A Long Saturday

So I’m still new to this whole blogging thing and I’m trying to find the balance between what I want to say and what I want to leave out. I spend a lot more time thinking about things that I could write than I actually spend writing. I feel a bit limited because I haven’t explained many of the background details that provide the context for my stories. But I feel like simply disclosing all the boring details could really drive this blog into the ground. I want to keep it interesting. Of course blogging is a bit narcissistic to it’s core and I feel a bit foolish going on and on about myself, but I’d like the goal here to be improving my writing, learning to open up a bit more, and of course sharing experiences to (hopefully) curious readers.


Let’s start with last Saturday. I went to the English folks’ boot sale (where I’m sure my friend Katie could “sale her wares”) to see if I could track down a bicycle. Albox is near enough to the Mediterranean that I could get to the beach in a couple hours if I had a bike, but on my feet, forget it. It’s also connected to other small towns through hilly, relatively quiet roadways that might make for nice cycling trips. Something cheap, perhaps an old bike that someone’s kid or husband no longer uses, could meet my needs at the right price. So the boot sale seemed about as good a place as any to start.

My instructions were as follows: it’s by the international café; just keep going straight and you can’t miss it. That phrase is one of my peeves. I’m not particularly good with directions, and I’ve found that, you can’t miss it, has less to do with how easy it is to find, and more to do with the guide’s desire to get back to what they were doing. I wasn’t exactly certain which road I was supposed to be on, or in which direction, but because my advisor was tired of giving instructions, he felt he could terminate his lesson by urging me to “keep going” on a vaguely defined road until I found it.

No worries, I wasn’t in a particular hurry and had nothing pressing for the rest of the weekend, so with an orange, an apple and half a water bottle I was wandering out of Albox towards where I considered that this boot sale could potentially be. I should also point out that those who gave me directions were consistently surprised that I did not possess a car and would instead be walking.

Albox slowly evaporated behind me, the mechanic shops and hardware stores growing further and further apart until I was walking along a lonely, country highway. Sure enough, it was the correct one, though I did turn back at one point convinced I had likely gone too far. A brief conversation made clear that I was on the correct road, just another half an hour or so to the boot sale.

When I got there, it looked something like this:


I came away with a load of cheap English books, a fair prize for my effort. I was getting a bit hungry, but the café international had few offerings that appealed to me more than a meal I might prepare for myself back home, so I decided I could make the return journey without a meal. But before I left, saw a poster advertising a giant paella as part of a festival in Arboleas, the next town down the highway. I hadn’t tried real paella yet, and this seemed to be as good a way as any to spend my afternoon. So I asked for what were only partially understood directions, and set out once again, this time with a bit less clarity. Definitely turn right, go pass the red house, and then something about the riverbed and keep going. A bit hazy at the end, but I should be able to find it.


Well what should have taken about an hour took nearly three, and at several times I considered whether I’d be better off turning back for home fueled by my remaining fruit. Ultimately, I was rather counting on the sustenance from the paella to make the return journey and I ended up stumbling into town before I totally lost hope.

And this is what a giant paella looks like:



I was happy to sit for a bit, to loosen my shoes as blisters were developing on my heel. Eventually I summoned my strength and set out on my return journey. Charlotte had called while I was eating, and her friend Laura (who worked as I do at the school last year) had arrived in Albox. When I returned I would come across the hall to say hello to the two of them.

Of course I did make it back, but not without weary legs, tired feet, and worst of all, a deserved sunburn. Though I’m usually quite conscientious with sunscreen, I had had no problems with the sun in all of my days in Sevilla, and after all, it was October. Well maybe my skin’s tolerance for the sun was improving, but it was no match for that day’s hike, and I was feeling it.

I crossed the hall to say hello and enjoyed hearing about the past year in Albox. We ate and they told me of their plans for the night. With some local friends, they would be going to a fair in a nearby town that night (setting out at 12:30 or so) and invited me to join in. We split for a while so they could get ready.

Back in my room I flipped and flopped. I was tired and could have fallen asleep on the spot at 9:30. I knew my body needed rest to deal with the tired muscles and burned skin. But here was an opportunity to get out of Albox, to see a cultural activity and to spend some time with two new friends. And perhaps to meet some locals. Against my better judgment, I made a pot of coffee and committed to the Spanish nightlife.

I crossed the hall to find the two nearly ready, but the plans had changed. Our Spanish friends, the ones with the cars who would drive us to the fair, had a football game that was just starting and we would wait until it finished before setting off. Okay, I thought, sitting and watching will require less energy than walking around a fair and being at a party, I can handle this.

Around 2:30 or so, when the game was over, we loaded up in the car. I was a bit confused as the plans had changed again, but I followed the girls. I understood that we were now going to the beach for a “botellón” or an informal outdoor party. Looking back I clearly should have spoken up and figured out exactly what we were up to, but not exactly sure how to explain my desire, I kept quite and followed along.

As we drove I learned we were headed to a discoteca, not a botellón, which I did want to see before I left Spain, but I had no pressing desire to check off that night. No matter, however, at this point there was no turning back. Spanish nightlife is notorious for going all night long, and I figured I ought to at least give it a try.

But once will probably be enough for me. I was exhausted. It was too loud to really communicate with anyone, and I really could only speculate when we would be returning and I would be able to crash. I tried at times to reset my mindset and enjoy the time, but that was pretty fruitless. Suffice to say, the hours between when we arrived and when we finally left dragged trudgingly in my mind.

When I did at long last find my bed, I quickly fell into the most effortless sleep imaginable. The sensation was altogether unique, more like a decision to stand up, or to touch my nose than the passive, thoughtless route to sleep.

I had made some mistakes that day. I should have done a better job reading my senses and recognizing what was in my best interest. I should have known that I simply didn’t have the energy to stay out all night. I should have realized the commitment I was making (but never at any one point, made) by staying silent in the car. Well, chalk another one up to character-building experience.