• Seventeen Days in Spain
• How I First Got Interested in Spanish
• How I First Got Interested in Spain
• Enter, The Hero
• The Plane Ticket
• The Passport
• The Cast of Characters
• The Literature on the Subject
• Our Itinerary
• The Documentation of our Trip
• New Regulations Concerning Airline Baggage
• We Start Our Journey
• Enter, The Second Hero
• Spanish Money
• The McLean Beefmaster Bulls in Barcelona
• Three Memorable Wake-Up Calls
• The Vehicle
• All Those Accidents To The Language
• General Information About Barcelona
• Bus Tours
• The Gaudí Influence
• The Acquarium
• Writing Home About It All
• Pizza World
• Montserrat
• Tarragona
• Valencia
• Paella
• Andalucía
• Granada
• The Real Hotel Washington Irving
• Feeding the Lion
• The Alhambra
• Definition of "Arabs' and Moors'
• Cool, Clear Water
• The Tombs of Ferdinand and Isabella
• Málaga
• Cádiz
• Where Sherry Was Born
• Sevilla (or Seville)
• The Barber of Seville
• The Archivo General De Indias
• Chapman's Description of the Archivo General De Indias
• Importance of the Guadalquivir River
• The "Casa de Contratación" (House of Trade)
• The "Torre Del Oor" (Gold Tower)
• The Giralda
• The Most Recent Tomb of Columbus
• La Mancha
• Toledo
• Madrid
• Enter, The Heroine
• "Take this Little Box"
• The Monument to Cervantes
• The Plaza Mayor
• San Isidro, The Farmer Patron Saint of Madrid
• The Caves of Luis Candelas
• The Bullfights
• The Pirate Station
• The Prado
• The Museo Thyssen Bornenisza
• Some Monuments to Columbus
• The Columbus Monument in Madrid
• A Casualty of Castilian Courtesy
• Dripping Through Georgia
• Home At Last!

It was not until this morning (some three weeks after I returned from the trip, or about June 4, 1998) that I had completely recovered from the seventeen incredible days that I spent recently in Spain. That was a very strenuous trip, which I, as a card-carrying octogenarian, do not recommend to the faint-hearted.
 

The reason is very simple. As best I can tell, it was the Spaniards who invented the cobblestone, that slick-as-glass riverbed product which they always mount in their streets and patios, edgewise, so that the rounded, slick, angular surfaces are uppermost. Furthermore, I discovered that the Spaniards always chose the most inaccessible places, on the top of steep mountains, as the sites for their castles and cities. Therefore the present-day tourist, if he or she wants to see those places, has to spend most of his waking hours tottering over cobblestones and perching at a 45-degree angle, which eventually separates the muscles from his bones, and it takes them several weeks to grow back together again.
 

Furthermore, at the age of 85, I found it difficult to adjust to the fact that the Spaniards do not open up for breakfast until 10:00 a.m.; they do not get serious about eating the "noon" meal until 2:00 p.m., and, as for "dinner" or "supper," that comes about 9:00 p.m. or later.
 

However, I did survive and am just now beginning to enjoy my memories. In fact, that experience has set off a chain reaction reaching all the way back to the days of my youth, and I intend to set those recollections down here now, which means that I may never get the whole story written, but my son, John Robertson McLean, and my younger grandson, Douglas Duncan McLean, each intimated, privately and rather strongly, that they expected me to "write up the trip," following the example I had set when I wrote my article entitled "TEN DAYS IN MEXICO AS A GUEST OF THE NATIONAL GOVERNMENT, WITH ALL EXPENSES PAID (September 1-10, 1997." But there was a vast difference between the two trips. On that occasion, I was the guest of honor, up front, center, on the stage, being interviewed and photographed for radio and TV, but on this trip to Spain I had resolved not to take any notes, just relax and enjoy it.
 

Finally I gave in, and phoned John to bring me the guide books that we had used on the journey, so that I could refresh my memory about the places we had visited, the sequence in which the events occurred, and get the spellings of the names of the people and places correct. About an hour later he turned up with two large sacks crammed with everything that the five members of our party had accumulated on the journey, and it took him at least 30 minutes to pull them all out, unfold them, and pile them up on my desk. (I think that I detected a gleam of sadistic pleasure in his eye while he was doing that.) There were a total of 160 (ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY) items, and they will all be described herein below, but first I want to tell about how I originally got interested in Spain and the Spanish language.
 

Grandpa McLean had about 500 acres of black waxy soil in a farm in Bell County, on which he had grubbed up the mesquite roots, with the help of a team of oxen, and he had planted cotton on the best part of it, which, as he boasted, would "produce a bale to the acre." In fact, the crop was so prolific that we could not pick it all by ourselves: we had to use migrant Mexican labor.
 

One year Grandpa hired the family of Pedro Águila (whom Daddy insisted on calling "Peter Eagle," but I did not know why until I got into high school and found those words in the Spanish dictionary). Grandpa told them that they could camp out in the little white house back down in the pasture (where Mama and Daddy had lived when they were first married, but which was now standing vacant). On the first afternoon after they had moved in, Grandpa came back from the barn, chuckling to himself about something that to him must have seemed very funny. When Grandma asked him what he was laughing about, he replied: "That Mexican feller asked me if he could go into the barn and get some mice to eat. I told him 'why shore! Take all you want!!!"
 

Years later I found out that what the man had asked for was "maíz" (corn), which has been the staple food of the Mexicans ever since the time of the Aztecs.
 

Pedro Águila had a little boy about my own age, so he put him to picking cotton alongside me, and it was not long before that little boy volunteered to give me my first lesson in Spanish. He was remarkably advanced for his time, using the oral-aural method, "realia," and all the other techniques which did not come into common use in The University of Texas until the end of World War II.
 

To be more specific, he would pick up a rock, yell "mira," and then say "piedra." I was supposed to repeat "piedra" while realizing that what he was really trying to say was "rock."
 

Then he would point to a boll of the fluffy white stuff and say "algodón." I was supposed to figure out that he meant "cotton." It was not until I was in my senior year in college, in a special phonetics class, that I learned that this word had come into Spanish from Arabic, that the word "al" meant "the" and that, phonetically, when the voiced "g" became a voiceless "c," and the voiced "d" became a voiceless "tt," the resulting English word was "cotton." Very simple, right?
 

That little boy also gave me my first lesson in Latin American folklore. He taught me a little song that went like this:
 
 

Pajarillo, pajarillo, pajarillo borinqueño,
toma esta cajita de oro; ve a ver qué tiene adentro
Tiene amores; tiene celos, y un poco de sentimiento.

It was a pretty little song, but I did not pay much attention to it at the time, but many years later, when I found out that "borinqueño" was an ancient term referring to Puerto Rico, I began to wonder if we had had a descendant of Puerto Ricans right there in our own cotton patch. Small world, isn't it? Then the song made sense to me, and I was able to translate it as follows:
 
 

Little bird, little bird, little bird from Puerto Rico,
Take this little box and look to see what it has inside.
It has some love, some jealousy, and a little bit of sentiment.

In other words, the singer wants the little bird to take a message back to the folks in Puerto Rico. In graduate courses at The University of Texas, they call that folklore, and they even assign students to write dissertations on such topics as "A COMPARATIVE STUDY OF 'LA PALOMA' AND THE 'PAJARILLO BORINQUEÑO," but let us return now to my interest in Spain.
 

By the time I entered Belton High School, I had enough interest in Spanish that I took three years of it: the first two under a tall brunette named Kirtley Edwards, and the third year under a slender, soft-spoken green-eyed young man named C. M. Franklin who had grown up in San Antonio and learned to speak Spanish from his companions on the street. It was a very small class--only about six or seven of us--so the teacher could give us individual attention.
 

