We had an early flight on Jet2 from Belfast to Lanzarote and we were elated when the pilot told us it was going to be sunny and 76 degrees when we landed. While Bob and Patrick tracked down our bags, Cary and I went to pick up the rental car. Soon we were once again stuffed in a too small car with too many belongings! Luckily it was a short drive. I remembered Lanzarote as a beautiful place but after all the rain we had recently experienced, the reality truly exceeded our expectations. The sun felt absolutely wonderful. Patrick threw in a load of laundry and Cary caught up on some work before heading back to the airport at 5 to pick up her friend Rados. Shortly after they returned we decided to head down the hill to find some dinner.

Cary grabbed Bob’s walker and carried it down the few steps to the pool area with me right behind her. I turned around to Bob to remind him to be careful on the steps when I missed a step and suddenly realized there was nothing to grab onto and I was going down. I hit with a thud and even remember hearing the back of my head hit the concrete. I’m sure my screaming on the way down was heard by many because soon I had a small crowd encircling me. I couldn’t get up and I didn’t know what to do next. Several people offered suggestions and it was finally decided that an ambulance needed to be called.

When they arrived the paramedic wondered what hospital we wanted to go to. Luckily one of the locals in the group was a nurse and she offered some suggestions. It was finally decided the Hospiten Lanzarote, a private hospital, was the best choice.
Off we went. I’ve never been in an ambulance before and the trip seemed surreal. Here we were in a foreign country part of Africa, with Spanish as the local language. Thankfully so many Brits vacation here that some English is spoken by most.

The stay at the hospital is filled with an interesting cast of characters Patrick pointed out that the curtness we were often initially met with, might be a communication issue. Many locals in the Canaries speak English but they will often add, “Just a little.” Their little English is usually very good, but when we are talking about medical issues they don’t have the luxury of subtlety in language. Often the resulting dialogue may appear to be abrupt or even rude but perhaps it’s just that they, and we, lack alternative ways of communication.

That being said, the first person we encountered was the guy who met the ambulance at the hospital. He pointed out that Hospiten Lanzarote is a private hospital and that they don’t deal with insurance companies. That was on us. If I wanted to be seen there then I would need to make a 2000 euro deposit. Ok, done. (Thank goodness for credit cards!)

Perhaps the main character in this story was the surgeon, Dr. Chimelewski. Because I had hit my head when I fell, they sent me for a CAT scan and then for x rays. Dr. Chimelewski came in after the x rays were taken and explained that I indeed had fractured my right hip. He immediately dismissed the idea of flying back to the States for surgery saying that it could be life threatening. I then inquired if the surgery would be done that same evening but no, there was no staff, it was a holiday weekend, and they would operate on Monday. Monday, at this point seemed an eternity away. Dr. Chmielewski first struck me as arrogant and abrupt. But as time went on I began to really like him. His reviews on line spoke to his competence and I liked his very dry sense of humor. Patrick suggested that perhaps he, like many very bright people, didn’t excel in social skills. Combine that with the language barrier and it seemed like a reasonable explanation. By the end of the week we learned that he was from Poland. (I told him how much Bob and I loved Krakow. “You’ve been there?” he inquired obviously surprised.) He had studied at SUNY Stoneybrook and I explained I had taught at SUNY Plattsburgh. His son’s wife was American. And I assume that combined with his time in the US is how he became fluent in English.

Other characters include three hospital administrators, all women. There was the German woman that Cary and Patrick nicknamed Miss Cranky Pants, who appeared to be the administrator in charge. She spread unpleasantness wherever she appeared and seemed to thrive on it.

Then there was the administrator of logistics for lack of better description. She connected with Cary early on and was an absolute delight. We had to pay a deposit to use the television and then another for wifi and when we told her the television didn’t have sound and was in black and white she was on it! She was ready to move our room so we would have a television that worked. But wait! No, she had them take the television down and replace it. This was a results driven woman! She stopped in frequently to ensure everything was up to snuff!

