Comedy of Errors

We returned to Madrid on the high-speed train. Unfortunately, it took us until Córdoba to find our proper seats.

Nearly two weeks before, on the way down to Sevilla, we had been in coach 2. Because we were also returning first class, I assumed we would be in the same or an adjacent coach. But when the agent stamped our tickets, he directed us to coach 8. Unconvinced but obedient, we dutifully approached the designated coach and presented our tickets to the attendant - who then sent us to coach 1. So we went to coach 1, where this latest attendant looked at our tickets and led us to our seats: 10A and 11A.

Perhaps 45 minutes later, as we were happily discussing the virtues of traveling by train, the conductor came by and asked to see our tickets. I handed them to him and we continued chatting. Then he said we were on the wrong coach.

The conductor wanted us to move, I was confused, and Jim refused to budge. But after five minutes of discussion, we found ourselves in the same seats, but on coach 2. It turned out that:

- First Class is not really first class. “Club” Class, whatever that is, is first class. First Class, then, is something less than first class although I sure couldn’t tell the difference. Maybe its a train thing. As vehicle and aircraft addicted Americans, we wouldn’t know about train things.

- The agent that had originally sent us to coach 8 had stamped over the coach number on the ticket, rendering it unreadable.

- The other attendants mistook the “class: 1″ printed on the ticket (in English) as “coach: 1.” This was an honest mistake.

Jim thought it was rude and unnecessary to move us. I figured they needed to because someone boarding in Córdoba actually had our original seats. However, before we arrived in Madrid I took a look and sure enough the seats on coach 1 were unoccupied. Oh, well. Other than this min-drama, the return trip through the Spanish countryside was as (now predictably) beautiful as ever.

We passed more small towns of quaint, tidy buildings clustered around the local castle-on-hill. The towns were surrounded by orchards and pastures and rustic farm homes, all carefully tended. In fact, the countryside almost seemed manicured. I had observed this about Germany 12 years before. Perhaps it is the result of thousands of years of cultivation, or maybe centuries ago, buildings and walls (fences) were built to last, or maybe it’s a cultural thing, but what I’ve seen of rural Europe is very different than rural America. Frankly, rural America looks cheap, trashy and temporary in comparison.

Yet there was something new that I noticed as Madrid’s hinterlands rushed past our window - large patches of red and yellow wildflowers adorned the gently rolling hills. I wondered if they were intentionally planted, as these are the colors of the Spanish flag, or if the colors of the flag were chosen for the common flowers. Which came first? The flag or flowers? Or perhaps it was merely a coincidence.

Mayday, Mayday….

We arrived in Madrid at around noon on May 1st. In the US, May 1st is just another day on the calendar. In Spain, May 1st is an EVENT. We were, to quote Jim, “smacked in the face by May Day.”

I didn’t know what May Day was so I looked it up.* To summarize, it’s something like our Labor Day. So we roamed around Old Madrid, rather put off by the massive crowds filling the sidewalks and plazas. Plaza Mayor was unapproachable, and Puerta del Sol (Gate of the Sun) was difficult to navigate. In preparation for public festivities past and planned, these areas had been carved up with barricades. We ended up seeking refuge in Starbucks, which was cool, quiet and smoke-free. And of course there was the hotel.

Jim described the hotel, ME Madrid, as “ridiculously fabulous.” It was very modern, very chic, and very comfortable. Here’s a photo I took of the entertainment wall of our room. The floor-to-ceiling window provided a view of the plaza below, but the best part was the shower and bathroom, which I didn’t photograph for some reason. In addition to the Niagara Falls-like shower head**, there were six additional heads at waist level. Anyway, when I take Fuad to Madrid, I plan to stay there again.

Gay Madrid

Unsurprisingly, we saw a lot of gay men in Madrid. If you peruse the profiles of gay Spanish men on social networking sites, it would seem they all live in Madrid or Barcelona (as it would seem that we all live in San Francisco, LA or Palm Springs.) Anyway, my gaydar was going off left and right. Hot and built guys were everywhere. I noticed that some of them even had the same modus operandi as certain queens in San Francisco - walking the dog as an excuse to be seen.

Speaking of being seen, after a while I began to realize I was invisible. It was the opposite of my experience in Tanger. I had apparently gone from “get your big, white American here” to cloaked. Pink blobs are apparently not in demand in Madrid. Maybe they just don’t make eye contact. Maybe my body language was different. The one couple that did nod and smile at me were from North America.

