Spain, Day 27-31

Andres Recovers, Stumbles, Dies, and then Revives
A Play in Five Acts

Sunday ended with a visit to the haunts of the old people: a plaza near the hotel where all of Granada's AARP members congregated after buying an ice cream cone (or, knowing AARP, after having collected their free ice-cream cone). Actually, with a Sprite and Spanish braided pretzel in hand (unfortunately, this is a misleading description of the pastry I was eating, the only thing it had in common with a pretzel was its shape, aside from that the dough, consistency, and taste were quite distinct, but alas) I didn't feel considerably out-of place because nestled amongst the forest of canes there were the sons, granddaughters, and great-grandchildren of all our AARP friends. I perched on a bench watched them all go by, just as they all watched each other pass-by, and we had a lively old time. I returned to my hotel feeling passably better, and I slept excitedly with great anticipation of tomorrow's activities and my presumed recovery.

Day 27

I awoke eager to pursue an interview I had scheduled with the Head Chef of the Parador of Granada's Restaurant. Somewhat inconveniently, the Parador is under construction, so it was difficult to secure a time for this meeting, but after confirming and reconfirming that this was the most appropriate time for a visit I prepared to undertake the normally slightly taxing but in a weakened state Herculean task of alighting the Alhambra to reach the Parador, which is actually among the buildings of the historic palatial complex. Fortunately, a bus runs up the hill and I took it. Through a convenient chain of events I wound up actually speaking with the Associate Director of the Parador, who was formerly Head Chef, and then moved on to work in the administration of the Paradors at a regional level before accepting his current charge. The insight he offered into the workings of this regaled gastronomic institution was priceless and underscored the impact of tourism and globalization on the design and structure of the menu and the restaurant.

Needless to say, the warmth with which he received me and his accommodating manner invigorated my spirits greatly, to the point that I felt it would be appropriate to descend the “mountain” (please remember that I’m from Chicago) unaided. I was so enlivened with my success that en route to my hotel I suddenly changed course and opted for lunch. I had spied a nearby restaurant offering Vegetable Soup, which I thought would fit today’s profile perfectly.

As I would soon discover over the course of the week, it’s tricky ordering Soup in Spain.

The thick green aromatic liquid seduced me, despite my better sense, and I consumed it nearly to the last drop. I should have continued to slop it up, realizing that having spared three spoonfuls after having consumed an incalculable quantity already was pointless. I enjoyed my soup and fizzy water, however, and gladly paid my bill and left. That evening, post-nap, I felt stronger and well en route to recuperation. Around ten, however, my stomach was struck by an odd sensation, which I soon pegged as hunger! I was overjoyed but these stomach growls. So enfeebled was my condition over the past two days that I had even lost appetite, and to have it return was surely a sign of better things to come. I satiated myself with bread and water however, and resolved that I would continue to gather strength in preparation for a full meal, which I planned to be enjoying the following day in Seville.

Sadly my intestines had other plans for me.

Day 28

A few miracles occurred today, and for a moment I considered them as divine intervention in thanks for having visited more churches over the past months than most Biblical figures probably managed to do. But in consideration of how much I suffered as well today, I realized that all in all I broke out about even.

Miracle Number One

Freakishly planned travels like mine involve hotel reservations and itineraries created months in advance, yet so great was my pain this morning that for 30 grueling minutes this morning I considered deviating from my schedule. I almost forfeited an already paid night at a hotel in Seville for the comforts of not having to move from my bed in Granada.

Almost as startling as the idea of abandoning my schedule was that I resorted to a nap this morning. It lasted only half an hour, but for the rest of the day I counted myself among the believers in the wonders of the nap, for the first time in almost two decades.

Miracle Number Two

Though I had to resort to a taxi to take me on a trip that would have lasted an equal amount of time on foot, but would have been too taxing and also sweatier, I actually arrived at the train station with time enough to spare for another nap, this time on a bench in the station. Classy, I know.

Sadly, there were just three benches on the platform, and I wasn’t sharing mine. Needless to say, I was nobody’s favorite tourist today. Nevertheless, my luck held and after hogging a bench for an hour amidst swarms of jostling travelers, I actually boarded a train to discover that I had my own two-person seat. Of course, if I hadn’t been on a liquid diet for the past 48 hours I would have needed the extra room to accommodate my frame that has swollen from exaggerated pork consumption, but thanks to my debilitating illness I could curl up in the fetal position and nap, again.