Then there was the crazy lady administrator, a very pleasant but harried woman who appeared to be the person in charge of all the financial details. She always entered the room in a whirlwind. She first explained to Patrick and me that she’s on duty for 90 hours and is often not included in many of things “her” doctors say and do, an obvious frustration. She was from Hamburg; her English was as good as a native speaker, and laughter punctuated her every sentence. She is the person who explained what the estimated costs of the surgery and stay were going to be. She flew in a different afternoon and let us know what we might expect when I was discharged and where to procure the items need for my home care. She continued with a list of what I would need in the way of pharmacy items, even going so far as to write it down for Patrick as well as where the items could be purchased. Then on the day before my release she came in and breathlessly explained that because Jan 6 (the day of my release) was a holiday, there were certain things that needed to be tended to before the end of the day. On my final day, the holiday, she went over my release folder, explaining its contents and telling us the final itemized billing would be sent to me electronically the following Monday, or maybe Tuesday, but definitely by Wednesday. She arranged for the ambulance to transport me to our Airbnb and she was the one who personally oversaw that process as well. She was competent, funny and entertaining but definitely exhausting! We can’t help but wonder if some of her intensity isn’t the result of being accountable to Miss Cranky Pants!

Finally, there was Roger Dodger. The crazy administrator had given Patrick two contacts for the support items I would need at the Airbnb. After trying the first number repeatedly and getting no result, Patrick tried the second, ABC Rental. Yay! The guy picked up. Patrick asked, “Habla ingles?” Turns out the guy on the other end, Roger Dodger as he calls himself, is an American from Union Town, Pennsylvania. I find it interesting to note this is the only American we met during our nearly month long stay on the island. Patrick told Roger what we would need, when we would be moving into the new, all on one level, Airbnb and made arrangements with Roger to have things delivered. Cary, Rados and Bob had already arrived at the Airbnb and Roger was there by the time Patrick and I got there via ambulance (the ambulance that Patrick directed from his Google Maps, because the ambulance driver had no idea where he was going). Roger was a nice enough guy, was very helpful and had a great sense of humor. But boy did Roger like to talk. We learned a lot about his family, how long he had been on the island, about his daughter’s restaurant and finally after many hints, he realized we had things we needed to get done and he went on his way. But he was going to be back the next day delivering a different walker. And sure enough, a man of his word, he arrived just when he said he would. And once again settled in for quite the conversation. This time he also brought me a bowl from his daughter’s restaurant. How very thoughtful! We later ordered pizza from the restaurant and it too was very good. On the day we left he came and pick up the items we had rented. he told us he thinks there are perhaps five Americans on the island. I think that might be the reason he was so eager to chat with our family. As much as he loves Lanzarote I think he really enjoys talking with people from “back home.”

Details of the admittance to the hospital for me are sketchy. I asked if someone could spend the night with me. Of course, I could have a room with an extra bed (at an extra charge) and that person would also be provided meals. I was amazed but we later realized that this may be offered because the hospital is understaffed. When I would get my daily showers they would wheel me into the bathroom and wrap my arms and wound with plastic wrap (right off the roll, just like you’d buy in the local grocery) and then I would be left alone to shower for 10 minutes or so when they would come back and help me dry and dress. I can’t imagine this happening in the US. Even more surprising was when I went down for an MRI, they asked Patrick to help move me from gurney onto the MRI table and then back again.

The staff for the most part was very pleasant and did their best to speak English and certainly appreciated opportunities to speak with Cary who speaks nearly fluent Spanish.

On Monday while we were waiting for them to take me down to surgery Miss Cranky Pants stormed into my room and looked at all of us demanding to know when we were going to pay, and why hadn’t we paid yesterday adding that there would be no surgery before payment. We all took a collective deep breath and someone made the comment that it had been our understanding that we would be notified when we could meet with an administrator and pay and of course, we would be glad to complete the process. Cary traipsed downstairs and gave her a credit card to cover the 22,000 euro estimated cost. (Thank goodness once again for credit cards!)

The only thing I remember about the surgery was coming to while I was still in the operating room, kind of a freaky experience. I mumbled something to the effect of, “So it’s all over?” “Just finishing up,” responded the surgeon. Then to my amazement, someone mentioned they were going to move me from the surgery table to the gurney. The surgeon spoke directly to me, “Don’t help us.” Then he, the surgeon, and others lifted me onto the gurney. I can’t imagine a surgeon in the US doing that.

The surgeon had told me on the evening I was admitted that unlike the US, Spain doesn’t believe in no pain and I wouldn’t be given pain killers like the US. Ok! In the end I didn’t notice any difference except that all pain killers until the day I went home were give via IVs. And on several occasions during my stay I turned down an offered IV.

