Back to duty

Another trip to the Heath hospital first thing Thursday morning, since Clare thought she'd accidentally dislodged the plain contact lens that had been placed over the eye operated on for protective purposes. She was greatly relieved to find that it was still in place. After that, it was time to write the Christmas cards, label and fill the envelopes with our annual newsletter, then visit the CBS office to work on a few assignments and meet up with Ashley for a catch up session. After supper, Kath arrived so that we could we could spend some time together. 

On my homeward journey I'd failed in my attempt to book a place in a Hostal close to Barcelona Sants station as it was pouring down and I was unable to venture out to the address provided. I sent an email when I got back, but received no response. Kath, whose Spanish is better than mine, offered to ring up and check. The person who answered the phone must have spoken Catalunyan rather than Castilian Spanish, and not completely understood her, so passed her on to someone who spoke sufficient English to handle her enquiry. Ten minutes later, to my relief, I had my confirmatory email!

Kath took me to catch my train to Bristol after an early Friday lunch. By a quarter to three, I was at the airport and going through security clearance. It was busy, and took twice as long as usual, but I had lots of time to spare. Every seat on the flight to Barcelona was taken. I noticed that the average age of the passengers was lower than usual. Something unusual was happening, as there were a dozen or more people dressed as characters from Star Wars movies, behaving animatedly. A party mood prevailed. We flew into El Prat airport down the Costa Azul, which being mostly urbanised was brightly lit and looked quite enchanting. I was glad to have a window seat. There were two French women sitting next to me and we chatted in French as the plane was making its final descent. They were making their way to Menorca. I think they may live there. 

The Rodalies train from the airport to Sants station was delayed more than forty minutes by a problem with signals, so I was over an hour late arriving at Hostal Sofia, five minutes walk across the station concourse. After I'd checked in, I went to the bar-restaurant downstairs for a couple of drinks and some tapas - tortilla con patatas, and sardinas in pleasantly spicy marinade. My room was small and simple with a toilet at shower just down the corridor, just thirty one euros. Perfect for an overnight stopover.

I was up and out of the Hostal by eight thirty, breakfasting on coffee and croissant at another nearby bar. Then, after booking my ticket, I walked for three quarters of an hour, on a triangular route, to try and get an impression of the more modern quarter of the city above the station. It wasn't that interesting but I enjoyed the exercise, thankful to have only a lightly packed rucksack as luggage on this trip. The Inter City train to Vinaros left on time and arrived five minutes late. It was quite full, but quite a few passengers seemed uncertain as to whether they were on the right train or not, as they kept asking each other. Michael met me at the station, and told me about the unexpected death of a church member which had occurred yesterday, before dropping me off at the house.

I'd left myself a ready prepared meal in the freezer. All I had to do was thaw it and cook some green lentils to go with it. Then, a quick trip to Lidl's to stock up with fresh food, before listening to the afternoon play on Radio 4, the fifth in a series of detective stories set in Cuba by Cuban novelist Leonardo Padura Fuentes. I've heard all of them in the weeks past, and it's given a fascinating insight into the lives of Cuban people behind the facade of Castro's communism. Nice to hear them while living in an hispanic context, albeit an utterly different one. And now, getting ready for tomorrow, but not preaching for once, as both Raders in training are preaching and I'm listening and evaluating. Just like being back at St Mike's.