The first thing that he did was to announce that he would lend each of us a book in Spanish. We were to read it and write a report, in Spanish. The first paragraph would contain a summary of the story, and the second paragraph would contain our comments on it.
 

When I finished my report and turned it in, he looked up and said, in an off-hand manner, "Would you like to do another one?" I said that I would, so he lent me a second book, and so on, until I had finished eight. That last one was SANGRE Y ARENA, by Vicente Blasco Ibáñez, and it contained about 400 pages. When I got home and looked through it, I discovered that the last 100 pages had never been cut (or "opened," as a purist librarian would say.)
 

Later on in the semester, he would come to class and tell us an entire story in Spanish. Eventually I learned that some of those stories were Spanish versions of Washington Irving's TALES FROM THE ALHAMBRA.
 

Early in the summer of 1930, shortly after I had finished my third year of Spanish, under Mr. Franklin, I received a postcard in the mail which read as follows:
 

Granada 23 de junio  ¡Hola amigo! Estoy
aquí en la en-
cantadora ciudad
de los moros. Es
preciosa.
 

C. M. Franklin

Mr. Malcolm McLean
Belton, Texas
Estados Unidos de
America.

This postcard bore a stamp which read "ESPAÑA CORREOS 15 CÉNTIMOS," and. printed vertically, along the left side, it said: "Abelardo Linares, Alhambra, Granada."
 
On the other side was a beautiful picture, in color, of a view of the countryside, taken through double arches, with three iron bars across each window, and a round column between them, with six little arches over the double arches, and then one large arch over the whole thing, showing the intricate geometric figures with which the surrounding surfaces were decorated, and with this inscription underneath:
 

["Ajimez" is defined in my Real Academia Española, DICCIONARIO DE LA LENGUA ESPAÑOLA, as follows: "Arched window, divided in the center by a column." "Torre de la Cautiva" means "Tower of the Captive Lady." I should mention that, before we went on this trip, John's wife, Ellen Miles McLean, and their younger son, Doug, had already made a trip to Spain, and, on September 4, 1997 they bought a book entitled THE ALHAMBRA. TALES BY WASHINGTON IRVING. EDITORIAL ESCUDO DE ORO, S. A. Palaudaurias, 26 - Barcelona (Spain), 3rd Edition, July 1995, and, on page [284] of that book there is a full-page color reproduction of that same view, with this caption: "Prisoner's Tower." Notice how much has been lost in the English translation: the translator has completely omitted the most romantic part of the story: the captive was a female.]
 

I still preserve that postcard among my souvenirs, after 70 years, as a tribute to the tremendous influence which C. M. Franklin, my high school Spanish teacher, exercised upon my professional career..

On graduating from high school, I went to The University of Texas at Austin, took a placement test in Spanish, skipped the first year (Spanish A), the second year (Spanish One), and enrolled in the third year (Spanish 12), but I did not learn anything that year because the teacher was using the same texts that my teacher had been assigned when he was in school there, the same ones that he had given me to make special reports on.
 

Finally, when I became a graduate student under Professor Miguel Romera Navarro, he got a scholarship for me so that I could spend six months doing graduate study in Spain, with all my expenses paid, if I could raise enough money to pay for the trip over there and back, but I could not, so I had to resign the scholarship.
 

Many, many years later I told this story to our younger grandson, Douglas Duncan McLean (affectionately called "Doug"), and it lay fallow in his mind for several years. Then he went to work for American Airlines, and, as one of the fringe benefits of that position, he is given a number of free standby tickets which the immediate members of his family can use each year. Suddenly he had an inspiration: he wanted to send his parents and his grandparents to Spain, and go along with them himself to make sure that they enjoyed the trip properly.
 

Recently he has received a raise and a promotion, which now allows him to take THREE WEEKS of vacation each year. Immediately he started reading up on Spain and decided that the best time to go over there, to avoid the tourist crowds, would be during the first two weeks in May. Then he began to analyze the day-by-day departures and moved our date of departure to April 30, then the 29th, then the 28th, and finally wound up by scheduling us to start on Monday, April 27, 1998.
 

When Doug first started to work on this project, he intended to use his complimentary American Airlines standby tickets, but, during the course of his research, he came across another offer from Delta Air Lines which was so cheap that he, being of Scotch descent, just couldn't resist the bargain, so he took it. Then he had the tickets for all four of us sent to me, here in Georgetown, Texas, by Federal Express. On April 23, 1998, at 1:50 p.m., our doorbell rang, and there were our tickets, along with five books about Spain. The FedEx man was still parked in front of our house, and had just finished punching into his computer the information that the tickets had been delivered to us, when the phone rang, and it was Doug, who had been tracking the tickets all the way across the United States, from his office in Los Angeles to our home in Georgetown, and he just wanted me to confirm the fact that they had been delivered, a fact which he already knew, of course.. I opened up the package, and my ticket read as follows:
 

DAY/DATE MON. 27 APR 98
FLIGHT 1066
STATUS OK
CARRIER/VENDOR DELTA AIR LINES INC.
CITY LV DALLAS/FTWORTH
TIME 100P [1:00 p.m.]
SEAT 18 F *
CLASS COACH
MEAL SNACK
REMARK [symbols of knife and fork]
*BRD PASS AVAIL AT CHECK-IN
 

CITY AR ATLANTA
TIME 401P [4:01 p.m.]
 

DAY/DATE MON 27 AP 98
ER/VENDOR DELTA AIR LINES INC.
CITY LV ATLANTA
TIME 540P [5:40 p.m.]
SEAT 37D*
CLASS COACH
MEAL DINNER
REMARK [symbol that looks like a fish headed west, with two black dots on top and three legs underneath]
 

DAY/DATE TUE 28 APR 98
FLIGHT *BRD PASS AVAIL AT CHECK-IN
CITY AR BARCELONA
TIME 1005A [10:05 a.m.]

DAY/DATE WED 13 MAY 98
FLIGHT 109
STATUS OK
CARRIER/VENDOR DELTA AIR LINES INC
CITY LV MADRID
TIME 225P [2:25 p.m.]
SEAT 25C*
CLASS COACH
MEAL LUNCH
REMARK [that same peculiar symbol described above]
*BRD PASS AVAIL AT CHECK-IN
 

CITY ARR ATLANTA
TIME 525P [5:25 p.m.]
REMARK [symbols for fork and knife]
DAY/DATE WED 13 MAY 98
FLIGHT 241
STATUS OK
CARRIER/VENDOR DELTA AIR LINES INC
CITY LV ATLANTA
TIME 710P [7:10 p.m.]
SEAT 31F*
CLASS COACH
MEAL SNACK
REMARK [symbols for fork and knife]
*BRD PASS AVAIL AT CHECK-IN
 

At this point I should mention that, among the things that John brought me, there is a brown manila envelope containing 48 print-outs of information which he and Ellen had compiled in preparation for the trip, and it starts off with some sheets which reveal the following:
 

That Flight 1066, from Dallas to Atlanta, left from Gate 17DFW, on Delta Boeing 767-300, and arrived in Atlanta at Gate BO1(ATL), a flight distance of 731 miles, and there was no movie.
 

Flight 108, from Atlanta to Madrid, departed from Gate E18 (ATL), on Delta Lockheed Tristar (L1011-25/500, arriving at Gate OPS (MAD), flying distance 4,336 miles, and there was a movie.
 

Flight 108, which continued from Madrid to Barcelona, departed from Gate G1 (MAD), on Delta Lockheed TriStar ( L1011-250/500), arriving at Barcelona at Gate G1 (BAR), a flight distance of 302 miles.
 

