Nimes-Barcelona

When we were planning our trip across Europe, there were some non-negotiables for both me and Maureen. I was adamant that I wanted to go to Nimes. For Maureen, it was Barcelona. I was pretty neutral on Barcelona. I think it is no secret that I am really biased toward all things Italian and Portuguese. To me, France and Spain were a means to an end... you HAVE to go through both to get the Portugal. I figured while I had to go through France, I should stop at as many Roman sites along the way.

We left Nice and began what was supposed to be a very quick jaunt across Provence. Our quick jaunt became a longer, and rather surprising detour. Nimes was the destination. But, the night before we left I saw on the internet that there was a Roman theater in a place called Orange. I knew nothing about Orange and thought, 'we've got nothing but time on our hands, we might as well add Orange to our list. In a few short hours, we were in Orange in front of the most magnificent Roman theater I have ever seen. It is, in fact, one of the best preserved theaters in the world. Even Napoleon said that the back wall of the theater in Orange was the strongest in the empire! Both Maureen and I were absolutely speechless after spending almost 3 hours wandering the theater and listening to the audio guide (which is extremely well done).

We left Orange and headed north to Vaison- La-Romaine, where, rumor had it, there was another Roman theater. We drove the 27 kilometers from Orange through Provence. It is a good thing we took this detour, because we were both terribly disappointed with France, at this point. The landscape we had seen along the highway was dismal to say the least, and our time in Nice was disappointing. Seeing this side of the countryside, a green, agricultural, lush landscape jibed better with what we had thought Provence was SUPPOSED to be like. However, we were let down a bit by the ruins at Vaison-La-Romaine. The theater was not nearly as complete, the ruins not nearly as recognizable as I would have liked. But, again, another well taken road less traveled.

On the way to Nimes, we saw a sign that said, "PONT DU GARD PROCHAINE SORTIE." This was very exciting! Ever since I was a kid, I had wanted to see the Pont du Gard in person. This is an impressive aqueduct structure that spans a French river. It is in all the art history text books, and the first classroom I taught in in Chesterfield County had a poster of it at the back of the room. To me, seeing the Pont du Gard would be fulfilling one of my lifelong dreams. So, we veered the car off the highway and headed to the river. We entered the park, which costs 15 euros a car to enter, and waked down to the river, where, sure enough, there it was. It was a little disappointing. It is just a double-decker arched structure. I think I had built it up in my mind for 20-odd years and it was just a case of 'reality is never as good as your imagination.'

We made it to Nimes a little after 7pm. Both exhausted, we decided to eat in the hotel (I will save the story of the hotel reservation for another time...) and turn in early. We wanted to get an early start in the morning as we had to drive to another country!

And, an early start is what we got. Out the door by 10, we were in Barcelona by 2:45. We got checked into the W Hotel at the very end of Barceloneta Beach. The W is a different class of hotel. They do it right. There is no nickel and diming. The pool is free for its guest (did I forget to mention that there was a 10 euro a day surcharge at Le Meridien to use a sun lounger?), the business center is free, there is a dedicated concierge on duty who will not call you 'madame' in a condescending tone.

We settled in to our room, 325, right across from the elevator, and with the most spectacular view, and we decided to venture out. The plan was to hop on the Bus Touristic (as per my friend Tracey's recommendation), and do the red line that night, and save the blue for the next day. The blue line had the Sagrada Familia, and we knew it would need more time than we had in the evening.

We went out and hopped in a cab to the Placa Catalunya. We got out of the cab and just as the cab pulled away, Maureen looked at me with tears in her eyes and her lower lip quivering.

"I left my camera in that cab."

She tore off down the street. I hobbled after her. When we finally caught up to each other, I suggested we ask a police man (the place was crawling with them) if he had any advice. He was thoroughly unhelpful. Maureen decided we should return back to the hotel and figure out our next move from there. Being the supportive friend, I did all the usual reassuring and back-patting. But, I must admit, I knew in my heart it was gone. My next move was to make the loss of her camera, with all her pictures from her whole trip, even before she came to Italy 2 weeks ago, less of a blow.

We got back to the W. "If anyone can find it, it will be the magical people at the W," Maureen sniffled as we made our approach. I didn't say anything. Maureen said she was going to talk to the taxi valet and I said I would go in and talk to the concierge.

I approached the "Whatever-Whenever" desk and explained the situation to the guy at the desk. He just clucked his tongue and said what I believed all along.

"I am afraid it is very unlikely your friend will ever see her camera again."
I sternly replied, "When my friend comes in here, you are going to be really positive and tell her that these things happen all the time and that you are sure it will turn up, OK? I am not going to let this ruin her vacation? Do you hear me? POSITIVE POSITIVE POSITIVE! OK?"

I think I frightened him a little, because, at this point, he came out from behind his desk and said, "let's go out and look at the cabs out front."

Maureen was standing there with the taxi valet when we came out. All of us starting inspecting the cabs.
"Do you know what the cab looked like?"
(All the cabs in Barcelona are the same black and yellow configuration...)
"Did you write down his cab number?"
(Right, because that's what I do when I get into a cab... I write down the cabbie's hack number.)

We started walking down the long line of cabs in front of the hotel until we came upon a group of cab drivers standing next to their cabs. The concierge asked if one of them could make a radio call asking if anyone had found a camera. One of the drivers said that he could but that he wouldn't, because he was the driver who found a camera. He then reached into the glove box and produced... MAUREEN'S CAMERA!!

WHAT ARE THE FREAKING ODDS OF THAT?!

Maureen even tried to give the guy 50 euros for returning his camera. He refused. His only request was that she take a picture with him. So, they stood together and I took their picture.

Triumphant,we went back into the hotel and went straight to the bar, where we ordered two stiff drinks to decompress from the stress of the previous hour's events. As Maureen flipped through her pictures to make sure that they were all there, she came upon one she hadn't taken. There was a 'self-portrait' of the cabbie! We both let out a huge belly laugh. I can just imagine the driver snapping a quick shot of himself at a red light. What a sense of humor he must have!

The concierge did make a statement that I had never heard before, but I tend to agree: He said that he believes that good people meet good people and bad people meet bad people and that Maureen must be a very good person to have met such an honest cab driver because cabbies in Barcelona are not known for their honesty. I agree wholeheartedly.

The next day, however, we did come across one of the not so honest cab drivers. We got up early (out the door by 10AM, which is almost a miracle for me), and caught a cab to Placa Catalunya to catch the blue line of the bus touristic, the line with the Sagrada Familia cathedral. The cab ride each of the 4 times we had previously taken it had not cost more than 8 euros. However, on this occasion, we were charge 7.20 PLUS an 8.35 surcharge. We were both gobsmacked. Maureen asked the cabbie (in perfect Spanish, lest she be spotted as a dumb tourist who doesn't know better) why we were being charged TWICE what we had paid a number of times before. The cabbie replied that it was a 'feast day or something.' Maureen questioned him further... which saint? "I don't know... it is just a feast day..."

He wrote us out a receipt along with his name (Guillermo) and medallion number. We questioned the tour bus operator who agreed with us that the cabbie was crazy. When we returned back to the hotel, we (again) went back to the concierge and asked her what the deal was. She made a couple of calls and found out that, in fact, there was no feast day and that we should make a complaint in writing about it. Not ones to let things like this go, neither one of us, Maureen has vowed to write a letter when we get home. Stay tuned to hear how it turned out! In homage to the wicked cabbie, Maureen says that she will use his name, Guillermo, in all of her negative example sentences on class this year. How's that for bad juju?