Schlink Attack: Third Time's A Charm for Spain

Monday, December 22, 2025

Third Time's A Charm for Spain

During our first trip to Spain, my dad ended up getting admitted to a mountain town hospital for a bowel blockage. Because it was the covid fueled winter of 2021, no visitors were allowed inside the hospital. While he convalesced with anti-nausea meds, a nasogastric tube, and daily bowel prep drinks in an effort to avoid surgical intervention, the rest of us skied. Not happily, and not without care or guilt, but skiing helped pass the daytime. Evenings were spent on the phone and making contingency plans: maybe they'd have to transport him via ambulance to Barcelona for surgery. If his gut perforated, maybe he'd need air transport instead. We talked in circles, worrying about rental car issues, travel insurance kicking in, etc. Either way, it would be a mandatory 6 week stay in the country before he'd be allowed to fly. Thank goodness, after 3 or 4 terrible days of prep drinking and waiting, he prevailed. My dad was discharged with an appreciation for the excellent, conservative care he received, but also a weariness for foreign travel that would take years to fade.

Right before our second trip to Spain in winter 2023, David got appendicitis, resulting in the two of us pivoting to London for surgery instead. We decided that Mark and Margo would go to Spain and we would rendezvous after he was cleared to fly. The two of us made it there a week late, minus an appendix. On this same trip, we also expected to spend it with Mark’s mom, dad, and brother, but his brother never ended up making it. Mark’s brother wasn’t known for being a good communicator. He rarely texted and emailed, and almost never called, so his no-show and subsequent silence was normal. We continued as usual, visiting wineries, relaxing on the patio, and playing games with the kids. A few days later, around two am on Christmas Eve, Mark’s parents found out he had passed away. Contacting the police station and detective to the case were difficult to get ahold of. And when they did, few details were given. As soon as we could, we all flew to the U.S. to face an impossible goodbye. Literally, mentally, psychologically, emotionally, and physically, no one would be the same again.

After two strike-outs, Mark and I were very surprised, when this year the kids requested a Spanish re-do. Margo wanted us to experience the city of Girona where everyone loves all things cycling. For example, there are tons of coffee shops that offer free coffee for life if you buy their custom jersey. Teams from all over the world train there, and bars routinely show bike races. She wanted to show us cobbled old town, eat tapas, and admire huge, churchy architecture. The kids remembered skiing Baquiera-Beret in vertigo inducing fog and chilling temperatures while worrying about Grandpa, but they still wanted to conquer all four peaks of the resort. They wanted to say thank you to the woman who, when their uncle died, took care of the live Christmas tree and full fridge we set up, and donated gifts we had to leave behind. So we went to Spain and did all of these things. The trip didn’t replace the aftertaste of uncertainty and loss, but it did reshape it into something sweeter.