Therefore, if you add 731, 4,336, and 302 miles, you get a total of 5,369 miles that we traveled in one continuous flight, with only two stops (one in Atlanta and the other in Madrid), and, if you multiply that 5,369 miles by two, you would be tempted to conclude that we traveled a total of 10,738 miles, but we actually traveled more than that, since we returned from Barcelona to Madrid by automobile, over very winding roads. God only knows how many miles that was, and He won't tell!
 

Second thought: when Doug arrived in Barcelona, he rented a car, and he saw the kilometer reading on the odometer at that time, and I feel sure that another reading must have been recorded when he took the car back to turn it in, in Madrid, so maybe he can give us the total "kilometraje" that we traveled from Barcelona to Madrid, but I am getting ahead of myself in the story.

In turning through all the material that Doug had sent, I noticed that each ticket had a value of $461.51 (four hundred and sixty-one dollars and fifty-one cents), so I offered to reimburse him for mine, but he refused to take any money, saying: "I'm not sure, Grandpoppie, but I MAY be making more than you are now."
 

"Wonderful!" I replied. "Let's keep it that way!"
 

When I looked at my old passport (the one that I had used when I was working for the U. S. Information Agency in Latin America), I noticed that it had expired on November 22, 1963, so I realized that I would have to apply for a new one.
 

On March 17, 1998, I wrote three letters in an attempt to find out what I needed to do in order to go to Spain. The first one was addressed to Doug at 8227 Redland St., Playa del Rey, CA 90293. It was returned marked "Unknown at this address." However, the very next day, although Doug had not received my letter, he sent me an e-mail letter, in care of his father (John), containing a complete list of all the information that I needed.
 

Also on March 17, 1998, I had written a letter to the Spanish Ambassador, Washington, D. C. 20000. It was returned marked "Undeliverable."
 

In reply to the third letter that I wrote on that date (to the Secretary of State, Department of State, Washington, D. C. 20000), I received a reply, on April 11, 1998, enclosing a pamphlet entitled "FOREIGN ENTRY REQUIREMENTS," for the whole world, and, on page 17, second column, fifth paragraph, I found the following entry:
 

 SPAIN - "Passport required. Visa not required for tourist or business stays up to 3 months. for additional information check with Embassy of Spain, 2375 Pennsylvania Ave., N.W., Washington, D. C. 20037 (202/425-0100 and 728-2330) or nearest Consulate General in CA (415/922-2995 and 213/938-0158), FL (301/446-5511), IL (312/782-4588), LA (504/525-4951), MA (617/536-2506), NY 212/355-4080), PR (809/758-6090) or TX (713/783-6200).

Meanwhile, by March 28, 1998, John had learned that passports are also issued in Killeen, Texas, due to the large movement to countries overseas from Fort Hood, so on that date he picked me up, and we went to the Killeen Post Office, and there, in a back room, I applied to Nikki Edwards for a passport to go to Spain. I paid her $15.00 cash for making my passport pictures. I also gave her check No. 1043, dated 03-28-98, for $60.00 for my passport. I also spent an extra $10.75 for an Express Mail stamp and gave it to her, since she said that this was the fastest way to have the passport delivered to me. She said that it would arrive before April 25, 1998. Ms. Edwards also gave me a telephone number to call if I had any questions about the passport.
 

On April 16, 1998, I called that number (1-900-225-5674) and talked to Cristine, who told me that it would cost me an additional $35.00 to expedite the passport, and that a bill for that amount would come to me with the passport. She said that there would also be an additional charge of $12.00 for overnight mailing, and asked if I had a credit card, so I authorized her to bill that amount to my Discover Card.
 

On April 20, 1998, I had a telephone call from a Miss Johnson, United States Department of State, Houston Passport Agency, 1919 Smith Street, Suite 1100, Houston, TX 77000-8049, saying that there would be a $35.00 charge for expediting the delivery of the passport, but that I already had a stamped EXPRESS MAIL envelope in with my application, and she asked me which way I wanted the passport sent. I said "by the fastest way possible."
 

On the morning of April 22, 1998, at 9:30, by Federal Express, I received Passport No. 132566302, issued 20 APR/AVR 98, in the name of Malcolm Dallas McLean, accompanied by an unsigned letter dated 4-17-98, instructing me to send a check for $35.00, to Miss Johnson at the address shown above, with a copy of the aforementioned unsigned letter, which I did. I still have in my files the unused FedEx Letter envelope--the one that cost me $10.75 in Killeen.. It was returned to me by the aforementioned Miss Johnson, along with my new passport, and my old one..

The U. S. State Department works in a devious way, its wonders to perform!
 

Now that I have my plane ticket and my passport, it is time to get this show on the road, but first we need a cast of characters. Here it is:
 

Malcolm Dallas McLean, age 85, the lagging man.

John Robertson McLean, my son, age 54. John controlled the purse strings during the trip, bore all the responsibility for paying the bills: hotels, meals, tips, taxi fares, tickets to museums, and so on. He also was carrying a state-of-the-art, highly sophisticated Sony Video camera, with a zoom lens that enabled him to close in on details that were faintly visible in the architecture hundreds of feet overhead, or to back off from those black Spanish bulls across the highway, when they curled their tails over their backs and began to paw and bellow, in response to some taunting remark that he had yelled to them in bull language.

Ellen Miles McLean, John's wife, also age 54. She carried with her a large number of those new-fangled disposable cameras that enabled her to come back with five or six packs of still pictures.

Mrs. Margaret Sanders Miles (affectionately called "Marky"), age 76, Ellen's mother. A still active bookbinder by profession, she had brought along a little 4" x 7" volume of blank pages which she had bound herself, and in it she planned to keep her "Journal," or sketches of things we saw along the way.
 

Douglas Duncan McLean ("Doug"), age 26, the younger son of John and Ellen, and (by genealogical derivation), my grandson. He planned the entire trip, and he was always out front, when we were exploring the narrow, winding streets of those cities, and he did all the driving when we were traveling by automobile across country. In fact, after all the rest of us had gone to bed, he volunteered to go out again and explore the leading night spots, but we never got a full report on those expeditions.
 

(My wife, Margaret Stoner McLean, was unable to make the trip with us, for reasons of health, but we did keep her posted on our progress across Spain, much to her surprise, as will be seen below.)
 

As every well trained researcher knows, the first thing to do, in tackling a new research project, is to review the literature that is already available on the subject. John began this process last Christmas, when he gave me a volume entitled DISCOVER SPAIN, with this note inside: "Dad, lets go back to where it all started." Just on the off chance that somebody who reads this article may decide to make a trip to Spain himself (or herself, or itself), I am going to give a complete bibliographical description, below, of that volume and several others that Doug accumulated in anticipation of the trip. They are as follows:
 

BERLITZ. DISCOVER SPAIN. Reveals the spirit of Spain. Guides you to the best local hotels and restaurants. Includes extensive maps, town plans and leisure routes. BERLITZ. Ken Bernstein and Paul Murphy. Copyright 1994, 1995, 1997 by Berlitz Publishing Company Inc., 400 Alexander Park Drive, Princeton, NJ 08540-6306. ISBN 2-8315-061-6.
 

Fodor's EXPLORING SPAIN. COMPLETELY UPDATED. THIRD EDITION. Special Marketing, Fodor's Travel Publications, 201 East 50th St, New York, NY 10022. ISBN 0-679-03216-9.
 

INSIGHT GUIDES. Created and Directed by Hans Höfer. SPAIN. Executive Editor: Kathleen Wheaton. Photography by Joseph Viesti and others. Editorial Director: Brian Bell. Houghton Mifflin Company, Berkeley Street, Boston, Massachusetts 02116-3764. ISBN 9-62421-046-2.
 

Tourist Guide. MICHELIN. Spain. MICHELIN TYPE PLC, Tourist Department - The Edward Hyde Building, 38 Clarendon Road - WATFORD Herts WD1 1SX - U.K. ISBN 2-06-152302-1.
 

