The Church does not recommend that parents travel to the mission to pick up “their” missionary at the end of his or her mission. I pondered this advice as my wife and I arrived at the empty gate where our plane to Madrid had been a few moments before.
We had planned this trip for some time. Friends in our ward had told us what a wonderful experience they had when their parents had picked them up form their mission. We had planned the trip, made the necessary arrangements with the church and the mission, had my mom fly in from Utah to watch the children, and finally, the day to depart came.
We arrived at the original departure airport in Boston with plenty of time to check our bags and go through security. There was enough time for me to buy my wife a necklace at an airport gift shop: in addition to picking up our son, my wife and I were celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary.
The plane did not take off on time from Boston. I thought of our three checked bags as I watched the baggage handlers continue to load the plane even after the advertised departure time. From prior experience, I had always practiced and taught my family to have sufficient clothing and supplies in our carry-on bag to survive a day or two at the destination. We were planning on visiting the Madrid Temple when we arrived so had included “Sunday” clothes in our carry-ons as well as an extra change of more daily attire. The three checked bags represented a bag each for clothes more suited to restaurants and evening wear, extra garments, and the personal care products that just didn’t fit in a carry-on. I had also partially filled a suitcase for souvenirs and for David to use since I was fairly certain that his suitcases would be overloaded.
The departure from Boston was further delayed waiting for a “window” to land in rainy Philadelphia, where we were to transfer to the plane to Madrid. I hoped that the storm that was holding us on the ground in Boston would also delay the departure of the flight to Madrid as well. Many of the passengers were concerned.
Once we arrived at the gate in Philadelphia, we found out, along with nearly 20 others who had been on our originating flight, that the flight to Madrid had left without us. We trooped to the ticket booths, helping a few others along the way, and arranged for alternate flights.
Our flight took us through Frankfurt. We ended up being 10 hours late to our original arrival time in Madrid, but both Julie and I had a positive attitude and enjoyed our trip, our honeymoon. During the three hour layover in Germany, we browsed bookstores, bought gifts, pointed at the different foods in the delicatessen, and relished the quiet moments alone with each other.
Not unexpectedly, our baggage did not arrive with us when we arrived in Spain. We waited, then reported the three missing bags to the luggage claims individual. Somehow, in his broken English and my terrible Spanish, I explained our itinerary and how we were traveling from town to town, staying a night in one place, then two in another. He gave us a number to call, we took our carry-on bags, and went and got our rental car – which was still being held for us.
The rental car was a 5-speed Peugeot Diesel 307 with a sunroof, large for a European car and still within our budget. The parking spaces were tiny, the lot was cramped, the roads were packed, and we weren’t certain that we could find where we were going. I had printed maps off the computer, focusing in on key junctions, but it is extremely different when the signage is unfamiliar. Somehow, we got on the desired freeway to Toledo and enjoyed a drive through the Spanish countryside. The weather was surprising cool and pleasant.
Due to our late arrival and chance, we were assigned a honeymoon suite at the four-star hotel with a view of Toledo. We had some hot sandwiches, typical of the region according to the menu, and spent the evening wandering the streets of this city of swords, holding hands.
The following day, we called the airport and learned that our baggage was still missing. We told them the address of our hotel in Grenada and left.
On the way out of Toledo, we stopped at a large department/grocery store that was part of a shopping mall. We purchased food supplies, enjoying the different selection, such as peach juice in addition to orange juice, legs of ham, and all types of cheeses. We also found some shirts and capris on sale for Julie in case the suitcases did not find their way to us. The real shortage was garments: mine were cotton and impossible to was by hand while Julie’s were nylon that could be easily washed in a bathroom sink and hung to dry overnight.
We continued our itinerary through the vast landscapes of Spain. Julie insisted that we stop at Consuegra, where windmills out of Don Quixote shared the hilltop with a castle. One of the two information desk helpers spoke passable English and told us of this village of saffron. We toured the castle, being rebuilt with a crane hauling stones from the valley floor, yet with a walled garden hearkening back to the middle ages.
