On Getting into Cars with Strangers 

When telling the story of how I had to take a break because of my wounds, I brushed over how exactly I got myself from the small town of to the city of León. I’m coming back to it because, well, it’s quite funny if I say so myself. 

The nearest town that I limped my way to, was small and didn’t have transportation to the city, so I had to take a taxi to Sahagún, one town over. The “taxi” was really just some guy with a car who didn’t have much to do that morning and offered to drive me for 20€.
His name was Roberto, and he himself had done the Camino six times. He spoke to me reassuringly, telling me that I was going to be okay, complimenting me on my Spanish and saying that I radiated positive energy-probably the best compliment I had ever received. 

He dropped me off at the train station, but the next train wasn’t for another five hours. I couldn’t risk leaving my skin festering in gauze and tape for that long so I limped through town looking hoping to find a bus. 
A blonde wearing a neon yellow jacket limping through a small Spanish town at eight in the morning isn’t the most common sight, so within minutes I had a few people ask if I was alright. 
One of these people, was a man making dairy deliveries off a big Presidenté truck. He asked if I was doing okay, and I asked if he was going to León by chance. He wasn’t, but he was going to Mansilla de las Molas, which was only a short cab ride away from the city. 

That was good enough for me, so I hopped into the cab of his truck. 

Xavi, the driver, took me on two more deliveries that were on the way, but I didn’t mind. I was going to get to the city much earlier than a train would have gotten me there, anyways. 

I was dozing off the entire ride, but I knew better than to fall asleep. Xavi was getting touchy with me and I didn’t trust him. When we finally arrived in town and I spotted a taxi, he opened the back of his truck and I noticed that Xavi put my backpack in the end of the truck, meaning I would have to enter the cooler truck. He asked me to hop in, so that I could “see how cold it was inside.”

Now, I may get into cars with strangers, but I’m not about to hop into the back of a freezer truck, which conveniently was soundproof and locked from the outside.

I stood my ground and asked him to retrieve my backpack for me, because I was too tired for this man’s bullshit. And, I really don’t have the time to be kidnapped.

Xavi finally gave up and, seemingly defeated, gave me my backpack and I scurried off on my merry way in the direction of León.

Sometimes you do what you have to do, to get where you need to go. But I really ought to stop getting into cars with strangers, yeah?

My “please dont kill me” smile

2 thoughts on “On Getting into Cars with Strangers 

  1. Pingback: Friday Faves: Camino blogs by Pauline & Pablo | The Camino Provides

  2. Pingback: Destination: Nepal | Pauline Flew Away

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