ESTANCIAS DE ESPAÑA, Menéndez Pidal, 31, 28036, Madrid, Spain. 1998.
 

We went from Georgetown and Jarrell to the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport, from there to Atlanta, from Atlanta to Madrid, from Madrid to Barcelona, then from Barcelona back to Madrid, and from Madrid back to Atlanta, D/FW, Jarrell, and Georgetown. When John brought me all that literature, he spread out before me a huge map, forty-seven inches wide by thirty-nine inches long, which was labeled: "990 España Portugal Espagne 1/1 000 000 - 1 cm : 10 km. CARTE ROUTIÈRE ET TOURISTIQUE MICHELIN 46.Av. de Breteuil 75324 PARIS CEDEX 07 - Doctor Esquerdo.157 - 28007 MADRID." On this map, using a "highlighter" pen a quarter inch wide, he had carefully entered a yellow line, tracing our route from Barcelona, southwest along the coast of the Mediterranean, all the way to S. Pedro de Alcántara, then across country, west, to Cádiz, then north to Sevilla, east to Córdoba, then north through Toledo to Madrid.
 

Using this map, I was able to sort out the mountain of material he had brought me, placing it in folders under the names of the different cities, and I shall list it below, in that order, with an occasional commentary, but the reader should bear in mind that we did not always make our observations as a group: sometimes Ellen and Marky would go to a museum or a church, while John and Doug went elsewhere to drive around the city and make pictures, or to find a better hotel, or the best way to get to a point of interest, while I stayed at the hotel and rested for the entire party. Therefore it will be necessary for me to give each of them a rough draft of this account, with a request that they correct the errors and add their own observations, which I can then incorporate into the finished product.
 

The details of our trip were recorded in four different ways. The first to be completed was Marky's "Journal," which she kept as we went along, and, as soon as she got home, she made photocopies and mailed one to each of us.
 

The second version is to be found in John's three "Polaroid SUPERCOLOR PLUS VIDEO CASSETTES . . . 246m VHS T-120," which he has labeled very precisely as follows:
 
 

"Part I - Spain, Spring 1998"
"Part II - SPAIN - Spring 1998"
and
""Part III - SPAIN - Spring -1998."
 

The third account is to be found in Ellen's packets of still-picture color prints.
 

The fourth version is this narrative summary which you see unfolding before your very eyes.
 

A fifth version, as yet a still unknown quantity, may emerge eventually in the form of whatever Doug saw, photographed, or wrote about the trip.

Just before we started on our trip, the airlines adopted a new set of regulations to reduce the amount of baggage that could be carried on board by each passenger: one suitcase with two wheels on the bottom, zipper pockets on the outside, and a retractable handle; one smaller bag or valise that could be carried on top of this larger bag; a woman's purse, and items needed for walking, such as Marky's cane and four-wheeled cart. Apparently backpacks and items carried around the waist, such as John's camera equipment and sporran or belt pouch, were not excluded. Therefore our baggage consisted of four of those Wal-Mart "Lucas" two-wheeled carts, each with its smaller bag on top and towed by the owner thereof.
 

At 6:00 a.m. on Monday morning, April 27, 1998, John picked me up in Georgetown, stopped to get Ellen and Marky at the McLean Beefmaster Ranch near Jarrell, and continued north on I-35 to Waco, where we had breakfast at the "I.H.O.P.," which Margaret and I had known many years ago, in its more dignified, unabbreviated form of the "International House of Pancakes." We had a very ample breakfast, and it was there that Marky started her "Journal." She has the incredible gift of being able to take just one look at a landscape, capture its salient characteristics, and reduce it, in proper proportions, to the pages of her notebook. In fact, her sketches were so good that, when Margaret saw them first and then looked at John's films later, she could identify those landmarks immediately. We made it to the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport on schedule; John left his car at Remote Parking, and we boarded our flight for Atlanta.
 

By referring back to the section on 'THE PLANE TICKET," you will see that we were scheduled to arrive in Atlanta at Gate BO 1, and to leave from Atlanta through Gate E18. That left us with the very real problem of getting from Gate 1 to Gate 18. What we did not know was that Doug had foreseen this difficulty and had arranged to have two dusky damsels standing by with wheelchairs, one for me and one for Marky. (At that time I did not consider myself to be wheelchair material, but by the time that I had finished the trip I realized that I should be reclassified to face the realities of plane travel.)
 

Ellen put Marky's baggage on her little four-wheeled cart and set off across the airport at a terrific rate, followed by Marky and me, comfortably relaxing in our wheelchairs, with the dusky damsels trotting along behind. Just as I was getting relaxed, I happened to glance back over my left shoulder, and there was John, carrying his backpack, with his camera and sporran tied to his belt, and pulling his suitcase with his smaller bag on top. To that suitcase, on the right hand side, he had tied Ellen's baggage, and, to the right of that, and a little farther back, he had tied my suitcase, so there he was, carrying or towing the luggage of three people, with perspiration popping out on his forehead, and I could almost hear him muttering something like this:
 

"When I resigned from I.B.M. after 30 years of service, I never dreamed that retirement would be like this!"
 

With Ellen opening up a hole through the traffic in front, Marky and me whizzing along in our two wheelchairs behind her, and John, back to the left, with that string of three rolling suitcases fanned out in an echelon like one side of a flight of geese, we swept through that airport in much the same formation as the phalanx developed by Philip II of Macedonia, and with startled oncoming tourists cascading against the walls on either side.
 

Thanks to John's superhuman efforts, we caught the other plane on time, left Atlanta at 5:45 p.m. on Monday, April 27, and arrived in Barcelona at 10:05 a.m. on Tuesday, April 28.
 

As soon as we arrived in Spain, John changed some of his U. S. dollars into Spanish money, and the rate of exchange was about 150 pesetas for one dollar. That would make each peseta worth a little more than 0.006666 cents in U. S. money, if you can trust my handheld computer. I never found out what anything actually cost, because John paid all the bills. When we got back to the States, he had the following samples of Spanish currency left:
 

One BANCO DE ESPAÑA bill for 2,000 pesetas dated April 24, 1992, and bearing a picture of José Celestino Mutis, with a magnifying glass and pencil in one hand and a plant specimen in the other. He was an astronomer and botanist who was born in Cádiz in 1732, lived for a long time in Colombia, where he studied the flora of that country, and he died in 1808. He made some very interesting studies of quinine.
 

Five BANCO DE ESPAÑA bills for 1,000 pesetas each, all dated 12 October 1992 (the 500yh anniversary of the discovery of America), and bearing a portrait of Hernán Cortés, the conqueror of Mexico.

One coin with a quarter-inch hole through the center, marked "25 PTAS PAIS VASCO" [Basque Country], with a castle, on one side, and "ESPAÑA 1993" on the other.
 

A similar coin marked "25 PTAS MELILLA 1497-1997," with an "ánfora" [urn with a handle on each side and pointed at the bottom] off to the left. On the other side it says "ESPAÑA 1997," and, below that, a building boasting two towers with crosses.
 

A third coin, slightly smaller than the above, inscribed: "5 PTAS ISLAS BALEARES," with a man on horseback. On the other side: "ESPAÑA 1887 MENORCA . . ". [I can't read the rest of it.]
 

A fourth coin, same size as the above. Marked: "5 PTAS LA RIOJA" with a costumed female figure and a bunch of grapes. Other side: "ESPAÑA 1996" and a building with a rounded arch entrance in the center, and a pointed spire on the right.
 

Add all the foregoing figures together, and you get a total of 7,060 pesetas, or about $47.07 (forty-seven dollars and seven cents, U. S. currency}, for this splendid collection of Spanish engraving and minting.