We arrived at Grenada and somehow found the hotel. Unfortunately, the bags had not arrived. The hotel clerk was very helpful and spoke the best English of the clerks we met at all the hotels. All the hotel clerks were willing to call the airport to check on the baggage, or give us directions, or advise of places to go, and to listen to me as I described why we were there and what my son had been doing in Spain for the past two years.
We picked up my son the next day from the mission president’s house in a town next to Malaga. What a time of rejoicing!! David had grown physically and spiritually. The experience he had gained as a missionary was apparent.
When we took his luggage out to the car, I wondered momentarily if there would be enough room for our luggage as well if it arrived. That momentary concern became more real when we returned to Grenada and the hotel and found that one of the lost suitcases had arrived. Thankfully for me, it contained my clothes, and more importantly, my garments.
We enjoyed our last day in Grenada and our first day with David. We visited the Alhambra, or at least the parts we could visit without a ticket. We wandered the narrow streets if the Albaysin, visited the squares in town, went grocery shopping at a store since David would not let us go to a restaurant, ate our picnic dinner in a plaza, and just enjoyed visiting with our missionary son.
When we left Grenada the following morning, we had them call the airport to inform them of our new hotel in Sevilla. We packed the bags in the rental car, and still had space for our yet to arrive suitcases. We enjoyed the trip across the southern quarter of Spain, amazed by the rows of olive groves even on the mountains, and the vineyards with grape “bushes” rather than vines.
Sevilla was a bustling town, the largest, except for Madrid, on our trip. We visited historic sites such as the Plaza d’Espana, le Toro del Oro, los Archivos de los Indies, the cathedral, the castle, museums, and the potter’s quarter. We also visited members and toured the areas where David – Elder Kramer – had tracted and taught. We shared an evening with a particularly missionary minded family where the father had served a mission, and his sons as well, including one who had just returned.
Thankfully, another bag arrived, the one I had planned to share with David. Julie was still getting by with her carry-on and the clothes we had purchased in Toledo. The arrival of the suitcases had been timely. I was kept in clean underwear and an extra suitcase was made available for David and the souvenirs we purchased in Grenada and Sevilla.
Sunday, we packed the rental car one last time, filling it with suitcases and food. Another suitcase could have fit, but it would have been a bit tight. We had the hotel call the airport and tell them of our next night’s destination.
We were fed and uplifted by the Sabbath services in the small ward where Elder Kramer had served just a few months before. He loved the people and they loved him back. It was a “storefront ward” taking up the first floor of a building, packed with families, youth, saints. David was asked to speak in Sacrament meeting. Pictures were taken with families and friends. There was such a spirit of unity and love. It was a wonderful ward – like many in the church – full of families intent on serving the Lord and each other.
We started on our long drive to Madrid filled with that sweet spirit. We passed through the dry but beautiful countryside of Spain, seeing the hand of God as we traveled. Sevilla, the ancient port city where the riches of the Americas flowed into Europe, the historic capital city Cordoba where the Muslims ruled for centuries, and the countryside bathed with a dusty yellow light, through olive groves and vineyards.
All was going well, until a light came on in the rental car dashboard and we lost some power. The car struggled to make it to a town a kilometer away, topping out at 80 km/hr (50 mph), while cars and trucks whipped by at over 120 km/hr (75 mph). Traffic was heavy as families headed home from the August vacations.
The first gas station we stopped at directed us to a larger, 24 hr a day service area. We called the rental car agency on the pay phone and they promised to send a tow truck and a taxi. The tow truck arrived soon and pulled the rental car to a garage next door to the service area, but closed on Sunday. The tow truck driver gave us the first hint that there would be a problem. He didn’t think the taxi would be large enough to hold our luggage, and furthermore, the rental car company would want us to go back to Cordoba, 130 km in the opposite direction from Madrid. He called the rental car company to plead our case.
