It’s been a crazy couple of weeks.

Pedestrians here have the right-of-way in crosswalks, so when I approached a crosswalk in my car and two young women were standing at the edge of the street, I slowed down to see if they were crossing. Instead, one of the women waved me down. It happens fairly often that tourists in the area ask for directions, so I pulled over and rolled down my window. One of the women asked me if I was going in the direction of Pals. Because I am so bad at directions, I told her I didn’t know. I was going in the direction of L’Escala to play Scrabble with some of the Expat ladies. She informed me that I would pass right by where they needed to go (about 15 minutes away). They were trying to meet up with friends because their car had broken down. I felt like I was being taken advantage of, because I’m nice, and possibly marked as a robbery victim or worse. The women looked VERY MUCH like the pair of hookers on Season 2 of White Lotus (photo below). The whole time we were driving, one of the women was chatting me up, I was certain this was so that I would let my guard down and would not expect it when she strangled me from the back seat. We arrived at their destination, they exited, I lived.

Last May when I saw an ad about Joan Manuel Serrat’s farewell tour and final concerts in Barcelona in December, I quickly went online to buy tickets. I bought the last two out of three available. They were seats with obstructed view and were not next to each other. A friend agreed to accompany me at the last minute. The only catch (in my mind) was that he would pick me up on his moto. I haven’t been on a motorcycle since 1976!

The concert was great. The stadium was full of fans eager to re-live their memories with Serrat’s music. He was touched. We were thrilled. I only cried once when he sang “Cantares,” one of his classics. The verses are lines of poetry by the well known Spanish poet Antonio Machado. I would try to translate it, but it would sound awkward in English compared to the beauty of it in Spanish.

The ad for Serrat’s last tour, El Vicio de Cantar (The Vice of Singing)…

This was the third of my three times ever riding a motorcycle. I closed my eyes and tried not to scream while I hung on tight for dear life!

A friend who saw this photo said I looked like the mushroom emoji! It’s true!

I spent Christmas and New Year’s with my friend in Rogny-Les-Sept-Ecluses, France, as I did last year. It was a low-key week full of holiday cheer, cooking, and watching movies, after some question as to whether the trip would be possible at all. The French rail workers went on strike, and my train scheduled for Christmas Eve was cancelled. Fearful that the return trip would also fall prey to the strike, I cancelled it and made a roundtrip plane reservation. The first leg of the trip was automatically refunded, but because the return trip was never cancelled by the French rail line, SNCF, my non-refundable ticket was not considered refundable. After various phone calls to SNCF with no resolution, I decided that my best chance of getting my 100€ back would be to visit an SNCF office and talk directly to an agent. With several hours to spare at the airport before my return flight to Barcelona, I went on a wild goose chase to two different SNCF offices at the airport. I even successfully explained the situation in French once, but to no avail. Yet! The comic moment came when I asked the information gentleman at the airport if there was a SNCF office nearby, and he said “you’re at the airport!, Madame!” No shit, Sherlock.

On New Year’s Eve, we opened the front and back doors at midnight to let the old year out and the new one in! Hope it worked! Maybe not…I have COVID AGAIN! I feel fine, it’s just a hassle at this point, so I’m lucky.

Here’s wishing everyone a happy and healthy new year!

My last post got me to thinking…what is better here and what do I miss from the States?

My off-hand comment has always been that I only miss certain friends and family and Mexican food. But what are the pro’s for each side?

• I do like the mild winters of the Texas Gulf Coast (except I know you all are currently frozen solid!)
• And I think the Gulf Coast has the best crab and shrimp in the world!
• I miss Tex-Mex enchiladas, chile con queso, good guacamole!
• And a Texas chopped beef BBQ sandwich is pretty damned good too
• Knowing how to do things! This can’t be overestimated – where to go to buy things, who to call to fix things, the list goes ON!
• Certain products are difficult or impossible to find: pickle relish, celery salt, sour cream, peppermints
• I’d like to have a coffee maker that I understand. I finally learned to operate it without destroying the pods, but now even after I put in TWO pods and push the button for the big cup, I still only get a half a cup of coffee. See below.
• Lack of fear – I am constantly worried when I pass the police, or I have to explain some complicated issue in Spanish to a clerk, especially one in a position of authority. I’ll write another post about my experience getting the car inspected! That was humbling.
• Clothes dryer, clothes dryer, clothes dryer!!!