By the second day, I noticed two things that are apparently in fashion in gay Madrid: polo-shirt collar worn up, and cigarette butt held between fingers. The cigarettes were somehow all of the same length, and held in the same way, which made it look like a fashion accessory. The collar-up style looked ridiculous to me, but that’s just a meaningless perception. In the grand scheme of things, style is pretty irrelevant. The percentage of people smoking also seemed ridiculous, but smoking is not irrelevant. It’s … well … ridiculous.***

Back in the room, Jim caught up on e-mail while I went downstairs to the hotel gym. Cardio equipment, a few benches, and dumbbells up to weights I haven’t touched in years (like 50 kg) filled the room. Oh, and it offered complementary bottled water and fresh fruit. It was perfect. I did cardio for the first time in two weeks (then twice the following day) - I almost felt high.

We had dinner at a restaurant across the plaza from us called Ginger. It is part of a chain that I later found is not highly rated. However, it suited us, and apparently many others (it was crowded), just fine. The food was nothing special but good, the service fast and efficient, and the prices surprisingly low.

I went to bed looking forward to the next day, because May Day would be over. Perhaps we could play tourist in a more tranquil Madrid. Oh, was that wishful thinking.

“Goya Day”

The next morning, we headed down to the Museo del Prado. Apparently, so did everyone else in Madrid, because the streets became rivers of people flowing to the Prado. When we arrived, the lines to get in stretched for hundreds of meters. Again, the sidewalks and plazas were difficult to pass through. Now what is going on?, I wondered.

May 2nd is yet another holiday in Spain. Not only was it a significant day in the War of Independence against Napoleon’s France (we just happened to be there for the bicentennial anniversary), but it was also what I would come to call “Goya Day.” This was because of the enlarged copies of his war-related works on public display that day. In fact, one of them, El dos de mayo de 1808 en Madrid, “depicts the beginning of the uprising when the elite Mamelukes of the French Imperial Guard are ordered to charge and subdue the rioting citizens. The crowd sees the Mamelukes as Moors, provoking an angry response. Instead of dispersing, the crowd turned on the charging Mamelukes, resulting in a ferocious melee.” [1]

We gave up on the museum and decided to avoid the crowds and tour Madrid on foot. Avoiding the crowds was to prove difficult, but we were quite successful at touring much of inner Madrid at our own pace. This proved extremely enjoyable. Many photos here.

Toward the end of our walk, we did enter Plaza Mayor. Plaza Mayor has been used for many things over the centuries, including bullfights, executions, pageants and trials by the Inquisition. From my guidebook:

The Spanish Inquisition was set up by Fernando and Isabel in 1480 to create a single, monolithic Catholic ideology in Spain. Protestant heretics and alleged “false converts” … were tried to ensure the religious unity of the country. … However, the defendants were denied counsel, not told of the charges facing them and tortured to obtain confessions [Guantánamo, anyone?]. Punishment ranged from imprisonment to beheading, hanging or burning at the stake. A formidable system of control, it gave Spain’s Protestant enemies a major propaganda weapon by contributing to the Leyenda Negra (Black Legend) which lasted, along with the Inquisition, into the 18th century.

The day we were there, no one was being tortured for following the incorrect mythology du jour, rather, they were playing upbeat but relaxing music and working to dispel centuries of accumulated bad energy. Although I didn’t understand what what all the fuss was about at the time, the festive atmosphere did finally penetrate my cynical shield as we walked around the city center, and I began to enjoy the crowd. I even wanted to stay.

I can’t believe that I was there only two months ago. I can’t wait to go back.

Next, the voyage home and some final thoughts.

Photos of Madrid here >>

* “The earliest May Day celebrations appeared in pre-Christian Europe, Walpurgis Night of the Germanic countries. Many pre-Christian indigenous celebrations were eventually banned or Christianized during the process of Christianization in Europe. As a result, a more secular version of the holiday continued to be observed in the schools and churches of Europe well into the 20th century. In this form, May Day may be best known for its tradition of dancing the Maypole and crowning of the Queen of the May. Today various Neopagan groups celebrate reconstructed (to varying degrees) versions of these customs on 1 May.

