April 28, 2013 LONDON SOIREE

                                London  Soiree

News report of the death of the former Prime Minister of Great Britain, Margaret Thacher on April 8, 2013 brought the likes of the proverbial "London Fog" on the spirits of its citizens. A brilliant woman who led her country through tumultuous times, she was lovingly called by his countrymen, "The Iron Lady." As the world's attention shifted, at least for some time, to paying its respect to the demise of a political leader who did much for her native land, my thoughts recalled an experience I had in London.

December, 1975. After attending an UNCTAD (United Nations Commission on Trade and Development) Conference on Shipping and Trade in Geneva, Switzerland, I went to London for a two-day visit before hurrying home to the Philippines for the Christmas holidays. The city tour gave me some wonderful sights and sounds of London including the stops at Trafalgar Square, Westminster Abbey and the Parliament. The whole day tour of Windsor Castle was most interesting!

"So, please give me a wake-up call at 4 AM," I requested the Cumberland Hotel desk clerk. Thoughts about the 7AM flight to Paris, the bus ride to the Heathrow Airport and any possible hitch in my journey plus the fear of missing my flight kept haunting my subconscious mind so that I was up before the phone rang.

"Please take me to the bus terminal," I told the taxi driver. He replied that the bus depot was still closed. I insisted. Seemingly reluctant to do so, he turned the ignition key and we moved on. It was still dark and the streets were desolate. The light from the lamp posts shining through the London  fog shed an aura of the mystic unknown. It was reminiscent of scenes in an Alfred Hitchcock thriller. I was trying to recall the name of the film when suddenly, I remembered my diamond engagement and wedding rings. They were not on my fingers. I reached up for my ears. No earrings!

"Oh, oh, please go back. I forgot something," I said. The driver immediately made a U-turn and headed back to the hotel. A whirlwind of scenarios flitted through my mind- the chambermaid putting my jewelry into her apron pocket; the taxi speeding away with all my luggage and souvenirs for my family, relations and friends; my forlorn self before an airport TV monitor because I missed my flight and my whole family silently eating our traditional midnight meal (Media Noche) with an empty chair.

"Oh, Lord, please help me." I prayed to our Blessed Mother, saints and angels for help. I nervously focused my gaze ahead continually praying to the Holy Spirit to pour upon the driver a sense of honesty and integrity so as not to cart my luggage away when I would go up to my hotel room. I also prayed for the chambermaid to have the strength to  overpower temptation. Back of my mind, I chided myself for using them on my trips, but justified it by the fact that they could be converted to cash in any emergency. As I stepped out of the taxi, I lifted to the Holy Spirit the problem of losing both my jewelry and luggage. 

I rushed up the elevator and to my room. It was closed but unlocked just as I had left it. I dashedd to the dresser and looked at the ashtray. Voila! My earrings and rings were there! I held them firmly and for some moments stood still while giving thanks to God. But wait, only the first half of my request was granted. What about the other half? I ran back to the elevator. I was imploring God for another miracle with regards to my luggage. The idea that our Lord works wonders in complete ccycles buoyed my hopes up. Excitement took over the apprehension I earlier felt. Exhausted from the physical and emotional stress. I had to use both hands to push the entrance foor of the hotel.

"Thank God, " I mumbled. It was a welcome sight to see the driver's grinning face cupped by his hands on the taxi window!

"Let's go to the airport," I said. I entertained the thought that the airport trip was to reward him for not running off with my things. It was also my way of sharing the happiness of recovering my jewelry. In addition, it became imperative to use the taxi so as to catch my plane for Paris. Like a cheerful giver God wants us all to be, I handed him a generous tip.

To somehow make up for the tip, I decided not to use a porter, so I loaded my luggage on a cart and started towards the British Airways section.There was no line at the check-in counter. I thought I was too early only to find out that the airline was on strike. The agent promptly changed my ticket to Scandinavian Air Lines and assured me that everything had been arranged. I was about to move on when I heard a volley of invectives being released to another agent by a lady wrapped up in a fancy fur coat or the like. She was totally upset by the change of flight especially because she had three big suitcases and the porter had left. From the exchange of words, I learned that she was also going to Paris on board Scandinavian airlines. Hesitating, at first, I offered my cart for her luggage to which she accepted. Together, we pushed the cart with its towering load. As we talked along the way, I learned that she was Maria Fiori, wife of a retired Italian general and that she went to London for her Christmas shopping. We made frequent stops to rest our arms. What a spectacle we must have made. Two women working like stevedores and one was sporting a fur coat!

We checked-in our luggage at SAS and was informed that our flight was scheduled to leave within forty minutes. To while away the time, I invited Maria to browse through the stores at Heathrow Airport. She joined me. I bought an art set for my kids. We wandered some more and went back to the waiting lounge.

"When is our plane leaving?" asked Maria.
"It just left," was the lady's curt reply.
"What?" Maria exclaimed as she slapped her forehead in consternation. The lady informed us that our suitcases would be waiting for us in Paris and that the next plane would leave in an hour. I felt miserable. It was my fault! Immediately, I dialed my 911 call to God Almighty. I called on our Blessed Mother for help!

"The Lord will take care of our things," I meekly said while pressing her hand.
"Oh, you do not know Paris. If you leave your suitcase for a minute, boom, it would be gone," she emphasized with a flick of her fingers.

We sat in silence. I dared not to fathom what ran through her mind. I imagined her cutting me into a thousand pieces. I was resigned to it! Long before the landing at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, we had our carry-on assembled so as to make a quick dash through customs and then direct to the baggage claim area. My heart was pumping fast. I prayed to all the angels and saints to help me ask for a miracle. In unison, we stormed the gates of heaven!

Lo and behold! Our suitcases were neatly lined near an empty carousel.They must have been there for an hour. To think that so many people were walking through and around the big baggage claim area where around ten carousels operate to service more than a thousand tourists daily.

"You are a better Christian!" Maria exclaimed as she gave me a tight embrace and adding, "Remember to visit me when you will be in Rome."

I was profuse in my thanksgiving and praise to God! I thanked our blessed Mother and the legions of angels and saints who help make another miracle happen!