So what’s so great about Spain? I always say I love everything about it — the people, the food, the music, the scenery, but it’s really about their love of life. They slow down, enjoy, take it in…

• They have so many holidays, which can be annoying when you’re trying to get something done, but here it’s an excuse to eat, drink, and be merry with friends and family
• The food is so fresh and you don’t have to go to a farmer’s market on a Saturday morning or spend a ton of money on things at Whole Foods — it’s everywhere
• Tapas, wine, anchovies, seafood, paella…this list goes ON…
• Although there are beautiful places in the US, the greater Houston area, including Galveston, is not one of them; here I have picturesque villages, snow-covered mountains, and the blue, blue sea
• I also can’t underestimate the importance to me of living in another language every day. it is a challenge and yet even in failure there is a sense of satisfaction
• I love the music! Although you can find Spanish radio stations in the States, I think it would be hard to find a station that plays Spanish, French, Italian, and music in other languages all in one car ride!
• Being part of a culture with a world view, not just an egocentric one
• The history and the culture, the art and the architecture – roman artifacts, castles, Dali, Picasso, Gaudí!
• Being among a group of people, the Catalan independistas, who self-identify as rebels of a sort; it’s catching! And speaking Catalan, or trying to, feels like I’m part of a secret society that has its own secret language – it’s so unknown in the world outside of Catalunya.
• The quality of life is very, very good!

I’m sure I’ve forgotten some things on both sides. I’ll append if warranted.

In the meantime, Merry Christmas! Feliz Navidad! Bon Nadal, Joyeux Noël!!!

I’m once again at my other home. I feel at home in both places – Houston/Galveston, USA and Begur, Spain. I even feel pretty much at home in Rogny-les-Sept-Écluses, France. The dogs seem to adapt pretty well too. There are definitely good points to living in the US and good points to living in Europe (maybe a future blog post). I’m very lucky to have the best of both worlds!!

It’s hard leaving the new kiddos, my one year-old grandson and my no year-old grandson. I certainly won’t be nominated for grandmother of the year. It’s too bad I can’t be in two places at once!

Going to Spain has never been about escaping from the US, although that was a bonus feature over these past few years. It’s more about trying to be the other me or more me. I may have said before that I think I was born in the wrong place or maybe I lived here in another lifetime (if there is such a thing), but there is definitely a feeling of home when I arrive. I cried coming through the Pyrenees. I love first spotting the giant snow-covered peaks.

The trip this time was pretty smooth, save for one semi-terrifying moment when my bad dog, Cassie, ate a couple of handfuls of melatonin gummies out of my suitcase the day before my flight! She vomited 5 times and started trembling, then later becoming somewhat lethargic. Besides worrying about her health, I was worried I might have to change my flight. But she rallied. Apparently she has a strong stomach like her mother!

During the fall in Galveston I learned that two of the four photos I submitted for the expat group’s calendar photo competition were chosen for the 2023 calendar. There were dozens, if not more, submissions, so I was pretty proud to have been recognized twice by the impartial judges. I’m no great photographer, so I guess I just got lucky. Now I’m super motivated to enter next year!!

Here are my photos which were chosen for February and November 2023.

Plus, here are my boys, Gordie and Goose.

Bonus photo. Note how they spell ketchup in Catalan.

And here’s to more (good) adventures!

Goodbye again!

I hate this. But going to France for a month is a nice way to transition from one home to the other. I don’t feel quite as sad to leave Spain because I get to visit my friends in the village of Rogny-les-Sept-Ecluses, France, on the way to the States.

This time I was in Rogny for the fireworks extravaganza, its 54th annual celebration. It doesn’t seem to be rooted in any religious or historical event, but just because. On the day of the fireworks, the town of 700 people swells by thousands of visitors. The city is closed off at noon, and no cars are allowed to enter. Those visitors who arrive after noon have to park on the outskirts of town and walk into the village, where there are chairs and temporary bleachers constructed for seating, as well as grassy areas for blankets.

Even though I’m not keen on fireworks (too loud), I’ve seen many fireworks presentations, and I must say, this small town puts on a spectacular show. Below, you can see (on the left) the locks in the canal (for which the city is named, but which have not been in use since 1887, when the new locks were constructed), where the fireworks are assembled for discharge. I’ve included some photos of the fireworks (disclaimer: photos of this year’s program are from the internet; my photos didn’t come out well), but they accurately depict the show.