“The day was a traditional summer holiday in many pre-Christian European pagan cultures. While February 1 was the first day of Spring, May 1 was the first day of summer; hence, the summer solstice on June 25 (now June 21) was Midsummer. In the Roman Catholic tradition, May is observed as Mary’s month, and in these circles May Day is usually a celebration of the Blessed Virgin Mary. In this connection, in works of art, school skits, and so forth, Mary’s head will often be adorned with flowers. Fading in popularity since the late 20th century is the giving of “May baskets,” small baskets of sweets and/or flowers, usually left anonymously on neighbours’ doorsteps.” [2]

** I don’t think I’ve mentioned this yet, but Spain is paying a lot of attention to water conservation. There were signs everywhere.

*** Western Europe is far advanced of us in many ways, so it surprises me that smoking remains so popular.

[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Second_of_May_1808

[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/May_Day

Been on jury duty this week and going into the office in the evenings. It’s really interesting but keeping me busy. Should know tomorrow if I’m going to be picked or not.

I’ve deliberately disabled comments for this entry. I can’t talk about it until my service is complete so don’t ask :-)

Fuad’s taking me to dinner tonight for my birthday. 42. Oy.

In other news, today we went looking for a new suit for me to wear at our ceremony. I found a great Armani at Nordstrom at half price, which is not easy to do. Well, I don’t know about finding an Armani at half price, but finding a suit that fits me is not easy.

I’ve lost some size in the past year and now wear a 46 long coat (down from 48). That part is easy - the problem is always the waist of the pants. 46 coats come with 40 waist pants. I still have a 34-inch waist, so they have to completely re-make the pants. I guess I’m not in such bad shape after all.

Finally, thanks to friend and reader Benji in Poland for the “Mind over Macho*” t-shirt for my birthday! I’ll model it when my camera gets repaired.

* Hint: look at the very end of the entry.

Last Sunday, four of us went to see a movie called Ciao. It takes place in Dallas, Texas, which is home to characters Jeff and Mark, two gay men in their thirties.

Mark is killed in an accident in the first few minutes of the movie, although this is not shown. Jeff, his best friend since college, is left to pick up the pieces of his deceased friend’s life. One of the “pieces” is an on-line relationship that Mark had been having with an Italian man named Andrea, who had booked a flight to Dallas to meet Mark for the first time.

Jeff learns of the relationship while reading Mark’s e-mail and notifying Mark’s friends of his death. Although he informs Andrea as well, he later invites him to keep his travel plans and come to Dallas. Andrea agrees.

Through following the connection that develops between Jeff and Andrea as they each deal with the loss of Mark, Ciao offers a unique and effective exploration into the lives of gay men. Yet this is not so much a review of the movie as a review of my reaction.

One of the qualities that can make for an effective movie is a story that resonates with the viewer. Well, Ciao set off several harmonics of vibration within me. Not only did I grow up in Texas and spend 24 years of my life there, I kept thinking about Chuck.

I could easily have played Jeff’s role, because I have lived Jeff’s role.

As I mentioned previously, Jeff assumed the burden of taking over his friend’s affairs. He watered his plants, did his laundry, replied to e-mails, checked his mail, notified his friends, canceled accounts, prepared to pack up his townhouse. I had to do all of these things and more - completely disassembling the existence of the most important person of my adult life. Scattering and packing away the remains. Sometimes zombie-like, sometimes on hands and knees, soaking the carpet.

Everything you do reminds you of the gaping hole in your chest. You can’t avoid it, and you know it will be there tomorrow, next week, next month, next year. It is a marathon of pain.

For the few hours I watched the movie, I was Jeff. I stared at the unmade bed, just as he left it, the impression of his head still in the pillow. I noticed the hairs still in his electric razor, hairs that he had grown. I held his favorite shirt, full of memories. I left him a voice mail. I talked to his family. I touched his things. I cried.

In the movie, Jeff did not cry until toward the end. This most certainly was not me as I cried frequently and hard, especially during those first months. Of course my relationship with Chuck was unusually intense, but people also express grief differently.

Dramatically, Jeff’s delayed reaction was probably more effective anyway.

Ciao faithfully presents the silent observations and inevitable questions that follow a best friend’s death. In the movie, Andrea asks Jeff, “what was the last thing he said to you?” and “what was the last thing you said to him?” These two questions slammed into me. I can remember that exchange with Chuck like it was yesterday.