Marky had brought with her some Spanish coins that had been sent to her by her brother (probably tongue-in-cheek), because, when she tried to buy something with them, they were politely returned to her with the explanation that they were not negotiable because they bore the image of Franco.
 
 

On arriving in Barcelona, we went immediately to check in at the
 

Hotel Ambassador Barcelona
Pintor Fortuny, 13 . 08001
Barcelona, Spain
Tel. 412 05 30
Fax 302 79 77 - 317 50 53
Telex 99222
Internet e-mail : rivoli@alba.mssl.es

It turned out that we had reservations for only two nights at this hotel because there was to be a tremendous sports convention of some kind, beginning on the third day, and all their rooms had already been reserved previously for that occasion. Therefore John had to go to a central office which handles such information to find us another hotel, which he did, but, when he was checking out of the Ambassador, the desk clerk surprised him with the news that there would be a charge for the use of that computer.
 

"Why, I never had to pay for using a computer in a hotel in the United States," John exclaimed in astonishment, so the clerk promptly took that item off the bill. (Who knows? John may have started a new trend in computer circles throughout Europe.)
 

On the afternoon of April 29, 1998, we hailed a taxi and moved all our things to the
 

 Gran Hotel Havana
Gran Via de les Cortes Catalanes, 647
08010 Barcelona (España)
Tel: (9)3 412 15
Fax: (9)3 412 26 11
Telex: 97420 HHP-E

As soon as we finished that call, John sheepishly took my Casio Data Bank watch and set it on "DUAL" with the time in Spain, so that I could consult it before making my next call to Margaret.
 

Meanwhile Margaret, remembering that Doug was still in Los Angeles, anxiously waiting to find out where we were in Spain, immediately put in a call to him. Doug replied immediately, at 2:16 a.m., with an e-mail letter addressed to "Senor John McLean/Malcolm McLean. It read, in part:
 
 

Hey, by the way..great job you bunch of yahoos!
Way to wake-up my grandmother at 4am..who then
passed along the sorrow to me by calling me at 2am in
Los Angeles. You guys may need to ask the
consulate what time it is before you place another
international call!!!!

Doug joined us in Barcelona on Saturday, May 2, 1998, and that night, after all the rest of us had gone to bed, he went out to take a walk around the town. Since he is about six-feet-four and has long legs, he covered a huge amount of territory and returned to our room very late and completely exhausted.
 

Meanwhile, when Doug arrived, John had told him that he could sleep in the bed on the other side of the telephone table from him. Then, after Doug had gone out for his walk, John got out his transformer and laid it on the phone table so that he could use it next morning to recharge the batteries for his camera, and I could use it to recharge my electric razor. The last thing that John did before going to sleep was to call down to the desk and leave a wake-up call for the next morning.
 

Sometime during the small hours of the morning Doug came back and flopped into bed, and was sleeping very soundly when that wake-up call came. Still only half awake and very groggy, he reached for the table and tried to pick up the phone to answer. Suddenly he was jarred wide awake when he realized that he was trying to talk into the transformer instead of the phone!
 

Before leaving Los Angeles, Doug had made arrangements to rent a car at the Barcelona airport so that he could use it to drive us across Spain from Barcelona to Madrid. Next morning, when we went downstairs to make our first trip in it around town, I walked around it and made the following notes:
 
 

M . 9035 . US
2.1 TURBO D
DIESEL - OIL
CITROËN
EVASION
AQUAMARINE
GREEN
7-PASSENGER
The two backseat entrances were sliding doors.

I did not notice any safety inspection sticker, but there was probably one around somewhere, since the car appeared to be almost brand-new, nor did I see any Saint Christoper medal or other mascot symbol hanging from the rear-view mirror which might have been blessed to guard us against accidents, as would probably have been the case in Latin America. However, all my fears were laid at rest (well, almost) when Doug, after getting us all properly seated, turned to face us from the front seat and delivered a brief
exordium to the effect that, regardless of any conclusions we might reach en route, we were not to express them aloud, since he promised to deliver us safely to our destination. In other words, he voiced the expression which I heard separately from each of the other travelers at one time or another on our journey, and which I realized was rapidly becoming the McLean motto. He said: "Don't help me!" We didn't, but there were several times when we came very near doing so.
 

The first thing that I noticed, on arriving in Barcelona, was that the Spanish language had had a terrible series of accidents. In fact, it looked like it had been run through one of Don Quixote's windmills and suffered badly from the encounter. For example, the first example that falls out of my Barcelona folder is a pamphlet labeled
 

That caught my proofreader's eye immediately, for, after having studied Spanish for three years in Belton High School, five years at The University of Texas at Austin, and two years at the National Autonomous University of Mexico, where I mastered the rules as laid down, both by the Academia Mexicana and the Real Academia Española, I would have written that line as
 

Oh, well, four misses out of five is better than nothing. You see, Barcelona is located in what used to be an ancient principality and region in the northeastern part of the Iberian Peninsula. It consists of the provinces of Barcelona, Tarragona, Lérida, and Gerona. It borders on France to the north, which probably accounts for many of the things that happened to the spelling and accentuation of the language of Cervantes and Lope de Vega.
 

Now let's list some of the literature that we picked up along the way.
 

BARCELONA Prestige Primavera - 1998 - Spring.
PLANO DE BARCELONA.
See barcelona . . . Inside: Nightlife Shopping Museums City Maps Eating Out Points of Interest and much more...
 

BARCELONA HOTELS 1997.
BARCELONA 1998 HOTELS.
 

One of the first places that we went to (and to which we returned several times) was "La Rambla," which is a name derived from the Arabic word for dry riverbed. In this case the river bed has been paved over to provide a wide walk, lined on each side by tall, slim sycamore trees which they keep trimmed up to a height of about 20 feet and then allow them to branch out over the walkway and streets. Along the walkways on each side are little shops; then there are lanes marked off for bicycles and motorcycles (of which there are many), and finally, outside of all that, on each side, are the streets for cars. Therefore, once the pedestrian gets onto the center section, he can walk for a long, long way, in the shade, meeting and greeting his friends, or sit down at a sidewalk table for a drink or sandwich. We found these "ramblas" in several other cities that we visited. The one in Barcelona is described in the guidebook called DISCOVER SPAIN, on pages [203] and 205-206 as follows:
 
 

The start of La Rambla is marked by the statue of Christopher Columbus, on top of his 50m (164ft) "Monument a Colom." on this famous street there is a bustle and energy unmatched almost anywhere else in Europe. Resist the temptation for just a while and look out over the waterfront.

A replica of the "Santa María," Columbus's flagship, is berthed by the fleet of pleasure boats that tour the harbour, and you can clamber aboard them all. There is a cable-car which flies over the harbor to the characterful dockside area of "La Barceloneta," famed for its fish restaurants. If you are interested in seafaring history, don't miss the "Museu Marítim (next to the Monument a Colom), which charts over seven centuries of ship building in Barcelona.
 
La Rambla stretches nearly 2km (1 mile) up a gentle incline to the city's hub, the "Plaça de Catalunya. It changes name seamlessly five times, though you will notice the character and denizens do alter throughout. The lower stretches are the seediest, and the Barri Xino (Chinatown), to the left, is best avoided, especially at night. A little further along and just off the Rambla is the "Palau Güell," the splendid fortress-like mansion Gaudí built in 1885 for his patron.
 
On the opposite side of La Rambla is the handsome but decayed "Plaça Reial." Until recently, this arcaded square was a notorious haunt of low lifers, but now it is regaining its past fashionable image. On this stretch of La Rambla you will start to encounter street entertainers, jugglers, fire-eaters, musicians, human statues, or whatever the latest craze is.
 