Randomly, as there have been supply chain disruptions and product shortages world-wide, in France this summer, Dijon mustard (or, as they call it in France, “mustard”) is in short supply. A series of overlapping issues led to the mustard crisis, including bad weather.  Burgundy, where Dijon is located, experienced a wet winter, and some mustard producers harvested less than half of what they had expected to harvest. Then Canada, the second-largest mustard-seed producer in the world, had its exports cut in half, partially due to the the North American heatwave that occurred last year. This is serious!

OMG. News and rumors travel so fast in this small town!! Do you remember the game “Telephone”? We played it as kids. You sit in a circle and one person whispers “a secret” to the next person; that person whispers it to the person next to them; and so on, until the message has made its way around the circle. The last person says the message out loud and laughter ensues, because the message has changed so much since the first person uttered it. Well, that’s sort of what it’s like to live in Rogny. One villager remarked that you can’t fart in the town without everyone knowing! He called it a “blah, blah, blah town.”

A new development occurred when my friend arrived from the US to help me fly back with the dogs. We had planned to spend a relaxing week in Rogny, enjoying cookouts and time with friends and neighbors. But, my friend, who recently had COVID, and had two negative COVID tests prior to arrival, had a rebound case of COVID like President Biden recently experienced. Everyone in town knew my friend’s positive status within MINUTES!! Long story short, we left Rogny, and are unexpectedly spending a week in Paris prior to departure. I was sorry to have had to leave so abruptly, but this Paris visit has been a real lagniappe — no rush to see sights, just enjoying the food and culture for a bit. Walking the dogs by the Seine every day has been particularly pleasant.

I’m leaving in a few days for the US, and I will probably take a hiatus on the blog posts. But, fyi, apparently, I have 119 followers from 25 countries! Isn’t that insane? Of course, I’m very suspicious of the followers from China. Really? No bad motives? Hopefully, the others from non-communist countries are fellow travellers who are just interested in Spain…and not getting into my bank account.

See ya…

Reflecting on my stay in Spain this time, I feel like I took three steps forward and maybe a couple back. But all in all, my last sojourn, which ended three weeks ago, was productive. I took steps towards my goal of settling in and feeling a part of the community. It’s not exactly what I’d hoped for by this point; but the pandemic was definitely a step backwards, and being a foreigner, and of a certain age, making new friends isn’t so easy.

What I would like, my dream, is to have Catalan friends and Spanish friends and participate in local activities together. That hasn’t happened for me…yet, at least, in the way that I’d hoped. But in the meantime, I joined the U3A, which I learned, is not just for Brits or even just people from the United Kingdom. I met Norwegians, Icelanders, Belgians, French, German, Dutch. There’s quite an international community on the Costa Brava, with English being the common language. I’d prefer to use Spanish or try my Catalán, but instead I learned British expressions like “it’s better than a slap in the face with a wet kipper!”

I am proud, however, of what I accomplished this time. I joined a twice-a-week yoga class, and I joined the U3A where I met a couple dozen or so folks doing the 6-10 km walks along the coast in beautiful places I never knew existed. I learned to play petanca, and in that regard I had to find my way around Palafrugell, the town of 23,000, which is next door. This was a feat because I am so directionally challenged. I played Scrabble with a French Canadian, a Brit, and a Scottish woman, and I participated in Local Interest Group outings, including one to a boutique ecological olive oil enterprise. I’m lobbying for a trip to the anchovy factory next year! I LOVE anchovies. I bought a car (wrecked the car, fixed the car), and I started work to renew my residency visa.

I guess I was learning more every day and that’s the point. I just wish it were more and faster. I feel like time is running out and I have to hurry, but at the same time, I want to relax and enjoy it. I’m not sure how to DO BOTH at the same time!

I’m now in my French phase, in Rogny-les-Septs-Ecluses. It’s nice to be back in this quaint village where everyone is so welcoming. I also spent a week in Switzerland, which was, as you would expect, gorgeous. We stayed in a small medieval village of 300 people just a short drive from Italy. I thought they would speak Italian there, but no, they spoke German! We couldn’t understand any of the signs, menus, etc. It’s just a couple of weeks until I’m back to the States for a while. I’m taking in every moment. I’m so lucky.

And a crazy thing happened (senility? stupidity?). Susan and I purchased identical Frida Kahlo tee shirts two years ago. Today, we both wore them, not on purpose. Over the course of a couple of hours, we took a walk and had coffee at a café . Only when a neighbor greeted us and asked about our “twin” tee shirts did we realize we were wearing the same shirt! Yep, idiots.

