Don’t Give Up!
No Te Rindes!
Victor shared the optimism of the billboard that he translated from inside the taxi. The next billboard read:
Hasta la Victoria, Siempre!
Until Victory, Always!
Victor appreciated the personalised serendipity.
The taxi driver was also optimistic and he left the motor running as Victor entered the terminal.
“Tickets for 10pm to Santiago can only be purchased through the Viazul website”
“Yes, but the website’s not working”
“Sorry, I can’t sell it to you here”
“Even though this is the terminal?”
“Correct”
Victor had spent two days trying to buy the bus ticket. The owner of his accommodation had even downloaded a VPN and attempted to access the site via an internet provider on the other side of the world.
First the internet dropped out and Victor trudged through the heat and humidity to buy another WiFi scratch card. Then the power went out. He downed bottle after bottle of water to replace the sweat.
All this for a ticket worth 34 Euros.
Naively, stubbornly, defiantly or optimistically, Victor had decided to continue his struggle at the bus terminal.
No Te Rindes!
The driver saw Victor’s forlorn expression. He put the key in the ignition, but just as the engine turned over, he spotted something.
“I know her, she’s the national director of Viazul” and he leapt out of the car to chase the woman up the steps to her office. Victor followed, past signs boasting of the stunning destinations in reach of Viazul’s esteemed passengers.
Victor’s new ally exchanged affectionate greetings with the director and soon Team Victor was being shuffled between stifling, overcrowded offices with whirring fans which turned up the corners of the overflowing piles of paper and fought in vain against the summer heat.
To no avail.
As the comrades returned to the taxi, a hushed but insistent voice called.
“Amigo!”
A young man in uniform looked left and right and motioned them to a quiet corner of the carpark.
Victor spotted a billboard behind the man’s shoulder:
‘Venceremos’
We Will Win.
He listened to the man’s offer.
“Come back at 9.30pm. Bring bags. Don’t enter the terminal. Wait for me.”
Victor pondered.
“And bring cash”
Victory requires risk.
Darkness compounded the trepidation.
Victor’s saviour appeared. Dishevelled, tired and tipsy.
“Mr Lima,” he called, defying the subtlety he had insisted upon earlier.
He wasn’t tipsy, he was drunk!
“Wait, here.”
Victor waited and waited, then suddenly it happened.
Victor gave the man 40 Euros, no change. They crept around the corner and slipped under a rope, through the parking area towards the bus.
“Stand here,” the man ordered.
The driver was approached. He looked disapprovingly at the solitary figure. Finally, after a subtle exchange, Victor was called over. Relief poured through his body, but as he motioned to thank his saviour, the man shook his head and disappeared.
Victor managed some sleep and when he opened his eyes he read:
Welcome to Santiago, City of Heroes
kieranblakewriter 