12. Paradise Lost

The next day, morning dawned, as it is likely to do, and I felt remarkably unaffected by the events and maladies of the previous night. Cerstin got the coffee going and set out the meat and cheese. I walked down to the market to buy fresh bread and some orange juice. The unsmiling girl that rings up the purchases tried to short change me. When she handed me my change I looked down at my palm and the loose coins she had given me. Admittedly I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer when it comes to foreign currency. I find British money particularly confusing with all its varied shapes, sizes and denominations. I usually end up just holding my hand open and let the shopkeeper pick out the correct amount and hope for the best. But this morning I knew that something was amiss and worse yet, I knew that the girl knew it too.

I pointed to the receipt, which was still in the cash register and then I pointed to the bread and juice. She gave me a troubled look like I was bothering her as she ripped the receipt out of the machine. The line behind me, which was long to begin with, had grown longer. I could feel the other shopper’s ire beginning to build. I turned to the person behind me and offered up an apologetic. “Es tut mir leid.” She shrugged non-committally.

Naturally, I couldn’t think of the Spanish word for “ten”, as in the ten euros I had given her. I pointed to the register and flashed my left hand at her two times to indicate the money I gave her and then I weighed the change in the right hand. She punched open the register and fished out the correct change without any display of fault or apology. Day One of using my elbows, I thought to myself as I walked out of the store.

As I stepped out the door and on to the narrow street I was almost run over by Radiger who literally ran around the corner on his morning jog.

“Morning.” We both said as he streaked past. He didn’t break stride and was soon out of sight.

Cerstin and I had our breakfast. It was a beautiful morning; warm and sunny, in contrast to yesterday’s cool, gray overcast demeanor. I assumed that today would be another day of rest. We talked about our schedules for tomorrow. I had booked a return to Tenerife on the Fred Olsen Express before I learned about the island shuttle that Cerstin had taken: the one that finally brought me to her four days ago. That seemed so long ago. She said that I should just book my passage to San Sebastian and stay on the ferry when it goes across to Tenerife.

“They don’t check tickets to know if you paid or not.”

That made sense. That way we could leave in the morning and be together at the airport until our flights left.

I cleared off the table and then sat down to read. Cerstin said that since this was our last full day on the island she would like to take a book down to the beach and have a little time to herself. That was fine by me and certainly understandable as this was in some respects “her” vacation. I said that I would hang out and do a bit of research for my meeting with Bob Doe and maybe wander around and take more photos since I knew that bored her.

She gathered up her things and headed for the door. I propped my feet up on her chair and cracked open “Spitfire Ace.” It was a compelling read, even knowing how it ended. I wrote down some questions I wanted to be sure to ask Bob Doe when I saw him and then I decided to go off on my own. I’ve never a big souvenir buyer, with the exception of music that reminds me of the places I’ve visited. That, coupled with my photos is all I really need. Besides, knick-knacks kind of freak me out.

I stopped by the music shop and asked the guy about the CDs that Cerstin had bought. I remembered what the covers looked like and asked to hear some samples. One was a really good guitarist from the African coast and the other was a compilation called “Music from Coffeeland” or something like that. I bought two of them.

I wandered through the streets looking for good photo ops and stopped by the Internet café. I hadn’t read a newspaper or seen a TV in 5 days so I had no idea what was happening in the world. I decided to remain blissfully ignorant and not read any news, so after I checked my e-mail I logged off. After a few hours of aimless wandering I was ready for some lunch. Unfortunately all the restaurants stop serving food between the lunch and dinner period. Even the markets closed for several hours in the late afternoon. I couldn’t even get a plate of potatoes so I settled for a couple of beers at an outdoor patio bar.

Just as I was finishing up my second beer my phone began playing “Sexual Healing”. Maybe Cerstin was back from the beach and was wondering where I was. I flipped open the phone to see that she had sent a text message.

“John. I’ve been at the beach all day thinking. I want you to get your own apartment for tonight. It was a mistake for us to get together.”