Probably just one more post before I leave…

I swear there’s another “Puente” every other week. Puente literally means bridge in Spanish, but that’s the word they use for a three-day weekend. This time it was for St. John’s day, el día de Sant Joan here in Catalunya. Boy was I surprised the first time I saw this holiday celebration. It takes fireworks to a whole new level, and I don’t mean in the way of a professional fireworks show. I mean families, including small children, jumping over burning logs! The celebrations take place on the eve of Saint John’s Day, known as the Nit de Sant Joan or la Revetlla de Sant Joan in honor of St. John the Baptist’s birthday and also the summer solstice.  Fire features in many of the celebrations, with people gathering together and creating large bonfires from any kind of wood, such as old furniture, and sharing food and drinks while teens and children jump over the fires.The bonfires are lit to protect against evil spirits which were believed to roam freely when the sun was turning southward again.

Each municipality will usually put on their own fiesta including not just fireworks and bonfires, but other performances. Traditionally, they also partake of a special cake known as coca de Sant Joan, a large, flat pastry which is very sweet and is typically made of candied fruits, marzipan or cream.

If you have the patience, I’ve added some videos I shot from Sant Joan day in Arties, Spain in 2019, the first time I’d ever heard of it.

https://vimeo.com/726258921

https://vimeo.com/726261495

https://vimeo.com/726297916

https://vimeo.com/726298122

https://vimeo.com/726264121

One day I’d like to experience Sant Joan in Menorca where live horses play a role. Like the burning logs, this looks super dangerous too.

This Día de Sant Joan, as often happens, I was not clued in on what was happening when or where. I thought that there was going to be a celebration at a beach nearby similar to the one I experienced in Arties, but the festivities were a bit of a dud — no bonfire and a long walk home. Later, after most people were asleep, the fireworks in the neighborhood began. They were sooo loud! Cam slept on my head. Poor thing, he was terrified.

I did get one surprise that night, however — COVID!

I believe I was exposed to it four days earlier at my yoga class. The man on the mat next to mine, who is a regular, looked awful. I asked him if he was ok and he said that he wasn’t feeling well, but that he’d tested negative. Well…I don’t know about that…

My case was light. I had a sore throat, headache and fever for a couple of days, and after that nothing. Except, I kept testing positive on home tests, and on an antigen test and a PCR test I took at a clinic. I wanted OUT of quarantine!! I should feel lucky that I was not sicker and did not suffer as much as many people have, but I was terribly disappointed not to be able to enjoy my last week in Begur to the fullest, seeing friends and visiting favorite spots before leaving for France and the USA.

Since I’ve continued to test positive, now it is day 9, I can’t stay with my friend in France, so I’m staying in a trailer (it’s actually pretty nice) at a campground in the village. Just my speed, right? Eff’ing COVID!! I feel like a leper. And I’m really tired of pushing a stick up my nose!

Post-pandemic, as many of you know, cars available for rental are hard to find! And expensive! So I made the decision to buy a used car. They also are not in abundance currently, at least ones with automatic transmissions. Although I’ve driven manual cars before, I never owned one, so I’ve never become accustomed to it to the point that it’s second nature. The thought of taking on that task now (at my age!) might be a challenge I would take. I can’t turn down a good challenge. But there are a lot of hills here. Just recently I was behind a truck and a car and we were stopped at a stop sign at the top of a hill. The truck was having trouble and started slipping backwards. Finally the driver got it under control and drove off, but then the car in front of me began moving back towards me and came very very close to hitting me. I don’t want to be that person! I have nightmares of very angry people yelling at me in Spanish and waving their arms. No thanks.

I finally found a car with automatic transmission and not too many kilometers for not too much money. I felt so proud to have my car. I bought a car, I got Spanish car insurance, it all made me feel permanent! Then [cue scary music]…I had a little accident.

Just a few days after I got the car, I went to a celebration of the Queen’s Jubilee hosted by some of the British expats. It felt very strange to be there as an American. They sang “God Save our Queen” and toasted her with champagne. It would have been a lovely evening if it hadn’t included me hitting a small (invisible) concrete box-like thing on the side of the road leading to the parking area. I was trying to avoid the tree on one side and the drop-off on the other while navigating a hair-pin turn. And this was prior to any alcohol. What’s done is done, but such a bummer. We had three days!

Even though I really know next to nothing about cars, I am somewhat fascinated by them. Whenever I see a really unique one, I snap a photo. Some of these tiny cars look like they’re built out of Legos!