The staff generally went out of their way to be helpful. Patrick stayed with me in the hospital and on more than one occasion acted as my nurse tracking down something as mundane as ice. (Turned out there was no ice in the hospital.) While I was grateful to have someone stay with me I also think it’s a good deal for the hospital. They were vastly understaffed and so I had my own personal advocate who could run errands and on top of it he was paying the hospital for the opportunity to do so. The day I was released from the hospital, Epiphany, Jan 6, there was only one nurse on the hospital floor.

While I am often critical of the American medical system, I realize now that my primary gripe is the fact that it is unaffordable for so many. Obamacare was a step in the right direction but obviously much more needs to be done. When I compare what I experienced in a private hospital in Spain to what I have routinely received in the US I realize there are so many subleties that bely great differences. Rarely did I see a nurse during the overnight hours unless I requested one. The doctor came in to see me each morning before I had breakfast. He never looked at my wound but talked with me for five minutes or less. (Both Patrick and Cary took copious notes of everything I was told. On the first morning after surgery, the surgeon stopped midsentence and looked at Patrick and inquired, “You are recording?” When Patrick responded that he wanted to ensure he remembered everything the doctor said, it seemed to satisfy him.)

Finally five days after surgery I was released from the hospital. It would still be a few weeks before I would be certified as “fit to fly.” But it was a start. When I talked with the surgeon about starting physical therapy he assured me that it would be possible to have a therapist come to our Airbnb. He gave Patrick explicit instructions how to make it happen. But when Patrick went downstairs to arrange it, he first encountered Miss Cranky Pants who shouted, “No, no, she will have to come to the hospital for it.” In the middle of her tirade a young man walked in and softly told Patrick that he would be glad to come to our home three times a week. I was a bit concerned when I learned his name was Agony! But no need; he turned out to be wonderful! I paid him what I believed to be a very reasonable charge in cash. On our last day Cary inquired if he could provide us with a receipt for his services (that I could submit to our insurance) which he said regrettably he couldn’t do because he was doing this as a favor to the surgeon. Hmmm…interesting.

There are worse places to recuperate than Lanzarote. The weather was relatively warm; most days were in the mid 60s where we were up high in the hills and much warmer down near the beach.

Cary’s friend Rados is an amazing cook and so our meals were always wonderful! Then when he didn’t cook, Cary did! (Well, there were also a couple of trips to some US favorites.)

I can’t remember the last time I haven’t cooked for this period of time! Bob and I got to relax and Rados, Patrick and Cary were able to take a few afternoons to investigate the area but for the most part they spent most of their time running errands, and doing all the caretaking/housekeeping tasks and in addition, while they took time off to support me in my recuperation they both needed to check in with work regularly. Not exactly relaxing for either of them.

The view of the New Years fireworks from our initial Airbnb were pretty spectacular I am told.

But when I was released from the hospital we obviously couldn’t go back to our first stay with all the steps. Cary found us a great Airbnb in Tias, just a few minutes away from the hospital. We were higher up and it was quite windy, but it had a great outdoor area and very nice views…

Two weeks after my hospital release and three physical therapy sessions later I was finally able to try to travel by car. I found several YouTube videos of the process. Patrick wheeled me out to the car (out the front door and up a short but steep ramp) and at that point I would take Bob’s walker to get out of the chair and back up to the car and sit on the front passenger seat, and then lift my legs in. It was far easier than I had imagined. First trip was back to the hospital to see a nurse. I found it interesting that after the surgery never once did the doctor look at my wound, always a nurse. She removed the six staples which she told me had been in too long and as a result were irritating my skin and then sent us on our way. I can’t describe how wonderful it was to be out in sunshine.

It was so great to be out that two days later Cary drove us into Puerto del Carmen and for lunch. We drove down the Avenida del Playa looking for a restaurant that didn’t have steps and then on the second pass, she dropped Bob, Patrick and me off and then went and parked the car. What great service!

From the best we can figure out, airlines require the completion of a “fit to fly” form from the doctor before travel. I wasn’t sure what to expect when we went in for my appointment the day before our flight. We checked in with the receptionist and shortly after, the surgeon came out to the hallway, called my name and then wheeled me back to his office. There he asked questions about how I felt and provided me with suggestions for the travel ahead. When I asked about how long I should leave the wound dressed and other medical details, he referred me to the nurse who he said I should see after I left his office. Again, it was only conversation. He never checked out the dressing himself.

The reaction of complete strangers really impressed us. Before leaving the first complex, Cary said every time they returned people would inquire about my well being. The woman we had rented from even returned the balance of rent for the unused time. When I was being carried into the new Airbnb via stretcher I made eye contact with a woman on her nearby balcony. The next morning she knocked on our door inquiring on how I was doing and was there anything I needed adding that both she and her son would be happy to help with whatever we needed.

The Lanzarote airport was close by so when we left the hospital we took the surgeon’s advice and drove to the airport and Patrick went in to ensure that everything was in place for our flight the following day to London. On that morning Roger Dodger came and picked up the devices we had rented from him. And we were on our way. Lanzarote is a small airport and easy to navigate. Airport staff wheeled both Bob and me through the check in process and through security with both Patrick and Cary at our side doing their own check ins. (Bob tried to clear the way waving my cane as we moved through the airport! LOL)

We enjoyed a brief time in the lounge before boarding. The walk from the doorway of the plane to our seats was a challenge but luckily Patrick and Cary had suggested I buy a cane and it made things a lot easier. The very efficient staff took Bob and me through the boarding process and while I tried to explain that I wished to wait for my son to help me I was told, “He will be here. He will be here.” I felt a little like the old lady the boy scout helped across the street even though she didn’t want to go.

It’s a four hour flight from Lanzarote to London and before we left Lanzarote I had arranged for a taxi to pick us up at Gatwick and take us to the hotel inside Heathrow terminal 2, the terminal that we would fly out of in the morning. Of course it was raining cats and dogs when we got to London but we managed to miss most of the water! First we were met by the Gatwick staff who took us via buggy to the taxi. The taxi was outside but undercover and an hour later we were in our hotel. The desk had provided me with a telephone number for a group who would pick us the following morning and get us to our United Flight.

After a bit of dinner, I was definitely ready for bed. We were to leave for our gate at 9:30 in the morning. In my humble opinion Heathrow is a horrible airport to navigate; it’s absolutely huge and processes are very inefficient. And while our initial trip to the United connection was great, the process getting through security and finally to our gate took about two hours. Our flight to DC was nearly 9 hours but it was amazing! We were on a Boeing 777 in Polaris business class in little cubicles that reminded me of office pods. The service was beyond belief. There were 11 flight attendants on board. One immediately got me ice for my leg. Did we need anything else? There was time for chit chat. With Patrick’s support I got up three times to stretch my legs and each time there was at least one attendant if not two there to support me as well.

We were met by airport staff at Dulles who wheeled us through passport control, then with Patrick’s help picked up our baggage and took us to the door and outside to meet up with Stephen. They were truly wonderful. Patrick headed home on the metro and Stephen delivered us to our Airbnb, which he had already stocked with staples as well as meals that his wife, Sadie, had prepared for us. We’re not far from his house and this is where I will continue to recuperate for a couple of months and continue physical therapy.

It’s been quite a month. But I feel very lucky. Lucky to be in a place where quality medical care was available. Lucky that this fall occurred in a warm sunny part of the world and not in the cold rainy area where we began our holiday travels. Lucky to be able to afford the surgery. Lucky that it was a fractured hip and not something much worse. But most of all I feel very lucky to have had family to support me through all this. Bob and I never could have managed alone. I think at this point, while I want to continue to travel, it’s time to perhaps plan some adjustments of what that looks like. But that’s a conversation is for another time.

We left DC in late afternoon heading to Dulles where we would catch an overnight flight to Dublin.  We were driving in really heavy rain but were thankful that we would be able to leave the States ahead of the predicted winter storm scheduled to hit most of the country the next day. This was the first time Bob has traveled with his walker, and we were impressed when we were met with a wheelchair for him the minute we got to the United check in desk.  It took a bit of time for the clerks to figure out how to check his walker through but with Patrick’s help the walker was wrapped and checked.  The United clerk commented to Patrick how lucky we are to have him traveling with us.  Amen to that! 

