The Real Alcazar in Seville

We left Philadelphia Saturday, September 20, landed in Madrid Sunday morning, September 21, and found our generic rental car. “Non-smoking” hardly exists in Spain and Portugal for hotel rooms, either. We spent the afternoon and evening in historic picturesque Toledo, leaving after breakfast for Seville, about a six-hour drive further south, on two-lane jaunts through overcast Castille - La Mancha, glimpsing the hilltop fortress walls and eleven windmills, to access the fast roads (yes, Joe relished topping 100 m.p.h.) into the province of Andalusia.

Beth and Chris welcomed us into their home and hearts. For a week we enjoyed their hospitality, and drove to attractions near and far. Tuesday we roamed the Roman ruins of Italica in the field adjacent to their office. 

Wednesday and Thursday we enjoyed not-so-far-away Seville, hand-feeding white pigeons a bag of birdseed in the Plaza of the Americas the afternoon of my birthday. Then we took our host family out to dinner to celebrate.

The next morning we headed to the top of the Rock of Gibraltar for an up-close visit (how far can YOU see on the inside of a cloud?). Bountiful infant apes scampered, squealed, and swung precariously, the adults watchful.

The next morning we went west, driving the Algarve coast to “the end of the world”, as far south as you can go in Portugal. Near our hotel in Sagres we visited Prince Henry the Navigator’s 15^th century fort and marveled at a cliff fisherman with his face to the gusty wind and his shoes to the open air, high up above the waves smashing onto the rocks below. Talk about precarious! The village mourns a few of them every year who slip into eternity. After Portuguese worship Sunday a.m., we basked in the comprehensive language of color on our hotel’s patio flowerbed overlooking the ocean and ventured with heightened interest along the neighboring cliff-top trail edging the vertical shoreline.

Then it was back to our “home away from home” to visit and prepare to leave. The next morning we turned toward Madrid, which meant spending most of our last day in Spain in the rental car. This is no reflection on my navigation capabilities. We were glad to reach our hotel, where the US Airways crew stays downtown. It would have been more of a comfort had we pre-determined exiting from the hotel underground parking:  whopping $25 garage fee 8 p.m. - 10 a.m., followed by an hour’s harrowing driving the next morning, worse than a nightmare, to find we had somehow maneuvered ourselves smack in front of our hotel. We got on track and re-negotiated inundating 24-hour rush hour traffic, zooming to the airport—to be confronted with signs for Terminals 1, 2, & 3, and the consequent sinking feeling that not picking the right one (blindfolded, so to speak; no airlines are listed), would detour us too late to catch our flight, even if it had seats for us. We turned in the rental car at Terminal 3, asked wide-eyed directions, learned we needed Terminal 2, and took off running with our luggage. I fell twice, busting up a knee and hand, but with us drenched in sweat (plus fresh blood on me). The two of us got the two last seats on the airplane in Philadelphia, replacing two people who missed their connection. While we felt for them, we were thankful to fill those two remaining spots that had languished empty up to seconds of push-back, and no one was left behind at the gate.

We loved our week in Spain, U.K. day trip, and Portugal overnight trip:  new and renewed fellowship in Spain and Portugal extended from the hearts of our Christian brothers and sisters; wonderful things to see, eat, and photograph! By our departure September 30 we had taken some 1600 pictures with our two digital cameras. Crossing the North Atlantic, on our laptop computer I pared 90%, and at home settled to this group of 1%. 

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