Then, there are the weird names of some cars here: Renault Trafic (with one “f”), Mercedes Marco Polo, Citroen Jumpy, Renault Scenic, Peugeot Tepee, Peugeot Bipper, Citroen Space Tourer.

This Monday was a holiday…another one…called “second Easter”. WHA? It’s the Pentecost. It is always celebrated on the fifth Sunday after the “first” Easter. According to Christian dogma, the holiday celebrates the appearance of the Holy Spirit to Christ’s disciples: the Bible says that fifty days after Jesus rose from the grave, the Holy Spirit appeared to his most trusted advisors in the form of tongues of flame, and directed them to evangelize, spreading the Christian gospel across the globe.  This is from an online source, Metropolitan Barcelona (https://www.barcelona-metropolitan.com/features/culture/segunda-pascua-the-second-easter/). It’s main popularity, I think, is that it is a long weekend just at the beginning of the summer season.

Actually, it’s not officially summer yet. I’ve been here for the change in seasons three times now, and it always seems to happen the same way. One day I’m wearing three layers, including a jacket, and the next day I’m in shorts.

With the change of temperature, of course, come the hordes of people from the city looking for fun, water activities, dining out, hiking, relaxation. This also means an entirely different look to the town. All the stores and restaurants are open and there’s a holiday air about the place. In the town, the dress code goes from “regular” clothes to resort wear – not so much for the men, but the female tourists are all in flowing patterned dresses, high wedge sandals, lots of linen, and lots of jewellery. I really like it better the other way.

Coinciding with the change of seasons was the annual television presentation of the Eurovision song contest. I’d heard of Eurovision since I first spent time here in the 70s, but this year I watched the show in its entirety, until 1:30 in the morning. And they say the Oscars are long.

This was Eurovision’s 66th year. The premise is that each participating country selects a song written and performed by a singer or group from its own country as its entry. Some of the most famous winners of Eurovision are “Volare” (Italy 1958) and “Waterloo” by Abba (Sweden 1974).

Spain has won the contest twice. Once was in 1968, when its chosen entry was “La, La, La” by Joan Manuel Serrat. But Serrat asked to sing it in his native Catalan, and the Spanish authorities would not agree. This was during Franco’s reign when the use of Catalan was forbidden to be used in public settings. Defiantly, Serrat refused to sing the Spanish-language version, and was hurriedly replaced by Massiel, who went on to win the contest with her Spanish-language interpretation.

Serrat is a national treasure in Spain and in Catalunya. His signature song “Mediterráneo” was selected as the most important song of the 20th century in Spain. In 1974, during a visit to Mexico, an arrest warrant was issued for Serrat in Spain after he criticised the death penalty and the “established and official violence” of the Dictatorship of General Franco. Serrat lived in exile for the remainder of the dictatorship, returning after the death of Franco in 1975. This year is his final tour and I have a ticket!!!

When I was talking with my neighbor about Eurovision, he mentioned casually that he had been a part of Spain’s entry (as one of the writers) in 2008 in Belgrade. What a story. He and some colleagues working at a Spanish TV station came up with the idea of writing the worst song ever. The intent was never that the song would be entered into Eurovision, but it was performed on the station’s late night show and became an instant hit. The Spanish people “wrote it in” to be the Eurovision entry for Spain that year. It lost, of course (watch the video here and you’ll see why), but that year’s Eurovision program had the highest viewership in Spain of any program ever up to that time, including the World Cup. The song was a farce and a parody, but all of Spain was in on the joke. Everyone in Spain remembers “Baila el Chiki Chiki.” Ridiculous and hilarious. https://youtu.be/wfeCIvOxXBo.

And this year, Spain came in third and everyone was pretty excited. There was some controversy over the song entered, as many in the country felt it did not deserve to be the nation’s entry, but in the end all of Spain was backing Chanel and her “SloMo.” https://youtu.be/4mYBiIO0pfY

The UK’s entry came in second, and Ukraine won the competition, in a sympathy vote. People living in the participating countries vote for their favorite song, but aren’t allowed to vote for the song from their own country. These votes are combined with the votes from a jury of five music industry professionals in each of the participating countries. I voted for Estonia. They came in 13th.

