The Finale/Act Six: I Hear The Train A'Coming, But Not For Us

So once we got back into the apartment, we didn't go to bed.  We each showered, packed, and then relaxed for a bit.  Finally it was time to go catch our 8:31 am train to Granada.  

So we walked the near mile back to the train station, rolling our bags with us.  We got there nearly an hour before the train, and the station was a combination of refugee camp and confused Spaniards milling around with no information.

It turns out people were able to stay there, but it seems like only those who had been on trains when the trains got stuck.  There were lines for information but the workers had no actual information.  We stood in the Renfe (train company) line, but they didn't know what was happening.  

The arrivals/departures board still showed yesterday's information from when the power went out.  We couldn't find anything out about our train, other than it wasn't likely to happen.

We chatted with a couple of guys from Philadelphia.  They didn't once bring up the Super Bowl win, which shows you how a big a crisis we all were in.  I think it is a SE Pennsylvania law that residents of that area must either:

A.  Wear Eagles gear featuring the ugly green;

B.  Sing that annoying "Fly Eagles Fly" song -- which is kind of stupid because actual Eagles fly, they don't need to be told to do so; and/or,

C.  Talk about the "tush push" non-stop because that's about all Eagles fans understand about football.

They had come within a half mile of the Cordoba train station when power was lost -- but they were going to Malaga.  So everyone disembarked and walked to the train station.  They rented an airBnB for the night (quick thinking on their part) before coming back to the train station.

The Red Cross had come when the station was opened up to stranded train passengers.  The people had slept on the floor, wearing Red Cross blankets and waiting for their bags to be delivered.  They wandered around bleary-eyed trying to figure their next steps just like we were.

Finally, Carol and I split up.  (Editor: Wait, that seems rather drastic.  Writer: Wow -- someone's assuming the worst).  I went down a few storefronts to the Avis Rental Car while Carol stayed in the information line.

I was fourth in line there, but one guy left.  Once Mr. Chatty at the front of the line stopped hitting on the Avis counter representative (I may be imagining that, but the guy took forever and wouldn't shut up), the line moved quickly.

Me: Habla English?

Her: Yes, I speak English.

Me: I'm an Avis President's Club member and would like to rent a car please.

Her: Do you have a reservation?

Me: No -- I will drive it to Granada and turn it in today.

Her: Today.  Okay, I can rent you a car.

Me: (I fist pumped in my mind).  Gracias (I try to speak Spanish whenever possible just to wow people with my Spanish).

Her: Stick or automatic?

Me: Either.

Her: Stick or automatic?

Me: Stick.  (I figured that would increase the odds of getting a car)

(She gave me automatic, as Europeans do not believe any American can drive a stickshift.  I can, but I understand where the Europeans are coming from).

Her: Passport

Me: (Panicked as Carol is the keeper of the passports.  Just then Carol showed up.  Phew!) 

Her: The car is dirty.

Me: (Doing my best Tommy Lee Jones:) I don't care.

Once all the requisite paperwork was filled out, we went out to the parking lot and hit the road for Granada.  Oh, we will try to get our money back for the train tickets, although they were pretty cheap.  Oh, and the car rental for one day was pretty expensive, but at least we were back on schedule and visiting a country that once again offered its people and its tourists working power.

The drive to Granada was quite pleasant, past many olive groves, rolling hills, mountains, and more scenery.  

And thus the saga ended.