The Hillbilly Viking

Since this Iberian odyssey began, we’ve 1) mastered the multi-headed hydra that is the train nexus out of Porto (first class definitely ain’t the worst class), 2) blew most of our tip budget on Ubers and Taxis (where we were exposed to enough saucy, traffic-induced Portuguese to make a Tourette’s sufferer take pause), 3) cursed (in that very same, newly minted Portuguese) our unholy, Franco-American coalition with a rented Renault, and 4) are currently girding our loins for the back half of an eight-legged, layover-a-palooza to get back home. Combine that with the 20,000 or so daily steps we keep hitting and our machete-optional, death march around a volcanic lake, and I think we must qualify for medallion status somewhere in sheer movement miles alone (of course, I still have no intention of enrolling in that program either).

However, today we hit a small bump in the rua, and our turista, kinetic inertia came to a screeching halt. While enjoying a sunny walk along the riverfront in Viana do Castelo, Patty’s trick ankle lived up to its name, she became momentarily intimate with the asphalt, and we ended up spending a couple of hours live-testing socialized medicine. After an emergency Uber to the hospital, two sets of X-rays, a bone set, a cast, an IV, and a bag full of happy pills from the farmacia, I am now in hock to the Portuguese National Health Care System for the completely uninsured total of around $165 American. Please continue to monitor this blog for the details of the resulting GoFundMe page.

I’m not going to rant here. I’m just going to park the car in this spot and leave it: Whatever negative assumptions you have been conditioned to believe regarding socialized medicine, until you’ve tried it, you really don’t know shit.

That said, big props and shout-outs to the staff at Hospital de Santa Luzia, especially Dr. Antonio Felix, Nurse Liliana, and the folks in radiology, who once again proved that the people of Portugal are simply just too amazing and compassionate for someone as jaded and inherently dicky as me for whom to adequately do justice.

Thankfully, Patty is doing fine, and her wrist is casted for the flight home, but obviously, this wasn’t the way we intended to end our vacation. And to add insult to very literal injury, our final European Uber was in a Renault.

Of course it was.