“Okay, I’ll get going. I want to finish [setting up your] apartment anyway.” I stood and turned to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Robert,” he said. Just as he always did. It was the last thing he said to me.

“Okay. I’ll call you tonight or tomorrow morning.” I walked out of the [hospital] room. It was the last thing I said to him.

Ciao.

Fuad and I have an appointment with the county clerk on Friday, August 29th to get married. It was the first available Friday for an appointment (popular day, I guess.) The next morning, we are heading down the coast for the long weekend.

Among my family, I’ve told my mom, dad, grandmother, my mom’s youngest sister and her son. Everyone has been very supportive. My mom, aunt and cousin are all excited. My mom’s even coming out from the Saudi Arabia of America Texas for the ceremony at city hall.

I guess I need to announce it to the rest of my family.

The emotional response that people have to weddings and marriage is interesting. When I told people that we had registered as domestic partners everyone was all like “that’s nice” and stuff. When I tell people that we are getting married, everyone is all like squealing.

OK, some of the straight women and gay men squeal.

Outside of my family, I’ve told some of my friends, you, and my boss, who was one of the female squealers :-) I also told my co-worker Karen, who had actually asked me if we were going to do it now that we could.

“Why haven’t you announced it?” she asked.

“I’m only telling people here if they ask,” I said.

“Well congratulations!” she said. “That’s very exciting!”

We proceeded to have a longer discussion about our relationships (she’s married), which we both feel very blessed to have. I’ll spare you the details, but frankly, her support surprised me.

To me, this is a completely natural progression. We have a committed relationship. We intend it to be life-long. I want it to be legally recognized, for his protection and mine.

Yet it is controversial, this word, “marriage.” To me, the word is not important. I would be happy with a so-called “civil union” that has the same legal status. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” Shakespeare wrote.

But this is a game of perceptions. Some gay marriage opponents would be less opposed if we dropped the word “marriage.” Some gay marriage supporters think anything less than “marriage” is something, well, less.

And of course, there are the opponents who are opposed to any kind of legal recognition and in fact want us re-criminalized. This opinion is mostly based on ignorance and will inevitably whither with time. I predict they will get their amendment to our constitution making our relationships unrecognized this November. However, their victory will be temporary. As time passes, more and more heteros realize that we are just like they are. For the most part, the younger generation doesn’t understand what all the fuss is about. The unsupported claims about immorality ring hollow.

The bottom line for me is that the man I’ve been referring to as my husband for over five years, will legally be - my husband.

On June 3rd, I wrote the following:

We are going to have a party later this summer … because something else is happening later this month - and I’m not talking about my birthday. More details when it comes to pass.

The mystery is over.

At his naturalization ceremony this morning, Fuad became a citizen of the United States of America.

Chuck F. forwarded the below article to me a few days ago. It is interesting and irritating at the same time.

Why Gays Don’t Go Extinct

Homosexuality in males may be caused in part by genes that can increase fertility in females, according to a new study.

The findings may help solve the puzzle of why, if homosexuality is hereditary, it hasn’t already disappeared from the gene pool, since gay people are less likely to reproduce than heterosexuals.

A team of researchers found that some female relatives of gay men tend to have more children than average. The scientists used a computer model to explain how two genes passed on through the maternal line could produce this effect.

In 2004 the researchers studied about 200 Italian families and found that the mothers, maternal aunts and maternal grandmothers of gay men are more fecund, or fruitful, than average. Recently, they tried to explain their findings with a number of genetic models, and found one that fit the bill.

“This is the first time that a model fits all our empirical data,” said Andrea Camperio-Ciani, an evolutionary psychologist at the University of Padova in Italy who led the study. “These genes work in a sexually antagonistic way — that means that when they’re represented in a female, they increase fecundity , and when they’re represented in a male, they decrease fecundity. It’s a trait that benefits one sex at the cost of the other.”

The researchers detail their findings in the June 18 issue of the journal PLoS ONE.

If this scenario turns out to be true, it could help explain the seeming paradox of hereditary homosexuality. Since gay people are less likely to reproduce than heterosexuals, many experts have wondered why, if homosexuality is caused by genetic factors, it wouldn’t have been eliminated from the gene pool already.

But if the same genes create both homosexuality in men and increased fertility in women, then any losses in offspring that come about from the males would be made up for by the females of the family.

