My White Knight

Chivalry did not die with Don Quixote. If you read my blog a couple of days ago, you read about my losing my hat in a ravine. I took this picture the next day -- when it wasn't raining -- and you can see the bridge I was standing on and the gorge it crosses. I really hated losing that hat. Imagine my surprise the next day when we were about to get on the bus and leave; Richard Frisbie, who shall forever be my champion, presented me with the hat. It was totally soaked but none the worse for wear. Richard had gone for an early morning walk and climbed down into the gorge and retrieved it!

That was not his only act of kindness. Throughout the trip he was unfailingly cheerful and never lost patience when one or the other of us got a little tired and cranky -- or just plain diva-ish. Then at our dinner the last night, he noticed I was shivering because the private dining room where we were going to eat was chilly. Next thing I know, he's talked the waitress out of a tablecloth and is draping it around me. And I was cold enough that I wore it all through dinner. I have no pride where my comfort is concerned! I called Richard my knight -- but I was wrong. He's absolutely a prince!

Just Desserts

Oh, my gosh, I´ve just had heaven on a plate! The food in Spain is amazing and the quantities they are serving us would feed a small -- or maybe not so small -- army. We are in the parador in Almagro, a charming and beautiful town. For lunch we were served a local specialty for an appetizer -- pickled eggplant stuffed with pimiento and garlic. The dish dates back to the Muslim tradition -- the Moors occupied Spain for several centuries. The first course was cod topped with julienne vegetables and "foam of potato" -- sort of a thinned mashed potato thingie. Totally full -- and having left a lot of food on my plate -- I made the mistake of looking at our menu only to discover that a second entree was coming. The pork plate, with potato and vegetables, went practically untouched. I played with my food so it would look like I´d eaten some! Then came dessert -- fritters of Calatrava with bitter almond sauce and quince sherbet. It was fabulous.
We´re off to the town where it is tradition that Cervantes was imprisoned and where he began his masterwork. Bet I sleep on the bus!!!!

The Rain in Spain.....

Is not only on the plain. Yesterday it was in the hilly country between Alcala de Henares and Cuenca. I loved Alacala de Henares -- not far from Madrid, it was the birthplace of Miguel Cervantes. And the point of this trip is to follow the route of Don Quixote (which I am reading on my Kindle every chance I get). The weather was lovely the first day and our walking tour around town a delight. The parador is the newest of the 90+ paradors owned by the Spanish government. I´ve stayed here before and it was like going home -- to the most technically up to date, comfortable room -- except it´s built around a centuries-old convent.
Last night we stayed in the parador in Cuenca -- it, too, was a convent. While it has all the conveniences, the decor is more traditional and I felt like a Spanish princess when I opened the shuttered window to see, across a deep gorge, the "hanging houses" of the old city.
It rained most of yesterday -- the wind broke my umbrella and sent my rain hat (a special souvenir of a very windy day in Oxford) over the bridge and down, down, down into the gorge. Still, it was worth it to see this beautiful old town.
The rain stopped late in the day and the lighted, wet streets made colorful photos - which, since I left my large camera in the room and carried my point-and-shoot, will probably come out fuzzy. You´ll have to take my word for it.
The food ranges from excellent to "interesting" and there´s way too much of it. It´s going to be hard holding on to my old-girlish figure on this trip!
Must fly -- time and the bus wait for no one!

The Naked Truth

European massage -- how do I say this -- observes a different standard of modesty than American massage. Thank goodness I've had a lot of massages and thank goodness for the kindness of Donna Long who'd had one before and clued me in before the experience.

And thank goodness for Norma, the grandmotherly manager of the spa, who hailed from Birmingham, England and spoke English. Otherwise I might have wound up putting my paper panties on my head. Yep, we were each handed packets containing a shower cap and a pair of (Norma's term) paper panties -- more like a strip of gauzy paper on a rubber band!

I carefully arranged myself on the massage table, covering as much of me as possible with the towel I found there. I needn't have bothered. Let's put it this way -- my first panicked thought was "I should have checked to make sure I don't have belly-button lint!"

What the heck, it was a great massage; the masseuse was a professional and, well, I suppose if you've seen one, you've seen them both!

And, in case you wondered, that's me in the Niagara bath -- a jetted tub full of spring water with clay and minerals.