The next building of note is the "Gran Teatre del Liceu," a monument of the Catalan Renaixença period, opened in 1847,
and very plush inside. It was gutted by fire in January 1994, but every effort is being made to reopen it as soon as possible. Across the way is the venerable "Café del'Opera," a good spot for refreshment.
 
The heart of La Rambla is the Pla de la Boquería. The 19th century market here, known as "La Boquería," is a city highlight.
Huge, lovingly arranged mounds of fruit, vegetables, seafood, sausages, meat, poultry, herbs, spices and sweetmeats for a cornucopian mosaic under the high-ceilinged ironwork naves. It opens at dawn but closes down in mid-afternoon, so time your visit accordingly.
 
The next part of La Rambla is famous for its flowers and is one of the most photographed scenes in the city. The blossoms
give way to birds and their vendors and La Rambla finishes at Plaça de Catalunya.

Barcelona Bus Turístic [4 copies].
Guia d'Autobusos Urbans de Barcelona.

These bus tours have headphones and tape recordings in eight languages, which the tourist can tune in to his own language and listen to the descriptions of the various points of interest as the bus passes that place.
 

Gaudí Tour espai Gaudí.
THE GÜELL PALACE GAUDÍ.
 

The most highly visible artistic and architectural influence that the tourist sees in Barcelona is the work of Antonio Gaudí, a Spanish architect who lived from 1852 to 1926. He created a daring style characterized by sinuous forms and naturalistic decorative motifs. His masterpiece is the unfinished church called "La Sagrada Familia" (the Holy Family), in Barcelona. He was also the author of the Güall Palace, the Güall Park, the Casa Milá, and so on. We visited the Güall Park, where the most prominent characteristic that I remember is his fondness for covering practically every available surface with angular fragments of chinaware embedded in cement. I particularly remember the top of a hill where there was one long, winding, continuous bench, all covered with those fragments, and it was designed in such a way that it tempted people to gather in clusters, about twenty or thirty feet apart, while their children had a tremendous time romping all over the place. Marky was so fascinated by it that she borrowed John's camera and tried to take one continuous, 360-degree picture of it to show how that bench just went on forever, but she became so engrossed looking down into the camera that she got all twisted up like a corkscrew, and it took quite a while for her to get herself untangled.
 

L'aquàrium BARCELONA BE DARING! RISQUEZ LE COUP! FATTI CORAGGIO! [2 copies]
Maremagnum Museu Marítim L'Aquàrium Multicines Imax
[four tickets to] L'aquàrium

Mundo Submarino S.A.
Moll d'Espanya del Port Vell, s/n
08039 Barcelona Tel. 221 74 74
IVA inclò - NIF; A 60015724
CAIXA DE CATALUNYA CAIXA DE CATALUNYA

"And the octopuses, the moray eels, the sea horses, and schools of tropical fish... At L'Aquàrium de Barcelona. Europe's largest aquarium. Take a fascinating journey to the bottom of the sea that you will always remember."
 

Built on the edge of the Mediterranean, and filled with salt water, showing endless specimens of marine life in their native habitat, and with an underground (or undersea) passageway with rounded glass walls, between which the tourist can walk and observe the marine life on both sides, as well as overhead, and in one place there is even a moving sidewalk, which is probably the only way that they can get some of the children out of there; otherwise they would stay forever. I had to stand back and look over the heads of several rows of school children, but John, with the zoom lens on his camera, could move in much closer to the octopuses than I ever wanted to be.
 

At this point in the folder I find three postcards, all written from Barcelona to Margaret about 4-30-98, and each bearing 115 pesetas worth of stamps. They seem to have arrived in Georgetown, Texas about May 11, 1998. One card shows La Rambla; the second one shows sundry tourists wandering down the "Carrer del Bisbe" (the name of a street), and the third one shows four ducks, and a distant tourist, waddling through the Claustre de la Catedral.
 

Here we have a leaflet, in color, and a cash register receipt showing that we paid 1,445 pesetas for "MEDIANA PAN PEPPERONI."
 

As the last thing in this folder, I find two black bars of JABON SOAP Magno La Toja, each containing 15 g. of SODIUM TALLOWATE, SODIUM COCOATE, SODIUM STEARATE, AQUA, GLYCERIN, PARFUM, POTASSIUM RICINOLEATE, RICINOLEIC ACID, TETRASODIUM ETIODRONATE, PEG-75 LANOLIN, SUCROSE, CI 77499, abd CI 60725.
 

No wonder John did not dare touch the stuff!
 

The Official Guide to MONTSERRAT

Guide officiel
 

On Sunday, May 3, 1998, we started on our journey southwest along the coast of the Mediterranean. During our stay in Barcelona we had acquired a guide book to Montserrat, an ancient Benedictine sanctuary and monastery located a few miles northwest of that city, but we were anxious to be on our way, so we did not visit it. A glance into that guide book shows that it would be an interesting place to visit next time. A sample of some of the entries under "History":
 
 

888 First documented mention of Montserrat.
1025 Foundation of the monastery by Oliba, abbot of Ripoll and bishop of Vic.
1223 First testimonies of the presence of Boy Singers.
1490 Installation of a printing press at Montserrat.

And so on. Therefore we continued on our way to

Visiti l'antiga - Visite la antigua
Visitez l'ancienne - Visit ancient
TARRACO
 

[Two tickets reading:]
MUSEU D'HISTORIA     ENTRADA GENERAL
DETARRAGONA             475 - PTES
 

AMFITEATRE    FORUM ROMÀ     MUSEU     MUSEU CASA
                            ROMANITAT                         CASTELLARNAU
                            CIRC I PRETORI

MURALLES
Passeig Arqueològis
 

As soon as I saw the name of that city, I recalled that, somewhere far back in my dimlit memory (probably when I was driving the delivery truck for the Ramsey & Buchanan Grocery, in Belton, back in the 1920s), I had heard that word associated with a kind of vinegar, so this morning I went and asked Margaret about it. "Yes," she said. "There is a 'tarragon' vinegar, but I never associated it with Spain."
 

Next I looked it up in WEBSTER'S THIRD NEW INTERNATIONAL DICTIONARY, and there I learned several things:
 

To begin with, there is a "tarragon" that is a small European perennial wormwood grown for its pungent aromatic foliage that is used in making pickles and vinegar.
 

Secondly, "tarragona" is a Spanish port-like wine, so called for Tarragona, a region in northeastern Spain where it is produced.
 

Thirdly, there is a "tarragon oil", an aromatic essential oil obtained from tarragon and used chiefly as a flavoring oil -- called also "estragon oil."
 

But that isn't the whole story. I looked in the book called DISCOVER SPAIN, and here is what it says (on pages 212-213):
 
 

Tarragona
The Romans landed in Tarragona (they called it "Tarraco") in the 3rd century BC and rapidly established it as an important military and political headquarters. It grew to a population of 30,000, coined its own money and by 27 BC was the capital of Hispania Citerior (later to become "Tarraconensis"), the largest Roman province in Spain. During this period of occupation a number of emperors lived here including such luminaries as Augustus and Hadrian. The legacy is some of the finest monuments to have survived from this period: the city walls, a great aqueduct, an amphitheatre, plus some fine museums and mosaics.

[At this point there is a little inset box which reads as follows:]

BLOOD OF CHRIST
If you have ever wondered where the wine that is used to celebrate Holy Communion comes from, the answer may well be Tarragona. De Muller, the city's largest and most prestigious wine concern have been specialist suppliers of altar wine (the symbolic blood of Christ) for generations. They export their organically produced sweet white wine all over the world and have been suppliers to the Vatican and many popes. In keeping with the changing taste of the market as a whole, altar wines have become drier in recent years.