“Sexually antagonistic selection is an old idea by Richard Dawkins, but this has never been proven in humans,” Camperio-Ciani told LiveScience. “There are a large quantity of these traits found in insects, for example, and recently in deer sexually antagonistic traits have been discovered, showing that high-ranking males produce rather unsuccessful daughters. We found that sexually antagonistic selection is operating also in our species, and we found it in a very important trait, which is homosexuality.”

A possible scenario

The question of whether homosexuality is genetically inherited has been perplexing scientists for years. While many researchers now agree homosexuality is probably caused by a mixture of nature and nurture, they are still hard pressed to explain the particulars.

Even if this sexually antagonistic genetic system is at work, it can only account for a portion of the overall causes of homosexuality in men, Camperio-Ciani said. Other factors, both genetic and social, likely also play a part.

“I think it’s almost beyond a doubt that genes have some influence,” said Ray Blanchard, a researcher at the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health in Toronto, who studies the effect of birth order in predicting whether a male will be born homosexual. “My personal view is that there is probably more than one biological mechanism contributing toward homosexuality. I think it’s also safe to say that there is at least one non-genetic influence.”

Blanchard found that with each older brother in a family, the odds increase by about a third that a boy born later will be gay. This effect is not thought to be caused by genetics, but rather by antibodies produced by the mother’s immune system during pregnancy.

Eric Vilain, a professor of human genetics at the University of California, Los Angeles, has studied possible biological factors influencing homosexuality. He said the system studied by the Italian team seems plausible, but that it’s too soon to be convinced.

“I would like to see the first observation reproduced in a different population and possibly with a larger sample to make sure that this holds up,” he said. “If it is replicated, that’s a very interesting finding. It’s a possible scenario.”

Research by Paul Vasey, a psychologist at the University of Lethbridge in Canada, and his graduate student, Doug VanderLaan, provides preliminary support for the Italian team’s results. The scientists studied homosexual men in Independent Samoa, known locally as fa’afafine (”in the manner of a woman”). They found that the mothers of fa’afafine produce more offspring than the mothers of heterosexual men in that society.

“[Camperio-Ciani’s] results are consistent with a growing number of studies that suggest that the female relatives of male homosexuals are more fecund than those of male heterosexuals,” Vasey said.

Loving men

Camperio-Ciani and his team hypothesize that the genes they modeled may cause people of both sexes to be extremely attracted to men, which would lead men with the genes to pursue relationships with other men, while causing women with the genes to have more sexual partners, and become pregnant slightly more often than an average woman.

This system does not address causes of homosexuality in women, he said.

“We’re still working on lesbianism, but were not getting to the same result, and possibly we’ll come out with a completely different explanation,” he said.

The research may shed light on a complicated and controversial topic: whether homosexuality is a choice, or whether it is caused by factors beyond a person’s control.

“I think this is an example where the results of scientific research can have important social implications,” Camperio-Ciani said. “You have all this antagonism against homosexuality because they say it’s against nature because it doesn’t lead to reproduction. We found out this is not true because homosexuality is just one of the consequences of strategies for making females more fecund.”

I sent Chuck a brief message back:

Thanks. I’m so over this “choice” and “nurture” bullshit. It sure wasn’t my idea. But I love this comment [to the article]:

They also haven’t yet explained homophobia. Is it a perverse lifestyle choice, or is it genetic? To my mind this is a far more important question than the relatively academic ones posed in this article, since a cure for homophobia is urgently needed.

To which he replied:

I wouldn’t dismiss the choice/nurture discussion as bullshit. Certainly for each of us, nurture and choice probably had nothing to do with it. But, I think for some, nurture and choice can play a significant role. I think sexuality is a continuum. For those toward the center of the continuum, I think nurture/choice may play a greater role. There is probably a genetic basis for where individuals fall on the continuum.

Me:

I knew you were going to say that. Sigh…

Chuck:

I really don’t think that deserved a sigh. :)

Sigh or not, Chuck is probably right. I have known a few gay men that had previously dated women, one or two that continue to go back and forth, but they are exceptions. My thought based on 23 years of first-hand observation is that most people are at one end of the “continuum” or another. People in the middle are either rare or just find it easier to “be straight” since that is the dominant social paradigm. Detection of the remaining genetic determinants of sexual orientation and their expression will bring this into clearer focus.

Not that it should matter.