All the muscles in my upper body contracted into my gut and dragged my heart down with them. It was like extinguishing a fire by beating it out. This time the roiling in my stomach was definitely not the result of over exertion or of a bad piece of fish.

I stared at the display as though I expected the letters to rearrange themselves and deliver to me the real message. They didn’t change. They remained resolute and unwavering, like they had been etched into the screen.

I read the words again. I didn’t understand. I did. But I didn’t want to.

I was literally speechless. Not so much because there was nothing to say but because I had no one to say it to.

And that was that.

I threw a couple of euros on the table and walked back to the apartment. I was hyper-aware of everything around me and yet oblivious to it all at the same time. I had but one purpose: to get the Hell off this island. That was the extent of my game plan. Maybe I could get a plane out of here tonight. It was 4:45 pm. My flight tomorrow leaves at 8:00. It’s almost a 2-hour ferry trip to Tenerife and then a short taxi ride to the airport. I’d have to be very lucky to pull that off and at the moment I don’t think that I have any luck available.

I beat a path through the apartment like Sherman through Georgia. I grabbed my clothes and gathered all of my belonging and jammed them into my suitcase. The suitcase, ironically, that Jennifer had given me as a birthday present after she told me she wanted a divorce. I always appreciate a good bout of irony. I couldn’t find the case to my telephoto lens and I didn’t feel like wasting time searching for it. Hopefully it was crammed under a layer of clothes.

I reached in my wallet and peeled off 80 euros for the 4 nights that I had stayed there. I went back and forth about whether to leave anything at all but in the end I knew I would feel better if I at least lived up to expectations. If I were going to be a martyr for the cause it would be on my terms.

I hastily scribbled out a note and left it and the money on the bedside table. I thought about texting her back to say that I was out of the apartment but in a moment of spite decided not to. Let her deal with whether or not it was safe to come back to the apartment. I mean, what if I hadn’t gotten the message? What if I didn’t leave? Yes siree… I’d just leave and not let her know when the coast was clear. That would show her!

In the midst of all of this I thought. “How am I going to get Ule and Radiger their photos?” Maybe I should add a PS to my note and tell Cerstin to give my e-mail address to them so that we can stay in touch. Obviously I was losing my mind. She would have to deal with the “Where’s John?” question.

Rolling my suitcase down the stone streets and sidewalks I went to the harbor to check the ferry schedule. I walked into the office and the girls behind the desk looked up and simultaneously said, “We’re closed.”

“When is the first ferry in the morning?”
“6:35”
“What time did the last ferry leave?”
“4:25”

I looked at my watch. I had missed it by 35 minutes. I asked one of the girls how much a taxi ride to San Sebastian would cost. She looked at me as if I had just told her to leave the apartment that we were sharing.

“Maybe 50 euro.”

I asked how I could get a taxi and she wrote down a number for me. Maybe I was being over emotional and a bit sensitive but I got the impression that these girls trained at the same customer service center where the cashier at the market had.

As soon as left the ticket office I heard the door lock behind me. Here’s you hat, what’s your hurry? I started down the main (and only) road that led from the harbor. I had no idea where I was going. Cerstin and I were supposed to leave on the 10:45 ferry tomorrow. I certainly wasn’t going to wait around for that. What if she had the same idea? Maybe she would try getting out early to avoid me. This was getting stupidly convoluted. No: I figured. Anyone that would tell someone to leave on their last night together was probably not the person to change their plans and leave early. So I would take the 6:35 tomorrow. Better yet, I’d get to San Sebastian tonight and get the first ferry out of there in the morning. That would get me an hour closer to leaving.

I must have looked very conspicuous walking down the road with a laptop backpack slung over my shoulder and dragging a rolling carry-on suitcase behind me. I was accosted every 100 yards or so by guys in cars that would pull up and ask, “Apartamento?”

“Nein. Danke.”

When I was passing by a restaurant that had apartments on the two floors above it a slovenly guy in a wife-beater yelled down at me from the railing of the second story. “Apartamento?”

“Nein. Danke.” I have no idea why I was answering them in German.

