have just stayed in Spain and spent time with my roommates. Drinking for a month to get over the winter chill of foreign loneliness. I couldn't believe I was lost in France and had no way of getting to the airport. I couldn't believe my botched travel plans! I should of never left America.

In the midst of my frustrated self-loathing, a small white Italian car approached the grocery store. Was that a Taxi? I had to blink, look away and then look again; it was a taxi! The driver pulled up to the grocery store and went in. I got off the bus stop bench, forgot the pain in my back and ran to the cab, pulling my heavy bag onto my shoulders. The man came out of the store with a café and a banana. He looked at me oddly, as if I should have been asleep in the alley. His thick black eyebrows wrinkled down when I asked him in my best Spanish, “Aeropuerto?” More eyebrow movement but this time the dark lashes went up with a nod and he said, “I drive you.” All the pain and worry left with the sensation of being saved. I got into the cab grinning a huge smile, much like my mom’s smile the next day when I yelled, “surprise!”

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2008 Travel Journal

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