Anyway, the reason I find the elements of the story irritating is neatly summed up by the next comment:

With reference to previous “gay gene” research (http://www.livescience.com/health/060224_gay_genes.html) it’s worth pointing out that the current story only involves one genetic factor. The remaining two might have different mechanisms underlying their continued survival.
Apart from that, genetic evolution never guarantees that any trait that adversely affects survival or reproduction will in time disappear entirely. I presume putting the question as starkly as “why gays don’t go extinct” is journalistic license on the part of Livescience, not a question directly posed in the study.

What surprises me about studies like these is the premise that homosexuals reproduce less than heterosexuals. Perhaps exclusive homosexuality in humans is more prevalent than it would naturally be because in the past (and in some societies in the present) gays are supposed to marry and have kids anyway. That said I reckon that after correcting for this, the study’s result will probably stand.

Whether homosexuality is a choice is about as controversial as evolution. That is: not at all, unless you ask an evangelical christian. Saying that homosexuality (or any kind of behaviour likely to put one at odds with society) is a “choice” begs the question “why would anyone choose to have a tough life?” Either it’s not a choice or the argument becomes circular. Unfortunately the people who perpetuate the “choice” idea tend to come from a tradition that isn’t particularly strong on critical thinking. I wish Livescience would not refer to this as a controversy, unless they also buy into the idea that evolution is controversial.

But I’ll take this a bit further - the people that perpetuate the “choice” idea do so to justify their own prejudice. Fortunately, they are a diminishing breed, despite their attempts to turn their own kids into bigots. Each generation is less and less ignorant about this.

Wednesday and Thursday nights, I built a new PC. The one I built 3 years ago was as loud as a jet engine, which Fuad and I both found annoying. Friday night I worked out the bugs in my assembly and installed Windows XP and the 64-bit version of Vista.

XP because it is familiar and all my existing software is compatible with it, Vista x64 because I was curious about it. I hate to say it, but so far Vista is very cool.*

I spent most of the day yesterday installing software and imposing my preferences on the operating systems.

For the past year I had been planning to buy an iMac, but in the end I decided not to because:

* I want to get a 30-inch monitor
* the iMac only comes with a glossy screen and our “office” is too bright

Of course, I could have gotten a Mac Pro, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as challenging to set up.

Anyway, I was going to photograph the assembly, but the camera Chuck F. gave me last year broke, so I have to send it off for repair. For the hardware geeks out there, here are the components I chose:

* Case: Cooler Master Cosmos 1000
* PS: Corsair CMPSU-620HX 620 Watt

* CPU: Intel Q9450 Quad-Core at 2.66 GHz
* CPU Fan: Zalman CNPS9700

* Mobo: EVGA 132-CK-NF78-A1 LGA 775 NVIDIA nForce 780i SLI
* RAM: OCZ Reaper HPC 8GB (4 x 2GB) 240-Pin DDR2 SDRAM DDR2 1066 (PC2 8500)

* Video Card: EVGA 512-P3-N871-AR GeForce 9800 GTX(G92) 512MB

* HD: 2 Seagate Barracudas 250GB 7200 RPM 16MB Cache SATA 3.0Gb/s
* DVD-RAM: LG GGC-H20L Blu-ray/HD
* DVD-ROM: ASUS DVD-E616A3T

Result: a “Vista Experience Index” of 5.9 for all components except the memory, which gives as 5.8. It’s like, wicked fast. For anyone that may be wondering, I don’t have it overclocked.

I haven’t decided to do with my old one yet. I’m going to clean it up (read: blow all the dust out of it) after the movie today at the Castro Theatre.

Sent to me by a friend with ulterior motives…

Coke, soda or pop?

After 2,411 km, our trusty A180 looked like it had been through a war. The front was completely plastered with bugs; there was no way I was going to return it in that condition. Also, I had elected to return the car with a full tank of fuel. Boy, did I regret that.

Yet - it couldn’t have been easier. We followed A-4 into Sevilla and right into a gas station with a car wash. I correctly guessed how many euros it would take to fill the car up (or close enough for the rental agency), ran the car through the wash, and got back on the road.

As it turned out, A-4 turned into Avenida de Kansas City (I kid you not), which led us directly to the Santa Justa train station and rental car return. As I said, it could not have been easier. We pulled our luggage from the car as they inspected it for damage.

