Things Left Behind
I flew into Madrid rather proud of myself: I had foreseen many potential difficulties and had avoided all of them. I got through passport control (the Spanish agent neither looked at nor spoke to me, just continued talking to the officer at the next desk): I had prepared what to say about where I would be staying (“lots of albergues on the Camino”) and how long I was planning to stay and so forth. At my hotel they let me in my room early. I reconnected with the internet. Then I realized: although I had my phone charger, I lacked the adapter to connect to the higher voltage in Spain.
I asked the front desk where to get one. The agent said they would loan me one while I was there. I said, no, I need one for about seven weeks. She said, You have to give it back when you check out tomorrow. I said, yes, where could I buy one? Now the penny dropped: She said, turn left, then right, then left, and there will be a store with adapters. I asked what the store was called. She said it’s just a usual store, a bazaar, that has such things.
So I went out. Left–right–left is not so clear when the streets are old and intersect at various angles. I could not find such a store. But I also wanted to see a couple of old churches, so I headed in their general direction. A phone store caught my eye; the owner was patient with me, using Google translate to tell me I needed a “ferreteria,” which Google translates as “hardware store.” He told me turn left, go to the light, cross the street, and there it will be. This time the directions worked.
Inside was a line of people waiting to talk to a few guys behind counters. The store was a hodge-podge, with shelving and character out of the last century, maybe rather early in the last century. I walked around but soon felt that they did not want me walking around—nothing seemed designed to attract a browsing customer. I got in line and soon was speaking to a man about my age. I showed my phone charger, and said I needed the converter. He said (in English): to change 240 volts to 110. Yes I said (in Spanish). He poked in his computer a bit, dug in a cabinet, and brought the little thing to me. “This” he said. I was delighted and charmed. How much is it, I asked (in English). He said, “two twenty” (in English). “Dos y viente?” I said, amazed. I gave him a ten euro bill. He went to the till and gave me a five and some coins. I had made his day, I think—everyone else there seemed like old neighborhood friends of the store—and he had certainly made mine. That you’re reading this is proof that the adapter has worked.
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It’s actually proof of a bit more. Two mornings later, as I was packing to leave the albergue in Roncesvalles, a man in our cubicle pointed to the outlet. There was my adapter, left behind by me when I packed the adapter. “Muchas gracias,” I said, and I wondered what the Spanish is for “You just saved my bacon.”
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Ultimately, we will leave everything behind. Daily, we carry around more than we need to take with us. Continually, fellow pilgrims in life help us sort this out.
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Out & About: My series of Holy Week sermons, given at St. John’s in Savannah, have been put online in as a YouTube playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLbmP1ZvG7rE5PQZatkYi6xc5S628iPkMn. My theme was “Christus Rex: The King Who Dies to Save His People.” In the week we proceeded through the Passion narratives sequentially: Matthew on Palm Sunday, then Mark and Luke, and on Good Friday, John. I am immensely grateful to the clergy and people of St. John’s for the opportunity to walk through this Holy Week with them.
I will next preach on Trinity Sunday, May 26, at St. Matthew’s Cathedral in Dallas. And the next Good Books & Good Talk seminar will be at St. Matthew’s on June 2, on Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro.