ANGEL IN MY CRISIS

Rada

“Kevin, would you consider yourself a savvy train traveler?” I was about to embark on a long day of train travel in France leaving from Sarlat-la-Caneda, a small commune east of Bordeaux, to Beziers about seven train hours southeast with one transfer in between. 

I’m a pretty seasoned air traveler, and road tripper, but a fledgling when it comes to train travel, and I wanted to know some of the nuances to up the odds of enjoying my daylong journey. How do you know which car to choose? Are there any benefits to facing backwards? How about knowing which side of the train would have the better view of the French countryside? And where do I put my suitcase?  Since Kevin has lived in Europe for over 20 years, and would be meeting me at my final destination, I tapped into his expertise, and took mental notes as he patiently answered my inquiries. He gave me the assurance I needed, and I looked forward to a day full of countryside castles, landscapes of endless sunflower fields, the bright summer sky as backdrop, and the hum of the train noises to lull me into a meditative state. I love being on a train and dream of a transcontinental trip one day.

I managed to board the right train, at the right time, found the right place to stow my suitcase, and claimed the right seat facing in the right direction (forward) on the correct side of the train which also happened to be on the right! 

In a matter of moments, I swiftly navigated through all my concerns and settled in, my eyes fixed out the window. I had three hours until my stop, and was happy to simply sit back and enjoy the scenes I’d be passing by. 

Soon enough it was time to meet back up with my suitcase and wait by the exit with the other passengers for my stop.  When the train came to a halt, I was a little perplexed and slightly annoyed that I had to push past some of the passengers to make my way to the exit. Why aren’t they getting off, and if they weren’t getting off, why were they standing at the exit, I wondered. I was also surprised to see that there was no station, no services, but only a flight of stairs down from the platform to the street. With an hour before my next train, I crossed the busy city street in search something to eat, pushing the nagging perplexities away.

I made it back to the stop about 15 minutes before my train was scheduled, and checked the board to see if it was on time. But when I studied the data, and compared it to the itinerary on my boarding pass, they didn’t match up. My heart dropped, and that dreaded wave of cold sweat passed through my body. Something was very wrong, and I suddenly found myself alone in that awful moment of crisis, critical that I keep all panic at bay so I could think clearly. Deep, oxygen-filled breath, and two questions: What happened, and what do I do next? In my next heartbeat I determined that I had gotten off at Cenon, and I was supposed to get off at Bordeaux-St-Jean station which was the next stop – only a few brief minutes away. This explained why the other passengers were standing at the door in preparation to disembark. 

I took a quick scan of the people in my midst, all blending in as locals who appeared to just be busy navigating through their regular day. No one stood out as a good candidate to help me in my crisis, but the chances of me quickly solving my problem on my own were none, so I approached a man sitting on a wall. 

“Do you speak English?”, not even bothering to ask in the little French I knew, my heart pounding hard. 

“Un peu”, he shyly replied. 

I showed him my phone, told him my situation, and thankfully he immediately understood my dilemma. 

“Is there a taxi that could get me to the next station in time?” I pleaded. 

“No, but you can order an Uber”. His English was perfect. 

He stood up and took my phone out of my hands, easily inputing the correct information to beckon a car. I was mildly hopeful to see that it was expected to arrive in only 5 minutes. I thanked the young man and stood alone on the curb with my luggage to wait, taking slow, deep, even breaths in an attempt to calm my heart down.  The stakes were high if I were to miss this train. It was the only one scheduled for the day, and Kevin was arriving by train from his home in Spain to meet me at the Beziers station, where I had reserved a rental car that we planned to drive together to our final destination, another town away. If I missed this train, we each would have to find a place to stay for the night, and meet the next day. It weighed heavily on me that my mistake could infringe on someone else’s travel experience – especially when that someone was a friend I hadn’t seen in over 30 years! I did not want to make that phone call.

These daunting thoughts were interrupted when the young man came back and matter of factly announced “I will take you to the station. You don’t have time to wait for the Uber”. Startled, but oddly comforted by his gesture, I leaned into my instincts over logic and handed over my suitcase to this stranger who placed it into the trunk of his small ratty car. I climbed into the passenger seat, buckled myself in and we were off. Instead of wondering if this was a kidnap or robbery in the making, I forced myself to focus on relief and gratitude. I was acutely aware that a mere moment ago I was alone in an unfamiliar city in a foreign country in a dire situation. And, now, with unexplainable confidence, I had to trust that I was being escorted out of my dire situation by a good samaritan who knew the way. I let go and leaned into this as he calmly navigated through a welcomed green light and dug into my wallet to pull out some euro’s for him, but he waved them away indicating that he was not doing this for money. 

“Why then, are you doing this for me?” I asked, sincerely interested in hearing his response. 

“Because I have time. It’s lucky – today is my day off.” I looked at him, and as I heard the words, what I absorbed was the wide smile across his face and emanating from his kind eyes. 

He shared that he had come to France with his family from Morocco when he was 13, which explained his dark skin, and thick black curly hair. He was 28 and the proud father of a 3 month old son. He shared about his hopes to travel as I was doing someday, and that he would like to follow me on Instagram. He continued on about the importance of his family and how lucky he felt. His name was Rada. For a few moments I forgot about my travel dilemma and immersed myself into our easy conversation. I noticed there was an almost ethereal calm about him as he spoke and deftly navigated through the traffic of the busy city. 

My eyes fell to his GPS, which thrusted me back into my reality. It showed that although we were getting closer to the station, it was farther away than I’d thought, and our ETA was only minutes ahead of my departing train. I expressed my concern and Rada simply told me not to worry. I continued to trust his easy and calm state, knowing there was nothing else I could do but sit and wait as we moved forward. 

“When we get to the station, how will I know which platform to go to? I won’t have time to ask, or find my way.” I’m deep breathing my way toward calm again. 

“Don’t worry, I will help you.” 

A moment of quiet and then, “You asked me why I’m doing this, and I thought about it some more. If you were my mother, I would hope someone would be there to help her”. I looked over at him, and again, that big, warm smile as he looked back at me, and I felt a spark of connection to his mother on some level. The vulnerable devout loving words he shared with me suddenly, unexpectedly reconnected me to my son and my daughter, who are both about his age and on the other side of the world…..so far away from this mothers heart and somehow in this instant, so close. 

Again, I was brought back into my present as I saw him roll down his window to retrieve a parking garage ticket, and then pull into the first space inside of what appeared to be a giant parking garage. I didn’t ask him any questions, sensing that he had a plan, his demeanor still calm, but moving a tic more efficiently. 

“Follow me” was all he said as we got out of the car and he grabbed my suitcase from the trunk and began to run. I followed him through the doors into the station, down an escalator and through a long hallway. I was barely keeping up, digging so deep to run faster than I can remember, my heart pounding again, this time from physical exertion; up another escalator and then onto the platform where…my train…..still….was. He placed my suitcase across the threshold onto the train, and, keeping a hold of it, turned to beckon me to hurry. Finally, I stepped onto the train and he released my suitcase and stepped back onto the platform. I had made my train!

There was just enough time for me to turn to this young man, meet his eyes, and take in his warm, good smile one last time. We shook our heads and laughed in amazement and gratitude at the audacity of our shared brief experience. 

“Thank you, Rada. Thank you so much! Be well…” and the doors closed, and the train moved, and I watched him turn and disappear into the rest of his day off. I paused at the door to catch my breath as the train pulled out of the station and wondered about my luck – of all the people passing by me, I chose Rada. I knew I would never see him again…..but that’s how angels sometimes show up – only for the brevity of the time they are needed.