I flagged down a taxi and asked him how much it would be to take me to San Sebastian. He looked at his watch and then at his gas gauge and said something with the word “ochenta” in it. I instinctively understood that to mean “80”. I backed away from the taxi and waved him on. I might be miserable but not enough to pay 80 euros for what would be a 6-euro bus fare. Hey wait a minute! I can take a bus to the other side of the island. We had passed the station yesterday on our way back to Vueltas. It was only a couple of miles up the road. And so I walked. And walked, And walked. I never saw another taxi the whole way. Did I mention that it was uphill? Not a terribly steep grade, but as the road veered away from the beach, it started to rise with the contour of the land. As I got to the station I saw a couple of busses parked in their slots. I walked around the small building that served as the ticket office and it was locked. I found a scheduled mounted on the door. Last bus to San Sebastian – 4:00 pm. That was the last straw. I was physically and emotionally defeated. I had no life left in me.

I set my bags down and lowered myself to the bench. I wanted to cry. With every fiber of my being I just wanted to open up the floodgates and get it over with. I pulled out my phone and dialed a girl’s number. Why her? Why then? I couldn’t tell you. In the midst of my vulnerability I settled on someone that I thought could later forgive me during my moment of total emotional collapse. We had dated briefly a few years ago. I was quite smitten with her back then and probably still was now but things hadn’t work out. One evening I had invited her over for dinner. I had prepared a full on Southern meal. Corn bread, black-eyed peas, cheese grits and grilled Cajun catfish. Everything was timing out perfectly. I opened the oven to check on the catfish and the Pyrex tray I was using exploded. Glass and catfish went everywhere. I just stood there dumbfounded. I was crushed. I had so wanted to make an impression that I had placed everything on this one dinner. The scene was so ridiculous that I could have easily laughed it off. Instead, I started to tear up. I stood in the middle of my kitchen; spatula in hand, and cried. She took me by the hand and led me outside where it was cool and she hugged me. She settled me down by saying that it was no big deal. Not to worry… and all the while probably realizing that I wasn’t the guy for her. It was soon there after that she said she didn’t want to go out with me anymore. It took me a while but I got over her. Mostly.

It was probably 8:30 in the morning in L.A. The phone rang. The connection was made.

“Hi. You’ve reached….” Her voice mail was directing me to leave a message at the tone. I wasn’t paying attention. BEEEEEP. The sound panicked me. I was supposed to be saying something. What did I want to say? Why was I bothering a friend?

“Uh…hi. It’s me.” I was making the assumption that she would recognize my voice. “Oh boy. I really wish you were there right now….” I could feel my eyes start to well up and my voice was beginning to waver. “Oh well. I guess I’ll talk to you later.” I might have told her that I missed her. I might have even said that I loved her. I don’t remember ending the conversation. If I offered up either of those salutations it was purely in the deepest sense of friendship. I had snapped the phone shut and sat there on the bench looking at the bus that wasn’t going to take me from here. I took a very deep breath and let it out as slowly as I could. Looks like I was heading back into Vueltas.

I grabbed up my bags and started off down the hill. Along the beach and past the banana groves.

How do I get myself in these situations I thought. Here I was, on the brink of an emotional meltdown, my pride, like the exploded catfish, all about me. I had held this week up to impossibly high expectations, just as I had done with that dinner years before. And now I was walking alone along a beach on a foreign island off the coast off Africa without a place to stay or the ability to speak the language. This time there was no one to lead me by the hand and hug me and tell me that it was going to be all right.

I weighed my situation; both emotionally and intellectually. It didn’t seem as if things could get any worse. In fact, that’s a phrase I’ve always avoided. I much prefer to say that things can always get better. With the weight of the world on my shoulders I shrugged, and I think that it was at that moment that my Grinch heart grew three sizes.

As I headed back down the road with no idea of where I was going or where I was sleeping tonight I had an epiphany.

“Could be worse. Could be raining.”

I actually laughed when I thought about that line form “Young Frankenstein.” Now, at least, I knew I’d make it through this. I wonder what would have happened if I’d laughed when the catfish exploded?