We had arrived early at the airport and spent a couple hours in the United Lounge before boarding. As Christmas, birthday and anniversary gifts to each other we had splurged and purchased first class tickets.  On this flight that translated to seats that reclined into beds, not bad for a red eye! After the fact, I’m not sure this was such a great idea because it’s really going to be hard to go back to ordinary seats knowing what a difference this upgrade means on a long haul flight.  

We arrived in Dublin to find the rainy weather had followed us there. No wonder it’s called the emerald isle!  Our Airbnb was next to the Jury Inn Hotel that we were familiar with from a previous visit, and our host said she would meet us there in the coffee shop.  Helen bounced in greeting us with all the enthusiasm of a local tour guide.  Her place, she explained, was just around the corner.  As we began to follow her, she paused to explain our location, favorite restaurants and things to do even showing me her lovely waterproof Irish hat. Unfortunately we were getting drenched as we took in all this information. 

As I was planning for our days in Ireland I had found that most things are closed on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day as well as the 26th (St Stephen’s Day in Ireland, Boxing Day in Great Britain). But there was one tour of Guinness available at 4 pm on the day we arrived. So we quickly got settled in our apartment and Patrick and I headed off to the Guinness Storehouse.  It’s a self-guided tour and winds up from the ground to the sixth floor.  I had purchased the tour with two extras.  The first was a lesson on how to pour a perfect brew (and of course a pint of Guinness was included with it).  The second was a pint at the Gravity Bar on the very top floor, with a 360 degree view of the night lights of Dublin.   

Helen had suggested Darky Kelly’s as a nearby pub. Dorcus Kelly was a madam who operated a brothel on this site in the 1760s.  She was arrested and executed for killing a shoemaker who was abusing her “girls.”  

Cary, flying in from Rome, was scheduled to arrive while we were at Guinness so we decided Darky Kelly’s, just around the corner from our Airbnb, was a great place to meet up for dinner.  Pat and I arrived first and were lucky to find a table back in a corner.  A crowded Irish pub two nights before Christmas complete with an Irish band and singing!  

I had booked a tour of Christchurch Cathedral for the following morning and then a walking musical pub tour for the afternoon. Because of the rain (and the fact that we had toured Christchurch Cathedral previously)  Bob and I let Cary and Patrick venture off on their own.  Christchurch was built in 1030 by a Viking King, Sitruic Silkenbeard, and then rebuilt in 1170. Cary and Patrick found the 63 meter long catacombs of Christchurch fascinating, particularly the mummified cat chasing the mummified rat inside the pipe organ from the 1860s. 

And a few hours later they were the only guests on the walking tour.  As Sean, the guide, was telling his stories, people would stop by and say hello and contribute to the dialogue. The rain prevented them from doing all that had been planned but the intimate group seemed to make up for it!

Christmas morning we woke up to the Christmas bells chiming from Christchurch Cathedral, just across the street from us.

I  had booked another walking tour in the afternoon. This tour of the Liberties took us through the historic area of extreme poverty as well as political upheavals that Patrick Taylor references in many of his books. I had painted a picture of the area in my mind and it seemed to match up well. The best part of the tour was that it was authentic; this was no canned script. Our tour guide was James, a middle aged local resident, who enthusiastically recalled for us stories of his own youth all punctuated by fond memories of his granny.  Again, we were thrilled because the tour was just the four of us and one other, a Canadian with a passion for history, who was visiting Ireland for the first time.  It was a chilly walk and while rain threatened, luckily it held off!

I had hunted for a Christmas dinner reservation before we left the US.  I found The Jury Inn, virtually next to our Airbnb, offered a set “Christmas Lunch” menu that included a glass of prosecco, an appetizer, a main and a dessert.  Bob, Patrick and Cary chose the traditional turkey dinner and I chose the roast beef. Both were amazing. After dinner we walked back to our apartment in the rain!

We had one last day in Dublin, St Stephen’s Day, and were disappointed that this is generally a day of futbol in Ireland with most shops closed including many pubs. Even the Hop On Hop Off buses weren’t running. But people were out and about. We spent the day walking along the Liffy, enjoying some street performers and stopping in at Temple Bar.

The next morning we left Dublin for Belfast. We like to travel by train because it gives us opportunities to see the countryside. Not knowing how crowded the train would be over the holidays, I made reservations in advance. How surprised we were when we entered the car and found our names lit up next to our seats. It’s only a 2 1/2 hour trip north and when we arrived we took a cab from the station to our stay at the Belfast Jury Inn.  