I was planning to post this a few days ago, but it didn’t feel right, and it really still doesn’t, being light-hearted after so many innocent children were killed at their school in Uvalde, Texas. I’ve tried to remain non-political in my posts (mainly), but I believe this issue transcends politics. Something must be done to control the totally inordinate number of killings and suicide by guns in the US. This does not happen in other countries. It’s horrific and shameful, and so, so frightening for parents. Living in Europe, highlights the contrast in the US gun culture versus cultures here. My friends and acquaintances who live here are appalled and incredulous. There has only ever been one school shooting in Spain. I would say that I hope it would change in the US, but at this point, I’ve lost hope for that happening…

A beautiful beach I found on a walk with the expats. It’s very near here, but I had no idea.

I went for a long walk with the expat group and took this photo of a field of rape, a plant that produces rapeseed oil. It’s grown all over Western Europe and when it’s flowering there are gorgeous fields of yellow stretching out forever… though I think the crops are nearing the end of this cycle now.

I’ve read that in the last few years there’s been a surge in artisanal, high-end “cold-pressed” rapeseed oils, which are marketed much like olive oils. It’s the rage in Britain, but in Spain, at least, it’s only used for animal feed or biodiesel. Little or none is sold for human consumption here though it is used in other European countries. One reason for this is a tragedy and scandal that happened in Spain in 1971 when 300 people died from consuming rapeseed oil that was adulterated and sold as cheap olive oil, principally in street markets. Ten thousand people were hospitalized and even more were diagnosed with what they called “toxic oil syndrome.” I guess it’s not sold here because it left a bad taste in their mouths. Sorry, not funny.

You can read more from a humorous article in The Guardian: https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/wordofmouth/2012/jun/12/rise-of-rapeseed-oil?CMP=share_btn_link.

Cassie is still a bad dog. At the dog sitter’s house, just as I was picking them up, Cassie headed into the woodpile and became very “active,” very active. The next thing we saw was the dead rat she dragged out of the pile. She had killed it and she had blood dripping from her mouth. The rat got in a bite or two and she was bleeding herself. I wrote the Vet who just suggested cleaning the wounds, which were not deep, with antiseptic spray. She never had any symptoms or distress, but I DID!! Gross!

On my latest sojourn, I saw the last of the end-of-season drooping tulips in Amsterdam.

And then I saw what might be a Russian oligarch’s yacht passing by my apartment. It’s hard to see in this photo, and if I magnify it, it’s even blurrier, but believe me, it was a HUGE yacht. And the small boat in front of it appeared to be some sort of guard ship or escort. Could be…

Of all the stupid things!! I felt like I was in an episode of I Love Lucy, and I was Lucy!

I don’t enjoy driving in Barcelona, so I usually take a train from Girona when I need to go into town for the day, such as this past week when I went to the hair salon. My appointment was later in the day, so I booked a 6:30 p.m. return. On the homeward-bound train, not too far out of town, I noticed that we were near the coast. I’d never seen that view before, even though I’d made this trip many times. I thought to myself that I must always have been sitting on the opposite side of the train and/or I was involved in my magazine or a word game on my phone and never noticed that we were near the Mediterranean at the beginning of the trip.

It’s only a 35 minute ride, so when it got close to the time of arrival, I noticed (second and MAJOR red flag), that nobody was rustling about getting their luggage down from the rack, putting on coats, pushing toward the door to wait to deboard. I explained that away to myself because I knew the train went on to other destinations after my stop, so I figured everyone in my car must be going farther. Then the time of arrival came and went. The train had departed on time, so this was not right. I finally swallowed my pride and asked the gentleman next to me, “where is this train going?” WRONG answer: Madrid.

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! So I had a four hour train ride to Madrid. Arrival time at around 9:00 p.m. was too late for a train back to Girona. I had to buy a train ticket for the next day and find a hotel room for that night. Damn it! And the worst thing was that the dogs were shut up in the house alone! Luckily, I’d given my neighbor a key to my apartment after I locked myself out twice and he had to climb over a couple of balconies to let me back into my place.

I arrived too late and shaken to really enjoy anything about being in Madrid. Several of my first options for a hotel were booked, so I wound up staying at a kind of hip, sort of expensive place – the kind that provides terry-cloth robes and slippers and your name on the TV when you arrive. The next morning, though, I had time to stroll along the Paseo del Prado past the Prado Museum and the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum and the gorgeous old former post office at Plaza de Cibeles.

When I got onto the train to come back, the man next to me asked where the train was going – he just wanted to check. I guess it happens!!

This was just a minor and somewhat expensive hiccup. I’ll be more careful in the future.

And I had another unbelievable sunrise last week. Sorry I keep posting these sunrise shots, but I can’t help it! They’re amazing. This one looked like a volcano erupting. This is from my bedroom window. No filter applied.