Miracle Number Three

The only good thing about being sick today was that today was a Tuesday and the Spanish world was functioning. In other words, the supermarkets were open. Of course, my first question upon checking into my hotel in Seville was “where is the nearest supermarket,” which instantly pegged me as one of those tourists who purchase groceries at the supermarket, smuggle it into their rooms, and closet themselves–scarfing up their acquired vittles rather than fueling the local economy and overtaxing their wallets. Unfortunately, there has been a rash of news reports in the past weeks about the rising numbers of such tourists on the peninsula. Thankfully, the order hasn’t yet been given to have them rounded up and shot, or expulsed.

Yet, returning to me and the receptionist at the hotel: I asked, she snickered, and then she admitted there was a Corte Ingles (a local department store, which usually has a supermarket in the basement) in the vicinity and she even consented to point out its location on a map for me. Admirably, she managed all of this without actually saying the words supermarket, weirdo, or making any other derogatory remarks.

It goes without saying that Tuesday improved post-supermarket visit.

Day 29

Seville appears beautiful, welcoming, and comfortable from what I have seen on television, gathered from the colorful brochures, and imagined from my bed. Of course twice a day I actually do get to experience Seville, and I shower and fix myself up for these outings. I am referring to my twice daily returns to the Supermarket. I have resolved single-handedly to tear through El Corte Ingles’ supply of fresh bread, saltines (or “English Crackers” as my preferred brand is called), water (with and without gas, though the variety of the latter is surprisingly limited), and Jell-O. Between these staples of the diet of the infirm I plan to scare away death if not hunger. As an interesting perk, I also get to make friends with the bread lady who sells me my loaves twice a day. Sadly, it appears I am more committed to pursuing the relationship than she is.

Meanwhile I am still confined to quarters, but my mood was mildly cheered (ok, I admit it: much cheered) by a call from my mother. Yesterday, Tuesday, she made her first contact since I had fallen ill on Sunday. Kindly, she didn’t admit that her call was prompted by a plaintive text message I had sent to my father earlier in the day, demanding that they call. Mommy promised to call every afternoon until I got better, and as of today she was on target with her goal.

Her first order of business yesterday was to dictate the items that I should purchase from the Supermarket (hence the Saltines and Jell-O) and also to send me to my local pharmacy. I fulfilled both tasks Wednesday morning before crawling back into bed, gladly, however, because I now had crackers and Jell-O within arms reach (plus the room had a fridge! A rare luxury in Spanish hotels, but it meant I had cold Jell-O).

On the plus side, my meal expenses have decreased significantly…

Day 30

I have been cleared for Banana consumption today. The relaxing of dietary restrictions are quite welcome considering that I awoke with great hunger today.

But Mommy never called today; I think she may have forgotten I am sick. In light of the situation, I cleared myself for further fruit consumption this afternoon. Pears were right next to the bananas so they appeared to be the natural choice.

Of course, this means meal expenses have begun to rise again. Expenses soared 300%. We broke the 7 Euro mark for the first time in four days. To celebrate I allowed myself time out of the cell. I managed over an hour of walking, traveling over twenty minutes past El Corte Ingles into the legitimate downtown of Seville. I actually saw the famed Giralda (the minaret turned bell-tower that distinguishes Seville’s Cathedral) albeit from down the block. Who knew there was such a world of non-edible entertainment beyond the supermarket? Although it may pale in comparison to browsing the water aisle at the store, I think tomorrow I will be cleared for exploration. Just in time too, Friday is my last full day in Seville.

Day 31

Yup, Seville has a Cathedral too, and it’s big, and gothic. There is also a castle here, for the Christian monarchs. To top it all off, there is a handsome Bull Ring too.

Yes, I think the cattiness has returned and we are safely en route to recovery.

An exhausting day, for sure, and my body actually withstood it. I rewarded it with crackers, pears, and bananas–all at the same meal! There was fresh bread too.

The day blossomed with breathtaking tours of the royal gardens in the Alcazar of Seville, and it continued to mount in beauty as I admired the city from atop the Giralda. I even had the privilege to be in the tower when the bells rang. Oddly enough, they are no more charming than when they wake me up at school on Saturday mornings, even if these are historical foreign bells.

After popping back to the hotel to rest during the hottest hours of the day I ventured out anew to discover the Plaza de España, which for anyone who watches Star Wars, could best be described by referring to the colonnade on Naboo that the Senator and Anakin walk under in Episode Three (yes, I actually thought about that while I was alone at dusk in the Plaza; suit me…).

Aside from reminiscing about Star Wars, and enjoying my rejuvenated immune system, I also took a moment to bid farewell to my solo adventures in Spain. I will be returning to the real world tomorrow and be expected to sustain conversations, maintain a pleasant demeanor and remain an accommodating and understanding guest.

In all seriousness, however, I am not overly concerned with these expectations–there will be no children at this next home-stay.