It is difficult to explain in a few sentences all we had put that car through. Ten days of Andalusian highways, countless narrow old city roads and spins through dozens of traffic circles. Ten days of cramped parking garages with insanely steep ramps and single lanes that are somehow supposed to accommodate two-way traffic. Ten days of battling Spanish traffic signs, which occasionally sent us into some ridiculous situations.*

Not a scratch.

The agent marked my contract “OK” and we praised Jesus, Mohammad, Buddha, Zeus, Ra, Thor, Wonder Woman and Sponge Bob Squarepants for what was clearly a miracle.

“That was too easy,” Jim said as we walked toward our hotel.

I was so happy to be free of the responsibility of the car that I was almost giddy.

I had made reservations at the same hotel we had used when we first arrived in Sevilla. We entered and I approached the desk.

“Welcome back!” The clerk said. He remembered us. I was astonished and it showed. He even let us check in early. With most of the day still ahead of us, we hit the ground running. Jim wanted to check out his old haunts.

Jim spent six months in Sevilla studying Spanish in the mid-80’s. His school was near the ayuntamiento (city hall), but his apartment was in a working-class neighborhood known as la Macarena. We decided to walk down to the ayuntamiento and look for the school, then cut across town to la Macarena.

I tried to take us via the most direct route possible, which meant crossing through the maze-like old medina. I had stopped a few times to examine the map until Jim grabbed my hand and said, “just walk.”

While my face had been buried in the map, he had noticed someone acting suspiciously. “Did you see the guy on the cell phone?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“He’s been following us for the last ten minutes. When we stopped, he would stop. This last time he started to dial his cell phone. I glared at him until he hung up.”

The lesson here is that when you find yourself a clueless tourist, it’s handy to have a native New Yorker around.

We stopped at FNAC on Avenida de la Constitución, where I bought blank CD’s and Jim found a Maria Del Mar Bonet CD that he had been searching for. Oh, and I grabbed a latte with leche desnatada at the local Starbuck’s.

He did find the location of the school, but a different business now occupied the building. We moved on to la Macarena. Fortunately, the route was more direct. Along the way, we crossed the length of the Alameda de Hércules, where I took this shot. A few more blocks, and we were near the Arco de la Macarena and the old city wall. Yes, you’ve seen these pictures before. I uploaded all the Sevilla pictures at once a month or so ago.

He found the location of his apartment, but the building was gone. In its place stood a brand new office building. At the very location of his apartment was a ground level commercial space that was for rent. I could tell his emotions were mixed. He was very happy to be back in the old neighborhood but disappointed that the building was gone.

“I just missed it,” he said. “This building isn’t even a year old yet.”

We stared through the tinted plate glass windows.

“It would be nice to relocate the business here,” he said.

To celebrate Jim’s return to the hood, we stopped at the nearby Hotel Macarena for drinks. A gin and tonic, vodka and cranberry juice, and toast to the Spanish economy later, we set out to get a closer look at the “harp” that we could see from our own hotel.

This took us to the very banks of the Guadalquivir, where all manner of activity was taking place in the late afternoon light. The river’s banks were popular with joggers, skateboarders, rollerbladers, boaters, and graffiti artists - though no one was spraying at the moment.

I did get a few shots of the “harp,” which turned out to be the Puente del Alamillo by Calatrava.

On the way back to the hotel, we reached a street where I was expecting to turn left - only the name of the street as marked was different than on the map I was carrying. After a moment’s hesitation, I turned left anyway.

“I still think this is right,” I said to Jim.

A few blocks up, the name changed to what we had been expecting. “HPFM,” Jim said. He had used that expression before when I led us across Valencia incognita without a map and ended up immediately across the plaza from our hotel.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“HPFM - hocus pocus f*cking magic,” he said.

Back in the room, we were greeted with a complimentary tray of grapes, cheese, and my new favorite red wine - rioja. Jim let me have the wine while he sampled the manzanilla from the refrigerator. “It’s a sherry,” he said.

“It’s rubbing alcohol with butter,” I declared after sampling it.

I finished the rioja; he finished the manzanilla. We settled into bed and turned out the light. Thus ended Jim’s favorite day of the trip.

Next, and last, Madrid!

Photos from Sevilla here. Again >>

* including a near accident caused by one of these which resulted in another driver screaming at me for five minutes (in Spanish). I sat there silently, calmly and cluelessly. He eventually finished and drove away.