We called as well. Rather than lose two hours going to pick up a rental car then coming back, I thought it would be more expedient for the taxi to drive us to Madrid – all of us. I did not want to split up the family, not in Spain where only one of us truly spoke Spanish. One fewer suitcase and we could have crammed into the taxi for the trip to Cordoba – or in the taxi to Madrid.
The taxi driver called on our behalf. He described our situation, Americans in Spain, with lots of luggage, who didn’t want to be split up. He had no luck persuading the rental company either. But then, his phone rang. The rental car agency called back. It we would find our own way to the airport, then they would allow the taxi driver to get the larger taxi – a minivan – and drive us to Madrid.
The taxi driver returned with the larger taxi – and his wife. She wanted to join us for the drive to Madrid. I guess Americans are rare in the small town of Los Carolinas. We barely fit all of us in with the baggage. If there had been one more bag, the bag that never arrived, then the taxi driver would not have been able to bring his wife. If none of the lost bags had arrived, then the large taxi would not have been required, we could have all fit in the smaller taxi, and the taxi driver would not have brought his wife.
The Lord had planned it and executed it down to the last suitcase. The Lord wanted “Elder” Kramer to talk with the taxi driver and his wife. For 2 hours, David discussed his mission, talked of America, answered questions, and Julie and I enjoyed the experience. The spirit drew us close – so close that we took pictures of us and the taxi driver and his wife when we arrived at the hotel.
There are no missionaries in the small town of Los Carolinas, Spain. The nearest ward is 130 kilometers away in Cordoba. The taxi driver and his wife may not join the church or hear of it again in this life. However, the Lord thought it important enough that they receive the witness of a missionary that luggage was misplaced and a rental car break down.
The Lord emphasized this point the next day. The taxi that the hotel helped arrange to take us to the airport was not the large van as expected, but a car, the same size as the car that was too small to take us and our luggage to Cordoba. However, since then, we had eaten the food we had with us and grown in faith, at least a little. This new taxi driver did not think we could fit all our luggage and ourselves in his taxi. But this time, I knew better. We fit every suitcase and bag, and ourselves, perfectly, with no room to spare. My wife’s suitcase, lost somewhere in Europe, would have been one suitcase too many.
That is the dramatic end of the story, but an epilogue should be added. The Lord continued to make sure the missionary arrived home, safely and on time. The taxi got us to the airport and cost us exactly all the euros I had in my pocket. At the airport, David was the first to go to the ticket counter, and was transferred from making a connection at Atlanta to making a connection at JFK. And his suitcases were just the perfect weight. We got through our ticket and immigration check and discovered David in the concourse on the other side, waiting for his plane, which had been delayed. We wandered the concourse together where David ran into a past missionary working in a store. Finally the planes took off, us on our flight, David on his church-provided flight. I was worried, given our experience, that he wouldn’t make his connection in New York. I don’t know why I worried. Two returned servicemen took him under their wings, so to speak, and whisked him through US immigration and ran from gate to gate to arrive just in time at the one taking him to Boston. Julie and I on the other hand had lots of time to wait, and wait, and wait for our baggage. We made our connection in plenty of time though. My final concern was all of us joining up when we hit Boston. My cousin David was to pick us up and he and us had cell phones, Elder Kramer did not. We picked up our luggage from the carousel, we walked out to the overhang, I called my cousin David, just as he was pulling up, and then I saw Elder Kramer walking over from the terminal next to us. Somehow, starting on different airlines, leaving from Spain at two different times, taking two different connections, we collected our baggage and arrived at a point that we had not predetermined within seconds of each other. With all our suitcases.
The real conclusion came in November. We had reported the lost bag, urger the airlines to search, and finally made a luggage claim. They honored it, and the day we received the check, we received our bag. It had been at the hotel in Sevilla, and no airport pickup had ever come by to take it back, until by chance, months later, another passenger had lost another suitcase. I only hope that their story was as blessed as ours.
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