At the top of our list to do was the Black Cab Tour.  Bob and I had done it when we were in Belfast a few years ago and found it an amazing experience.  This time was just as interesting as the first. The area is still full of tension.  The murals for both sides, the Catholics and the Protestants evoke a very emotional responses.  Our cabbie showed us videos of the bon fires from July 11, (the night before the July 12 celebration of the 1690 victorious battle when protestant King William of Orange defeated Catholic King James).   The cabbie explained that these are no ordinary bonfires. They are far higher than the buildings around them and create a real danger to their communities. He told us many families go away on the bonfire nights because they fear for their family’s safety. He showed us a video of a bonfire from July 2022 when sparks from the bonfire started fires on nearby buildings. Check out this link if you want to learn more. https://www.todayfm.com/news/northern-ireland-fire-brigade-responded-to-over-200-emergency-calls-on-bonfire-night-1362788

Patrick and I also went to the Titanic Museum.  The thing that makes this museum so unique is that the museum is almost entirely about the building of the ship where as the Titanic Museum we visited in Nova Scotia focuses primarily on the ship’s sinking. Thankfully we had timed tickets but even so the museum was very very crowded and made it difficult to mosey through at our preferred pace.  

One more day in Belfast before we were going to head to warmer environs, Lanzarote in the Canary Islands, what should we do?  Patrick and I decided we wanted to go to Derry, about an hour train trip away.  We got a cab from our hotel, again in the rain, and headed to the what we thought was the appropriate train station, but it appeared to be closed.  A bus was parked next to the cab and we soon figured out that the tracks were under repair and therefore, the station was closed.  The bus driver told us he would take us to the next stop, Antrim, where we could get a train to Belfast.  As soon as we boarded he drove off.  Not bad service. But we did find it odd that the cab driver didn’t know the train station was closed prior to our arrival. When we arrived at Antrim we got our ticket to Derry as well as a return ticket back to Belfast.

When we got to Derry we found the train station was in the middle of nowhere. The clerk at the station explained how we could walk across a bridge and downtown, but given the continued cold rain we were looking for a dryer, warmer route.  As soon as we went outside the station, a taxi pulled up.  The guy looked at us like we were nuts when we told him we wanted to walk the wall. But then he kicked into high gear and first told us where we could get a taxi back to the train after our excursion and then went out of his way to get us to the top of the hill and next to an entrance to the walled walk.  The walls were built in the early 1600s and have over time held people in and also blocked people out.  During most of the Troubles of the late 60s and 70s the walls were closed off.  There are interesting lookouts with great views along the walk.  About halfway round we left the walk to get a better look at Catholic majority Bogside. The murals here continue to tell the same story as those in Belfast honoring the Catholic patriots and calling for the release of political prisoners still held.  

We stopped in at a little hole-in-the wall museum/gift shop.  The owner was a local who was eager to share with us the history of the area.  When he found out we were Americans he was particularly eager to chat asking lots of questions about Trump.  We thought it strange that this Irishman didn’t know we currently have an Irish president.  He was well aware, however, of John Kennedy.  

By this time we were both pretty cold so we checked out a few stores and then stopped in another Irish pub for dinner before heading back to get the train home.  Right around the corner from the pub was the taxi place our driver had told us about. Finally, after a twenty minute wait a cab arrived and got us back to our train station.

Given that there are four of us and Bob and I together have 4 bags and a walker, we decided we should order two cabs to take us to the airport.  I suggested to the hotel clerk that perhaps we could book a van but he said it was easier to book two cabs.  At 5:30 the next morning we were in the lobby waiting for our taxi.  No one; nothing.  I checked with the hotel clerk.  She called the taxi company but got no answer.  Finally one cab came!  The driver mad no bones about it; he didn’t think we would fit. Totally ignoring the driver’ protests, Cary took charge and managed to get most of the luggage in the trunk. Then with Bob in the front, Cary, Pat and I squeezed in the back seat with the remaining luggage and Bob’s walker stretched out across our laps, we set out for the the 30 minute drive to the Belfast airport and our flight to the Canaries. Oh, and did I mention? It was raining!