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Travel and reading are two pursuits that can open up our perspectives about people and places, and when the two intersect, it can become a memorable journey. My journey to Tarifa began within the pages of Paulo Coelho’s timeless masterpiece, ‘The Alchemist’. It’s a book I passionately recommend to everyone. For years, the allure of Andalucía called out to me, echoing the footsteps of Santiago, the protagonist of The Alchemist, who journeyed to Tarifa before venturing into Tangier. Finally, this May, the stars aligned, and my wife and I set off on a trip across the pond from our home in Connecticut (not far from New York City).

 

We planned a 12-day journey that took us through Portugal and the Andalusian expanse of Spain, starting in Porto, winding through Lisbon, Seville, Tarifa, Tangier and ending in Málaga. We’re avid enthusiasts of local cuisine, relishing in the diverse culinary tapestry of each destination. While Portugal offered a modest culinary experience, Spain, from the moment we crossed its threshold, lavished upon us a gastronomic symphony—innovative, traditional, and undeniably delectable. From the sun-kissed lanes of Seville to the enchanting alleys of Tarifa, we found ourselves spellbound by the latter's unexpected charm. Tarifa, nestled between the Mediterranean and Atlantic, boasted an ethereal charm—a quaint fusion of narrow cobblestone streets and resplendent whitewashed edifices, evoking imagery straight from a fairytale.

 

Fast forward to the Saturday, and we checked out of our Airbnb, loaded the luggage into our car parked in the Municipal City parking lot just outside the old town area and took the ferry to Tangier. We planned to return to Tarifa by 6pm and immediately drive down to Málaga, reaching the city at around 8pm. Our ferry got back to Tarifa on time. After the immigration formalities, we walked to the parking lot, pulled the car out and were on our way, bidding goodbye to the beautiful place. As we got onto the Cádiz-Málaga road, I noticed a dashboard warning about the left wheel losing air. Just then, we saw a gas station (Tarifa Oil) before the roundabout that takes you to the N-340. We pulled in and found that we had a flat tyre. We tried to fill the tyre with air, but it didn’t work. It was getting dark soon, we had checked out of our lodging, and we wanted to reach Malaga before it was too late. So, I went inside the shop and asked (using my broken Spanish and the translator app on my phone) for help or if they knew of a nearby mechanic. The shopkeeper was not very friendly and said we wouldn’t get any mechanic as it was past 7pm on a Saturday evening.

 

 

We got back to the car, thinking of what to do next. Being technology folks, we are handicapped on the mechanical side, and clearly fixing even a simple thing on the car is not on our resume; we just know how to drive and enjoy the experience. After a bit of poking around, we realised we didn’t even have a spare tyre in the car. Many passersby stopped for fuel and drove off to their busy lives. We asked a couple of motorists if they knew how to fix a flat tyre and they replied in the negative. There was a laundromat (Lavomatic) next to the air machine, and two old men, who seemed to be in their late 60s or early 70s, were folding their clothes and watching us from a distance. One was tall with glasses and a big white moustache, and looked like a biker, while the other was short and timid with a clean shave and a friendly smile. It was getting late, and it would be dark soon. I started to call the rental company to ask if they could send a mechanic and was on hold for quite a while. Then the two men came over to us, realising that we were looking for help. My wife used the translator app on her phone and asked them if they knew how to fix a flat tyre (the translator erroneously read, “Hola, ¿sabes cómo arreglar una llanta pinchada?”), to which one of them said, “Sí.” Hearing that was a sigh of relief for us.

 

We told them that we had to get to Málaga that night and needed help to fix the tyre. We managed to have a small conversation using the app, our few Spanish words, their broken English, and some hand gestures. I got the rental company on the line and was checking with them while the two men told my wife, “No te preocupes, echemos un vistazo” (“Don’t worry, let’s take a look”). The rental company put me on hold again. The short man asked me to move the wheels to the left while the tall man pumped air to identify the exact spot to fix. Together, we identified the problem. In the process, I must have used 10-15 euros in coins to operate the air machine, much to the interest of the shopkeeper, as this seemed like good business to him. The tall man then pulled me and took me to the shop, pointing to a tyre-repair kit and said to buy it. I purchased it, and they got to work immediately. With a synergy born of necessity and camaraderie, we embarked upon the arduous task of tire repair. They patched the tyre with a temporary fix and showed us how it was done. We asked if we could drive to Málaga with it, and they assured us that we could go slowly and we would be fine. Just in time, the mechanic from the rental company called and said they didn’t have anyone right away in Tarifa and it would be late. I told him about the help we received and asked if we could drive with the temporary fix to Málaga. He assured us that we could, just to stay under 50mph, which was definitely reassuring. Under the waning light of Tarifa’s twilight, we saw a testament to the indomitable spirit of human kindness.

 

We profusely thanked the two men and offered to pay them, even offering them the $100 cash I had. They refused and said, “Just buy us a beer when we come to New York.” Our gratitude, a mere token of appreciation, paled in comparison to the magnitude of their big heart. In a hurry to head out as it was almost dark, we hugged them and waved goodbye, forgetting to take a photo with them or get their phone numbers, but their faces are etched in the annals of our memory.

 

We were still not very confident as we had to cross the mountain road on N-340 before hitting the A-7 highway near Algeciras. For someone used to driving fast, I struggled driving an Audi at under 70kmh, with many cars following me impatiently on N-340. We stopped a couple of times to make sure the fix was intact and the air pressure was okay. Once we hit the A-7, we felt more confident and finally reached Málaga past 11pm. We had booked an early morning hike in the ‘Caminito del Rey’ the next morning but decided to skip it and return the car, and just relax for a day.

 

All the way on our drive to Malaga with the Mediterranean Sea on one side, we were so filled with gratitude for the two angels from Tarifa who helped total strangers (who looked nothing like them, being Indian-origin Americans) for nothing in return. We had no way to thank them or let them know that we reached Málaga safely, so I decided to write this story about them, hoping that someone in Tarifa might see this and spread the word. I hope we can make another trip there just to meet them and have a few beers together. Their act reminded us that even in a world that sometimes feels a bit cold, there are still good people out there willing to lend a hand and a poignant reminder of humanity’s enduring capacity for compassion. This was one such example. It was ‘Serendipity in Tarifa’ that we stopped at that gas station, with the laundromat right there, and these two helpful souls happened to spend their Saturday evening washing their clothes. In the timeless words of Coelho, “Maktub”—it is written!

 

If anyone knows these two men, please pass on this message: “Llegamos sanos y salvos a Málaga. Y nunca olvidaré la ayuda que nos brindaron. ¡Dios los bendiga a ambos y muchas gracias!”, and please email their contact details to contact@murciatoday.com.