Here’s What I Think…

This trip has done nothing to satisfy my need to travel.  It has only made me want to see more, do more, meet more people.  Although on this journey, I have traveled in only one country, Spain, it has been an experience of a lifetime.  This country is like my second home.  I feel so alive here, so comfortable, so immersed.  Maybe I lived a past life here.  Who knows?  And the people I have become friends with along the way have been an utter joy.  There was the Argentinean former flamenco dancer/special education teacher Gabriel in Sevilla with the bright smile and energetic personality, who has already e-mailed me to return.  There was also the art history professor Antonio I met last July in Madrid, who was more than happy to spend the entire day with me after he wrapped up his classes but with one rule—indoors we spoke English, outdoors we spoke only Spanish.  I got nervous every time it was time to leave a café, or restaurant, or museum.  And then there was the Italian ex-patriot from Sardinia, Andreas, who wined and dined me at his favorite pasta joint in Barcelona.  It’s amazing to me how you can go anywhere in the world all by yourself and never feel alone.  You just have to be open to it.

So I’m this late night establishment in Madrid aptly named Rick’s Bar, hobnobbing with a few of the locals as well as a foreign office worker from the US State Department, it’s late, going on 3 AM, my eyelids are a bit droopy, and I was just surprised by a Mexican Mariachi guitar player named Mario who I met at this same watering hole two years ago.  He’s still wearing his outfit, fresh from work, but I remember it being red.  This one is white, so I compliment him on his new suit.  I’m in the middle of commenting on what a small world it is when suddenly I hear this booming voice behind me bellow, “You’re from LA!”  I turn around, and there standing in front of me is a handsome young blonde man, Spanish, with a big smile on his face and his arms outstretched.  I had no idea who it was.  “You go to Palermo all the time!”  Palermo is an Italian restaurant in Los Feliz, just a quick ten minute drive from my house in Beachwood Canyon, and a staple of my diet.  I’m there at least once a week.  Still, I was drawing a blank.  “I’m Dylan!  I used to be a waiter there!  I’d see you all the time!”  “Dylan!  Of course!” I explained as I pumped his hand.  I still had no idea who he was.  To make this small world story even smaller, he went on to tell me he moved back to Spain a few years ago, but does not live in Madrid.  He lives in Barcelona and was just up here on business, and was now out with a few of his colleagues.  At that point he introduced me to them all, and they couldn’t have been nicer.  I immediately sent a text to my pal Rob and an e-mail to my pal Mike, both of whom I dine with at Palermo frequently to see if either one could remember Dylan.  He seemed so pleased to see me, so gracious, I just went along with it.  I’m sure I will remember him eventually.  It will probably just take a little while to jog my memory since the biggest selling point at Palermo is their cheap wine that always makes my head fuzzy.  Could this world be any smaller? I have just arrived in Sevilla, and I’m struck by its beauty, a mix of Middle Eastern and Spanish influence.  I’m going to do a complete walking tour tomorrow, but now I am going to have a little siesta before venturing out to check out this vibrant city’s nightlife.

I’ve only been traveling in Spain for four days and already I’m in panic mode that I’m going to run out of time.  The first two days in Bilbao were a real treat.  The city’s architecture was breathtaking and the Guggenheim Museum, ironically featuring an exhibit entitled “Art in the USA”, was simply stunning.  I can not recommend you visit this city enough.  I was spellbound by its beauty, its people, its pride.  

I did have one uncomfortable incident on my journey south to Madrid.  I didn’t know I had to have my Euro Train Pass validated with a stamp before boarding the train, and to make things worse, I neglected to read my instructional booklet and filled in some information on the pass that I was supposed to keep blank for a reservations clerk.  Oops.  You would think I might have bothered given I had ten hours to kill on the first leg of my flight from LA to Frankfurt.  But I didn’t.  So on the train from Bilbao to Madrid, the conductor was sputtering at me in Spanish and I had no idea what he was saying.  Eventually by using some easy sign language he was able to convey I needed to get the pass stamped and luckily he didn’t kick me off the moving train.  After some more drama at a non-English speaking Customer Service office in Madrid, I got the damn thing stamped.  It was a classic good cop bad cop scenario there, however, with the veteran, seen-it-all, scruffy representative admonishing me in Spanish for my mistake, while two of his colleagues served as my protectors, a young man and woman, both with big smiles on their faces and looks in their eyes that said, “We understand.  No worries.  Welcome to Madrid”. 

This is my fourth visit to this illustrious city, so I have friends here now, and though I’m still struggling with the language, I’m going to try to see some theatre (or teatro) while I am here.  It’s a good way for me to immerse myself.  The cute, perky desk clerk at my very quaint, modern hotel near the world famous Puerta Del Sol, is also a real gem.  She speaks perfect English so I go to her with all my questions.  And she blushed when I told her just how much I love her purple Dior glasses.  They’re so modern and chic.  I adore this girl, and I’m sure she’s worried I’m some kind of crazed stalker. 

I’m also, as most of my friends already know, enjoying the rampant nightlife where the bars don’t even begin to fill up until well after midnight.  I’ve had to adjust my internal clock for this new and exciting lifestyle.  Last night I met a nice gentleman named Alberto who took it upon himself to show me the off the beaten path discos where the locals show up in the wee hours of the morning.  Never mind it’s after two a.m. on a Monday morning.  The places we went were packed.  Needless to say, the Spaniards are a rowdy, fun bunch.  At one point I was walking to the bar to buy a drink and one sturdy Spaniard grabbed me and started dancing with me and then lifted me up over his shoulder and spun me around.  Mind you, we had not been formally introduced.  But I love anyone who can actually lift my forty something body off the ground!  And you wonder why I’m completely smitten with this country!