That day we passed through Valencia, the third largest city in Spain, which is surrounded by an infinity of orange trees. It is described in DISCOVER SPAIN, page 223, as follows:
 

Valencia is over 2,000 years old, founded in 138 BC by the Romans The Visigoths displaced the Roman Empire here in AD 413,  followed three centuries later by the Moors. The city flourished as the capital of a far-flung Moorish kingdom until the Spanish hero El Cid captured it at the end of the 11th century and became Duke of Valencia. The Moors subsequently retook control after less than a decade and stayed in place until the city's final reconquest in 1238 by James I of Aragon. Valencia remained a kingdom under Aragon until the merger with Castile in 1497.

Somewhere along the way, we left the main road and drove down to a seaside resort, where we ordered "paella," the dish for which Valencia is most famous. The PEQUEÑO LAROUSSE defines it rather conservatively as "a plate of rice with meat and sea food, vegetables, etc., which is eaten in the Valencian provinces and throughout Spain."
 

It is the "etc." which gives the cook a free hand to clean up the kitchen and toss in anything that was caught in the net that day: shrimp, crabs, octopus, and various other unidentified denizens of the deep, and there is no need to remove the shells, or feelers, or tails, or eyes. Throw that in, too; that's all good stuff! You start with a large, flat, iron pan, fill it with rice, add water, and then drop in anything else you can find, from time to time, and let it simmer over a slow fire.. At intervals you tilt the pan slightly to see how it is coming along, and finally, after several hours, if you can turn the pan upside down, and the contents do not fall out, the paella is ready to serve.
 

The dictionary of the Royal Spanish Academy adds that the rice is dry (to begin with). That is what makes this dish so popular at diplomatic functions. The guests, knowing that the rice will be dry, fortify themselves with many varieties of liquid refreshment while the dish is in preparation.

Sunday night, at 11:27 p.m., we finally reached Alicante and spent the night in the Hotel Bahía, Rooms 116 and 118.
 

[Periodical entitled:] ANDALUCIA GUIA DE OCIO ¿QUE HACER? WHAT'S ON? MAYO / MAY Edita; Turismo Andaluz S.A., Centro International de Turismo de Andalucía, Ctra. Nacional 340 - Km. 189.6, 29600, MARBELLA. (Málaga).
 

[A folder published by the JUNTA DE ANDALUCIA, Empresa Pública de Turismo, entitled:] Parque Natural Sierra de Grazalema.
 

On Monday, May 4, 1998, we drove from Alicante to Granada, which means that, when we crossed the line into the province of Almería, we entered a region called Andalucía. I had first heard of Almería from Professor Romera-Navarro, who would talk about how wonderful it was to sit outdoors at night, there along the shores of the Mediterranean, and gaze up at the stars, "because," he added, "there wasn't anything else to look at in Almería."
 

Andalucía (pronounced "Ahn-DA-Loo-SEE-yah" in Spanish, and mispronounced "Anne-duh-LOSE-yuh" in English) is a term which needs to be defined here because Andalucía is not a province or a town: it is an entire region composed of the eight southernmost provinces of Spain: Huelva, Cádiz, Sevilla, Málaga, Almería, Granada, Jaén, and Córdoba. In the book entitled DISCOVER SPAIN, on page 236, we find this succinct description:
 
 

The civilizing Romans built roads and aqueducts, they brought their language, their laws, and, eventually, Christianity. The Most profound foreign influence on Andalusia, however, came from the Moors, whose occupation of this area lasted longer than in any other part of the country. Muslim-controlled Andalusia enjoyed prosperity, technological advance, intellectual attainments and tolerance. After the Reconquest, the south played a leading role in Spain's Golden Age of discovery and empire.

[Folder entitled:] PLANO DE GRANADA UN LUGAR PARA COMPRAR UN LUGAR PARA SOÑAR A PLACE TO SHOP A PLACE TO DREAM El corte Inglés GRANDES ALMACENES . DEPARTMENT STORES.
 

Turning now specifically to Granada, we find this description in DISCOVER SPAIN, on pages 261-262:
 
 

Two factors have combined to make GRANADA inspiringly different from Andalusia's other Moorish cities: its site at the foot of the slopes of the snow-capped Sierra Nevada, and its stubborn historical resistance.

For more than two centuries, while the rest of Spain was building GOTHIC cathedrals and heating up the Inquisition, Granada remained a self-sufficient island of Islam, encircled by the unfinished Reconquest. Moors seeking safety from vanquished Córdoba and Seville swelled the population. Some of these refugees were great craftsmen, pitching in their talents to make medieval Granada a showcase city. When Ferdinand and Isabella accepted the keys to conquered Granada in January 1492, they discovered such splendor that they adopted the ALHAMBRA for their own uses.

On Monday night, May 4, 1998, at 8:00 p.m. we arrived in Granada and took up our lodgings in Rooms 105 and 106 of the Real Hotel Washington Irving, Paseo del Generalife, 2, Alhambra, 18009 Granada, Spain. Tel. (958) 22 75 50. This hotel was originally named for the United States writer, Washington Irving, who spent three months there in the spring of 1829, took extensive notes about the history, flora, and folklore of the place, actually living for a while in the Alhambra itself, then went to London in 1832, and there, on the eve of his return to the United States, he prepared for the press the volume which we have already mentioned above, published under the title of THE ALHAMBRA: TALES BY WASHINGTON IRVING.
 

The leaflet handed out at the counter describes the place as follows: "Situated in the gardens of the Alhambra. 80 rooms with bath and telephone. Large rooms for conventions. American bar, Restaurant, T. V. Room, Store, and Barber Shop." Actually the atmosphere suggested something like what one might find at the Harvard Club (but I must admit that I have never seen the Harvard Club). Incidentally, I noticed that, whenever the clerk answers the phone, he makes life simple by merely saying "Washington Hotel," which may lead the uninitiated to conclude that the place was named for the Father of our Country, and not for one of the Fathers of our Literature.
 

On the right hand end of the hotel desk is a bronze or cast-iron figure of a lion, with a wide, open mouth, and the word "CORREOS' [mail] over the slot, into which we fed two postcards, Both addressed to Margaret:
 

1. The one from Marky contained an excellent color photograph with this printed identification in Spenglish: "Courtyard
of the Leones."

2. The card that I sent depicted "THE PRODUCTION OF NEW  COINS AT THE MINT." On the right there were two men
alternately melting metal in an outdoor, open faced furnace, and pouring it out to cool in thin sheets on a marble-topped
stone table. Then on the left was a much longer table where other workers were cutting the round coins out of the
sheets, stamping them with images, stacking them into piles, and putting them into a sack. Between the two tables were
two women, watching closely to see that the work was done properly. On the top of the wall in the background was rooster,
crowing, and, down in the foreground was a cat toying with a mouse. Vertically, down the center of the card, was this
inscription: "EXPOSICIóN - MONEDA ANDALUSÎ EN LA ALHAMBRA. PALACIO DE CARLOS V - GRANADA."
 

(On second thought, those women may have been urging the men to hurry up and get through, so that they could use that same outdoor oven to bake their bread in, while it was still hot--a custom which is still followed in Latin America.)

(As for that rooster, the women may have been eying him
as the obvious answer to the question "What's for dinner?")

(The cat already knew the answer to that question.)

Both cards navigated the lion's alimentary canal safely and eventually reached port in Margaret's mailbox.
 
 

Some additional items concerning the Alhambra:

CITY TOUR Alhambra.

[Ticket dated 05/05/98, granting] ENTRADA AL CONJUNTO DE LA ALHAMBRA Y GENERALIFE [with an admonition "not to touch the columns or lean on them."]

[A postcard giving a night view of part of the Courtyard of the Lions.]

OFFICIAL MAP OF THE ALHAMBRA AND THE GENERALIFE.

