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24 Minyata I attempted to sleep in, but with the campground sandwiched between freeways and an overhead flight path it proved an impossible feat. Arising, I tried to run the hot water out on the shower, but happily failed. It was the most hot water I had seen in Europe. On my way out of the building, I noticed a massive array of solar panels on the roof. While Susan and I went to the bar for a café au lait and waited hopefully for her bike to arrive, Sharon rode to Jumbo supermarket. Susan and I discovered a large wellstocked food store, including fruit, around the side of the complex. The claims department had told Susan to call at noon. The picture on the phone showed ten, twenty and fifty centavos pieces. I told Susan phones were nearly impossible to use in Europe. She plunked in her twenty centavos piece, and it rang straight through. Damn beginner's luck. Her bicycle had landed and was on its way. We crossed the parking lot and saw three persons with a bike enclosed in plastic. As they dragged it away like cheetahs with a dead antelope, we rushed over to claim it. It took two hours to replace wheels, assemble pedals and headset, then install new front pannier and handlebar attachments that Susan hadn't had time to do before she left home. I pumped up her tires and discovered one had a flat. She was going to fit right in. Sharon returned with $100 worth of groceries and both machine and hand washing varieties of Tide. Looking at the stuff I couldn't see any difference. She proudly displayed a scarf she had won in some customer promotion. She couldn't understand what they were telling her. It was probably for the most groceries ever bought by a cyclist. Caraway and sesame seeds liberally sprinkled the bread. It was so delicious I consumed a whole loaf. We made cucumber, tomato, creamy white cheese and spicy lamb sausage sandwiches. Chocolate bars and pudding mysteriously disappeared. Susan had brought two jars of peanut butter. Instead of using it sparingly to make it last, like kids we gobbled an entire jar. At three thirty we hustled our dirty laundry into bags and rushed it to the washer women. The head washer woman said she had time to put it into the washing machine, but it wouldn't be put into the dryer until tomorrow. "Minyata, minyata," she said. They had a saying in Portugal: minyata. It meant tomorrow. "Can you wash my clothes?" "Minyata, minyata." "Can you dry my clothes?" "Minyata, minyata." "No comprehende," dominated her conversation-until it came time to pay. Then her comprehension improved dramatically, as she clearly demonstrated by taking my bill and failing to provide change. |
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