While I am sure no one in the United States would exactly describe me as waif-like, here I am nothing short of burly. Which is probably why I found myself hauling a Colombian woman with a broken leg, whom I had never met, up half a mile of bumpy, inclined, salt-paved corridors.
Allow me to explain.
On Sunday, one of our many, many, many, many tourist sites was at the Cathedral of Salt. To actually outshine the fact that I visited a Cathedral made entirely of salt (a mine in an old salt deposit from an ancient sea of yesteryear that has been tunneled and chiseled into an active cathedral) a truly remarkable event must have taken place. Indeed, indeed. The tour took us about ½ a mile into the mine (the front of the cathedral) at which point I noticed many a wheelchair circling the choir loft and altar. I thought to myself how nice that it was handicapped accessible; there weren’t any stairs that had to be avoided or anything. However, on our way out, we realized that the patchwork flooring of 4” deep and wide, bumps and holes was less than ADA desirable. After 3 minutes of watching this moth of a girl try to push her mother up the unruly slopes, I offered to take over. Isabel helped as well, but Isabel is about the size of one wing of that moth.
To make a short story long, it was easiest to sort of lay the chair half on its back and just roll the larger wheels up the terrain, but that required me to more or less carry half this woman’s weight. It was fine, there really were no other options, and after it was all over, Isabel was more winded than I was.
There is something to be said for an extra 30 pounds of American. I’ll take my good Samaritan powers over your unusually voluptuous figure any day.
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