“Hello, I am in room 425, and I am stuck in the bathtub.”
I played this conversation over in my head as I tried to get out of a bathtub in Redondela, Spain.
After fifteen kilometers in seven hours, our group of four women over the age of 66 limped into the town of Redondela. The second of five segments on our Camino de Santiago- The Coastal Walk.
The description for today’s walk is, ” Today is a shorter walk at a more relaxed pace, following the path and enjoying the views of the Bay of Vigo.”
The walk was seven hours, and we caught a few glimpses of the Bay.
My feet have blisters even though I wear hiking boots and socks that are supposed to prevent them. The muscles in my legs are burning.
We check in, show our passports and load our luggage into the narrow elevator allowing only two people and our luggage.
I tap the key card on the door and enter. It is sparse. One bed, one desk, and a lamp. I enter the bathroom, and the bathtub catches my eye. A nice warm bath will soothe my pain. I don’t usually take baths in hotels because of all the germs and COVID contamination. Nothing is going to keep me from soaking in this tub.
I fill the tub halfway with warm water. Slip off my clothes carefully because my legs don’t move. I put my right foot into the tub and then the left. I slip into the narrow tub. I don’t realize how tight it is until I want to get out.
I soak for about fifteen minutes. I begin to exit by getting on my right knee to help me lift the left knee. I can’t move. I am stuck. I am 5 feet seven inches tall, weigh about 165 pounds, and am too big for a Spanish hotel tub.
I sit down in the water and think about knocking on the wall of the room next to me, which was my friend’s room. What can she do? She doesn’t have the key to my room, and I don’t want her to see me naked. There are no pictures in this post because I don’t want you to see me naked either.
I let the water out of the tub to give me more traction. I grab onto the faucet to help pull me up. The faucet is on the side of the tub. I try to pull myself up, but there is not enough space between my butt and the tub. This is where olive oil would help. I sit down again. How am I going to get out of the tub?
“Help, I am stuck in the tub.” I would have to say that in Spanish if I were to call the front desk.
There isn’t a phone nearby, and I am getting desperate. The tears begin to fall down my cheeks. Who is going to get me out of here?
I grab a towel that I had put on the toilet seat and place it in the tub. It soaks up some of the water to make the tub less slippery. I kneel down with both of my knees and grab the side of the tub, and I can move my legs a few inches. I stand up with my right leg and can find the strength and space for both legs. I step out of the tub. I am relieved, and I save myself the embarrassment of having the Spanish fire department extract me from the tub.
Lesson learned: No more baths in Spanish hotel rooms.