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Logroño
Didn't wake up until 11:30. Since I'm staying in a Logroño hotel
there was no pilgrim "noise" to rouse me and I forgot to set
my alarm clock. I must still be exhausted. Maybe it was from my little
crisis last night. Let me start from the beginning.
I reached Logroño on Friday in very good time. The albergue
was closed and would remain so for three more hours. So, rather then
spend the night there and go to a hotel on Saturday, I decided to go
directly to a hotel. I found the local tourist information booth and
got a map of the city and a list of hotels. I had two criteria on which
to base my choice. First, it had to be inexpensive. And, more importantly,
it had to be nearby because I was exhausted and didn't want to drag
my backpack all around town. I found one that fitted both criterion.
It was very small, but clean, with a nice bath, and the all-important
telephone jack. The first thing I did was to pull out my laptop, hook
it up, and dial up my email. For once I got a quick connection. Read
the email and responded to the more urgent ones.
[Editor's note: Dudley really enjoys the contact of emails
so keep them coming. However, since he has limited time to spend responding
to them, don't be dismayed if he doesn't answer right now. He will respond
directly or indirectly at some point.]
Now, since I was in a great Spanish city, and off the pilgrims' path,
I decided I would eat a proper lunch. Fortunately my hotel was near
a street that had a wonderful choice of restaurants, cafes, tascas,
and bars.
On the way back from lunch, I bought myself a lujo (luxury).
I went past a small fruit stand that had beautiful boxes of strawberries.
I bought a one kilo box for 2.50 euros. (That's about 2 quarts for $2.50.)
Let me tell you about Spanish strawberries. They are the best I have
ever tasted. They are the size of those tasteless California strawberries
that you buy in the supermarket during the winter. But they taste as
sweet as any native New England strawberry in peak season. (In fact
I am eating them right now while I'm writing this — and having
trouble keeping my keyboard clean.) By the way, strawberries are one
of the best fruits for diabetics — lots of fiber and manageable
sugar.
When I got back to the hotel, I inquired as to the location of the nearest
post office. I wanted to send my excess stuff back to Madrid. The lady
at the front desk reminded me that Saturday was a national holiday in
Spain and I had better get to the post office that afternoon. I quickly
ran across the street to a very contemporary style café/bar where
I ordered a glass of vino tinto. I then started a conversation
with the pretty, blond bartender. I think she thought the viejo (old
guy) was hitting on her and was relieved when she realized that all
I wanted was a carton box for mailing my things. She went to the back
of the bar and returned with a perfect box.
Back in my room, I took everything out of my backpack. Things were strewn
all over the room for sorting. If I hadn't used an item in the previous
two weeks, it went into the box. The only exceptions were a pair of
gloves and a sailor's watch cap, which I kept in case it got cold. The
short-sleeved shirt and extra T-shirts went into the box. Extra batteries,
anything that I could buy on the road — maps, printed materials,
etc. — all went into the box. I taped the whole thing securely
and added my name and the name and address of the hotel in Madrid. I
got to the post office with time to spare. When the clerk weighed the
box, it was 3 plus something kilos. Since a kilogram is 2.2 pounds,
I had reduced the weight of my pack about 6-1/2 pounds. Every little
bit helps.
Later that evening, I decided to go get a bite to eat. I got my notebook
and reached for my glucose meter to measure my blood sugar before dinner
— it wasn't there. Where could it be? On the desk? no. In the
bathroom? no. In the backpack? no. Under the bed? NO! Where the hell
could it be? Tomorrow was a holiday and the next day was Sunday —
the stores would be closed. I couldn't go that long with out a glucose
reading.
So I ran downstairs and asked the clerk where the nearest pharmacy was.
(It's at a time like this when it's really helpful to know how to speak
Spanish!). She told me that the local pharmacies would all be closed
because it was after 8 p.m. She then pulled out a newspaper to find
the open pharmacies. In Spain, in big cities like Logroño, the
pharmacies are required to take turns staying open until 11 p.m. for
emergencies (Boy, is this ever an emergency!). So there is usually at
least two open each evening and each day the local papers publish which
ones are open. Of the two open that day, one was about eight blocks
away, while the other was way across town.
I practically ran the entire eight blocks, my anxiety level building
as I hurried. When I went in the pharmacy, I showed the man the type
of test strips I use and told him that I needed a meter that could use
the same type. He didn't have any compatible meters but he went to phone
and called the other open shop and found out that they had one. I asked
him to tell them to hold it for me.
Since I was running out of time, I ran back to the fountain where all
the cabs were parked. I jumped into the nearest one, showed the cabby
the address, and asked him to take me there pronto. He did and I jumped
out of the cab and ran into the pharmacy out of breath. They had a meter
and it used my strips. It used Spanish dates and time, but, hey, I could
live with that. So, I quickly pulled out my credit card only to find
out that they didn't accept credit cards — NOW WHAT! I asked how
much and she said 45 euros ($45). Believe it or not, that is exactly
how much I had in my wallet.
Since I had no money, I had to walk back to the hotel. After asking
a few questions, I quickly got a sense of where I was going from the
locals. Passed a few ATM machines on the way. I took out some cash,
but of course there are no cabs when you need them. So I continued on
foot. It helped me clear my mind and allowed my blood pressure to come
down. Where could that meter be? I could only think that in my haste
it got tossed into the box for Madrid. When I got back to my room, I
loaded the special batteries into the meter, set the time and date,
and tested my blood — 104. Good reading!!! Running around in a
panic is good for glucose control. (I'm not so sure it did my blood
pressure much good, however.)
The next morning when I got out of bed my eyes immediately went to the
distant corner of the room. There on the floor, on a carpet of similar
dark blue, was my old meter! Now I had a back-up meter — in case
of emergency!!! (Some pilgrims might interpret this as divine
intervention. I really should have had a back-up in case I lost it in
one of the areas where there are limited options!!)
Saturday afternoon I went to the main square, el Espolon, to sit and
people watch, as well as work on my notes. It was a beautiful spot with
flowers, trees, and fountains. People were everywhere — either
strolling or sitting at outdoor cafes. I think that it is the most beautiful
public space I have ever seen, second only to the Buen Retiro, a very
special city park in Madrid.
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