We met her on the platform at the Provença station. It was early on Saturday morning. The streets of Barcelona were barely awake. The taxi strike had brought her two storeys underground. She was late for her flight. And she hadn’t a clue how to get to the airport from there. I said it was OK for her to stick with us. We were one stop away from the A1 bus, which would take us straight to Terminal 1. She called us her heroes.
She was one of many tourists who were expecting the taxi strike in Barcelona to be over by Friday night. They had said so in the news. Hotel personnel reassured others. By Saturday morning, tired tourists would be able to hop in a cab and head to the airport. There would be no need to drag our bags through the streets, up and down the stairs in subway stations. They were wrong.
We formally introduced ourselves while we were riding the L9, the third train we got on that morning. In the few minutes we spent together, we had already been through a lot together.
Our face dropped when the lady from the transportation company told us that the A1 couldn’t make it to Plaça de Catalunya. She told us to hop on another train and to get off at Plaça d’Espanya. That’s when we saw Hannah’s wings… Although she was struggling with her two suitcases and her backpack, she flew back up the stairs to help my aunt. I was carrying my mother’s carry-on while my sister hauled her personal item. Mom’s breathing didn’t allow for the extra weight. She saw us struggling. Although she was late for her flight, she didn’t zoom through the metro station to catch the first train. She walked at our pace, chatted with us and insisted on helping.
We agreed on following that man who said that taking the L9 would be wiser than going for the bus at Plaça d’Espanya. The taxis could block that location as well. Hannah was the one who checked on her phone and told us that Google Maps proposed the same itinerary. She told everyone she met that we were her heroes. And, in turn, I told her that she was an angel.
An angel whose wings were well hidden.
She made it to the airport an hour before her flight. I had 4 hours to kill. And I wished I could share them with her.
I have no way to confirm that she made it to the gate on time.
But deep down I feel that she has. God, Karma, the Universe must have made it right…
Oh! If you ever meet Hannah (the spelling may be incorrect) from Houston who almost got stuck in Barcelona because of a taxi strike when she was 22, tell her that the 4 ladies she met at the metro thank her!