Think about it. If you were meant to be somewhere else, you’d be there.
And yet we stress and stress about getting through traffic, rushing to get somewhere, and we miss the point that we’re already there – where we’re meant to be.
Today Pedrata and I got to the airport nice and early so we could begin our return journey home (thanks Mark for the ride!).
There was quite a long wait as the clerk tried to figure out why they wouldn’t let her ticket my last leg of the flight. After a few phone calls, she found out that the other carrier had slightly altered the departure time of the flight.
“Okay, no big deal.” I thought, “That’s why we come to the airport so early.”
Then we waited to board our flight. After a bit, I realized that there wasn’t the standard action. As in the standard, people with small children, business class, blah, blah blah . . . “Okay, what’s up?” I thought.
Waited in line and the nice guy named Alan assured me that I’d make my connection.
“Okay, Alan, I’m going to trust you on this” (knowing that it’ll all work out as it’s meant to).
After another half hour went by, and I only had an hour between flights at my next destination, I once again approached the booth.
“I think I’ll be booking you on that other flight route,” he said as he called the others to come up to the gate.
“Got it. Thanks Alan.”
And as the plane was being boarded, he called me over to another booth. Another phone call was made. My bag was taken off the plane. And Pedrata and I just watched it all thinking to ourselves, “Wherever we’re meant to be is where we are.”
Click, click, click. I heard the new tickets being issued.
“Okay, I’ll see you in about 2 hours,” Alan said.
“Okay. Hey, any chance I can get a voucher for a coffee?” (realizing that the 2 hour nap I had planned wasn’t going to happen.)
“Sure,” he replied, “I’d be glad to. Just give me a minute.”
So we rested our dawgs and set down our heavy pack that is carrying a rather LARGE cast iron skillet that my mother graciously gave me when I happened to mention sometime that I think I’d actually like to use one. It cracked me up how she remembered that (I didn’t remember telling her that), but then will forget other things that can seem so important to me.
No matter. If she’s meant to remember anything, she will.
. . .
Fast forward to being on the first plane of three.
I’m chatting it up with a woman sitting beside me . . . and lo and behold, it ends up that she knew my Dad. LOVED my Dad.
“I LOVED your Dad,” she gushed. “And my husband too; he really misses him. Your Dad used to help my granddaughter with tennis tips.”
Yup, sounds like my Dad.
Thanks Dad for that little shout out and hello!
And thanks for helping to orchestrate that flight change so that I could be so clearly reminded and SHOWN how we’re ALWAYS where we’re meant to be!
I LOVE how you’re always keeping an eye on me. Ever present in my life.
as experienced through the eyes, ears, feet, stomach, and heart of Sj.
If you’re looking for a WHAT to DO, WHAT to EAT, WHERE to STAY type of post regarding San Sebastián, you’re in the wrong place.
Nice meeting you, and I wish you well as you search for all that data.
If you want to know how it FELT to be in San Sebastián, you’re in the right place.
Overall, it felt good; though at times it was quite cold for this Kaua‘i gal. And on two particular days, it was quite hot (37 Celsius or 98.6 Fahrenheit). It was amazing how the temperature could change by about 20 degrees Fahrenheit from one day to the next. Fortunately, I had my Mom’s silk long underwear; so I was ready for anything.
The following is a list of my personal fav experiences and/or thoughts.
Of all the places I’ve visited during my life (and that’s been plenty), I have never before encountered a collection of people who were as consistently kind and helpful.
Yes, for real.
From the grocery clerk who was helping an elderly woman make sure some product didn’t have something in it that would harm a family member who had some particular food allergy to the tour boat captain who must have seen at least 5,000,000 visitors come on his boat and ask the same questions (over and over and over again).
I can’t promise you that that’s what you’ll experience, but for me, I did. Time and time again, I met kind people who looked me in the eye and really listened.
She’s not from San Sebastián; she’s French and lives in Paris, but her performance in a quartet during their annual jazz festival was one of my aural highlights. Her talent, exuberance, joy in doing exactly what she was doing at the particular moment (singing!) was an incredible gift to all of us lucky folk who were there that Saturday evening in late July.
I just enjoyed looking at Jesus up on the hill. And I had the good fortune of residing in an apartment which faced the ocean (and Jesus on the hill across the way) during my four week stay.
This is the language school that I happened to pick. There are many. Each person who worked there that I had the opportunity to get to know (either as a teacher or as a guide on one of the many excursions they host) was kind, professional, knowledgeable, and just cool. Yup, you guys rock, Silvia, Ester, Gorka, Idoia, Concha, Nora, Sara, and Salva!
The combination of mountains and sea.
Face it. I call Kaua‘i home and to find a place in the world where I could go for a hike and swim on the same day while learning Spanish . . . it just doesn’t get any better than that.
The town itself. It’s not too big; it’s not too small, but it’s . . . just right!
I liked how San Sebastián is laid out, how you can’t get too lost because you just need to figure out where the ocean or a particular hill is and then which bridge you’re seeing . . . and voila! I’d realize where I was.
Peaches (melocotones)
Okay, it was summer. And the peaches were dripping with yummy goodness. I love fresh, ripe peaches!
For less than a bottle of water (which wasn’t necessary in San Sebastián, per my host, their water comes from the Pyrénées mountains and is very clean), you can buy a glass of vino rosado. I didn’t have it everyday, but when I did, I really enjoyed it. It’s not super sweet like we have the U.S., and the color is really beautiful.
And now for a random collection of photographs . . .
Enjoy!
✫ Sj ✫
p.s. You’ll notice that Pintxos (Basque word for tapas) are not on my list. Most people go on and on about them. The locals love them. They were alright, but being a gal who really prefers vegetables over meat, they were just okay to me.
