We woke up and went to the breakfast buffet, this time choosing to sit in one of the unoccupied dining areas. The orange juice tasted odd, like maybe it was part grapefruit. We looked out the window at the low tide. This was an extremely low tide as the Atlantic ocean had been depleted almost as far as I could see. People were rummaging around with buckets, perhaps looking for food or shells. We walked away from our meal without paying and went back to the room for the cameras. By then the picture-taking rate had slowed down, and nothing ever matched Esmé going through those 5 rolls in Madrid.
I scrunched up my black sweats above the knee and wandered out into the muck. The brown tide-smoothed mud was deceiving: being barefoot meant clenching my feet to cross the tiny rocks and shells everywhere. I didn't find anything special, so I made my way back to the shore where the little fishies swam (and they thwam and they thwam). Esmé took photos as she kept dry in tatty jeans and ecological shoes.
On the shore we watched the little creatures until a piece of the mud flipped up on my foot then flopped away. Yelp! It was a fish, perfectly camouflaged in the wet sand, never to be seen unless one knew where to look for his eyes. We had fun taking pictures and tickling the area to make him wriggle. (Poor fish.)
Around 13:00 we bundled up the backpacks and checked out. In my continuing personal laws of entitlement, I took several sweets for later from the bowl in the lobby. We taxied to the C******'s and waited there until T***, who works nights, would wake up and take us to Jerez.
Jerez
The ride to the airport in Jerez was short. T*** (the car wasn't big enough for D***** and the kids too) told us that all the sherry in the world is made in Jerez. We found that hard to believe.
The airport was very new, only a few years old, and was in some bizarre arrangement with the local American forces. T*** was surprised that we had clothing and such provisions for 3 weeks in our little backpacks. He was perhaps expecting us to be like the young students on Eurail passes with the towering aluminum frames strapped to their torsos. We said good-bye, thanked him often, and went inside. Back to Spain.
After using the restroom (where an almost too-apologetic woman walked in on me) and getting our tickets we ate some of the baked sweets D***** had kindly sent along while sitting across from a large fluorescent photograph display which included The Bone Room from the monastery in Madrid. The bones! We were excited to be going back, now with the idea that maybe we could get to take pictures of the room this time.
It was another one of those flights that boards from the runway. I handed the security staff my big plastic bag of film and tried to look nonchalant. They seemed a little wary, but after rummaging through it with one hand it was allowed to go through without being X-rayed. Then, right as I walked onto the plane, I worried I might have left behind my already exposed film when I was organizing everything while waiting to board. I spent the next several minutes coping with this possibility.
Although the plane was not very full, most of us were bunched together. Once we were in flight I convinced Esmé we should take the seats in the row in front of us and spread out. We did, and I checked my bag to find that I had indeed tucked my film safely inside. Hooray for me. Esmé would attribute these memory fugues to lack of vitamins. We had been unable to find vitamins ever since we ran out in Granada. Heck, it took us most of the trip to find laundry detergent.
Madrid
One beverage service later, we landed, quicker than the flight to Barcelona from Bilbao. This time we knew exactly where we were going, too.
We hopped on the airport bus and got out at the Colón station with confidence. Then to the metro where we purchased a "taco" ticket for ten rides. Back to the Hotel Asturias where a new staff awaited us. By now I realized that the whole week before Easter -- the holy week -- was celebrated and people would be on holiday and thus the streets were more crowded with sightseers. (And I'd just have to deal with it.)
This time our room, Room 256, was large and odd-shaped to fit the beveled corner of the building. We had three beds and a bathroom lit to Lugosi specifications. After the usual hot soaking of bodies and apparel, we went to The Cort for 1000 speed film in anticipation of a final visit to the Prado on Thursday. Esmé also got the free Fuji gift of a beanbag smiley face (for me to throw at her).
We took supper at Los Arcos -- the first place I had tasted a queso bocadillo and the home of Esmé's beloved salpicón. The streets were definitely more crowded. Since it was not too late in the evening, many places had put their tables outside. We chose to sit at the bar. Everything was comfortably familiar now.
After eating we went back to the hotel where a great thirst came upon us. Esmé bravely went out to find a grocery store. I stayed in and tried to determine what would be open for Holy Thursday. Esmé hunted, I gathered.
When she came back she was extremely pleased with herself with a mysterious tenative edge. She'd found a store, just around the corner (of course), that sold water, but more importantly she'd found a place she wanted to take me to the next day. She wouldn't say any more about it, and I was very intrigued if only because I wondered what sort of place would make her so quietly excited. I couldn't imagine.
Notes
- Photos from the trip (temporarily unavailable - need to move them to Flickr)
- Trip report started April 1994, finished 10 January 1995, with minor revisions (spellcheck, privacy considerations) 9 July 2004
- Regarding those privacy considerations, "Esmé" was not the name nor the implied gender of the person traveling with me.
- I was 24 when I wrote this trip report and my writing style was going through an especially stuffy phase. Forgive me. I'd edit it, but I can't stand to read it.
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