GRANADA.

REAL ALCAZAR REAL AUDIOGUÍA [four copies of a map designed to accompany a tape recording describing the Royal Palace. In
Spanish, English, German, French, and Italian. Choose one.]
 

Quoting once again from DISCOVER SPAIN, this time from pages 262-263 and 266:
 
 

The Alhambra is actually a series of palaces, built in the 14th century. It was guarded by a sturdy ALCAZABA (fort) while by contrast its magnificent gardens provided a refuge for a civilization under siege. After the Reconquest, the citadel of the ALHAMBRA suffered centuries of vicissitudes and years of neglect, but recently  it has been restored, and now shines again as the most magnificent medieval palace the Arabs ever built -- anywhere. 'Nothing in life is sadder than to be blind in the Alhambra', reads the old inscription.

There was also another little tab containing a price tag marked "1.250", but I left that on, hoping that Margaret might read it as "dollars," but it actually stood for "pesetas," or about eight dollars and thirty-three cents.
 

Now we resume our climb up to the Alhambra, borrowing a few more choice sentences from DISCOVER SPAIN:
 
 

You enter through the former council chamber(MEXUAR) and a patio into the Arabian-Nights PATIO DE LOS ARRAYANES (Court of the Myrtle Trees). The reflecting pool, a focus for photographers, is populated by a pack [school?] of plump goldfish. In the SALÓN DE EMBAJADORES, the royal audience chamber, the walls, five storeys high, are decorated with the most delicate examples of Arabic filigree and calligraphy. At the center of the delicately arcaded PATIO DE LOS LEONES (Court of Lions) stands a fountain supported by a dozen cascading stone lions. Splendid rooms radiate out on every side, inviting leisurely exploration. The joy of the Alhambra is the detail of its beautiful ornamentation, mostly in frail stucco and wood . . . .

At this point in reading the travel literature, I realized that the authors seemed to be using the terms "Arabs" and "Moors" interchangeably, so I thought I had better clear that up. Here is what I found:
 

An "Arab" is a member of the Semitic people of the Arabian peninsula, originally of the Bedouin tribes in the north of the peninsula and east of Palestine.
 

A "Moor" is a member of a dark-skinned people of mixed Arab and Berbar ancestry inhabiting ancient Mauretania in North Africa and conquering Spain in the 8th century A.D.. It was these Moors who exercised such a wide influence on the southwestern United States and throughout Spanish America, as I shall explain in greater detail when we get to Sevilla.
 

When the Moors came out of the arid, treeless Sahara Desert of North Africa, they no doubt had dreams of finding, somewhere, a land of cool, clear water, with an endless expanse of trees, flowering plants, and green vegetation of all kinds. They found it on the mountain where the Alhambra now stands, and they made the most of it. First they erected some buildings with very thick walls and high ceilings, which served both to repel the enemy and provide plenty of shade. Next they found an endless supply of water. The travel literature does not tell me whether it was brought on aqueducts from the nearby Sierra Nevada, whose snow-covered peaks rise to an altitude of more than 11,000 feet, or whether it comes from a gushing spring at the top of that mountain. Anyway, they used it in a marvelous way.
 

The Moors had brought with them the knowledge of how to make tiles, so they proceeded to use those tiles to conduct the water gently down the mountain, through all those buildings. In channels only about a foot wide and six inches deep, they started with streams on either side of a wide, shaded walk. Then they let the water run along what we would call banisters, on either side of the walk, then descend and cross over to meet in the center, and cascade down between two sets of steps, separate again, and continue through those tall shade trees, and continuous flower beds, with little openings along the way so that the water could turn aside and keep everything properly irrigated. Then the rest of the water continues down the mountainside, and, whenever it enters a building, it proceeds to a fountain in a central patio, rises to emerge through a central pipe and fall into a series of basins, murmuring, gurgling, rippling, tinkling, laughing, and eventually splashing forth through the mouths of those twelve marble lions in the Patio de los Leones.
 

In the center of the city of Granada stands the Capilla Real (Royal Chapel), the great masterpiece of Enrique de Egas, which serves as the mausoleum for the Catholic Monarchs. To quote again from DISCOVER SPAIN (page 267):
 
 

. . . The façade, with its twisted columns and blind arcade, displays remarkable qualities of dignity and refinement, and this applies just as truly to the interior. Behind a glorious wrought-iron screen, the white marble effigies of Ferdinand and Isabella lie on the right-hand side of the chancel, with those of their daughter, Joan the Mad, and her husband, Philip the Fair. Look into the crypt below to see the simplicity of their actual lead caskets. Under glass in the sacristy are Ferdinand's blunt-tipped sword, with a small gold handle a child could barely get a grip on, and Isabella's jewelless crown. They seem such paltry, almost ironic, artifacts to celebrate the memory of two monarchs who shaped the history not only of Spain, but much of the New World. . . .

On Wednesday, May 6, 1998, we drove from the Alhambra via Málaga and Ronda to Cádiz, where we stayed at the Hotel R. de Francia y París, Plaza de S. Francisco, 6, E-11004, Cádiz, Spain (Rooms 402 and 403). All that I knew about Málaga up to that time was what little I could glean from the song "Malagueña" ("Málaga Girl"), the classical piece played on the guitar and sung by Roy Clark, but there was more in that song about the girl than there was about the city, so we stopped just long enough to pick up a pamphlet entitled GRATIS EXTRA MALAGA / COSTA DEL SOL . . . ABRIL, but it was all about real estate and contained nothing about the girl, so we drove on.
 

We had much better luck in Ronda, the birthplace of bullfighting, which Doug had heard about several months earlier when he went to Pamplona to take part in what they call the "encierro," or "the running of the bulls," but, judging from the shots shown on TV, it looks more like "the running of the PEOPLE by the bulls." Anyway, I find the following documentation in our "RONDA' folder:
 
 

A map of "RONDA," issued by TURISMO ANDALUZ, S.A.
Two color postcards showing "Ronda (puiente del Tajo)y plaza de toros" ("Ronda (bridge across the Tajo and the bullring").
Two tickets to the "Plaza de Toros de la Real Maestranza de Caballería de Ronda" ("the Bullring and the Ronda Royal Riding Club of Noblemen").
A big, thick, beautiful, book entitled "RONDA and the Serranía ,155 Coloured Photos City Map Map of the Area by José Páez Carrascosa Translation: Mrs. Katie Boyle."
This last volume is the most beautiful, scholarly, and thorough study of a region that we have ever seen, and we are going to pay it the most sincere compliment of all by quoting here an extensive passage from it, limiting ourselves, however, to the part about the origin of bullfighting:

But the most representative building of all is THE PLAZA DE TOROS (BULLRING) and a visit is a must. More a bullfighters sanctuary than a Bullring, it is the oldest one in existence for modern bullfighting.

. . .
It was inaugurated the 11th. of May 1784 but some of the rows collapsed during the celebrations and it had to be reconstructed and was inaugurated once again the following year during the May fair with the performance of Pedro Romero and his rival Pepe Hillo.
. . . At present very few bullfights are held here but in the second week in September the Goyesca Bullfight and the Ronda Bullfight of Lances are held. The Goyesca Corrida is unique in the world according to Ernest Hemmingway and aficionados from all over the globe come to receive lessons in Classical Bullfighting and many of those attending dress in the style of late XVIIIth century period of the artist Goya. The celebrations are in memory of Pedro Romero who according to all chronicles gave life to and set all the rules for modern bullfighting.

. . .
His grandfather, Don Francisco Romero, began as one of the bravest men of his time by standing in front of the bull with a hat in his hand or a cape, just as a pastime, but he became so expert that he began to teach how to use the cape and to kill by the rules he had acquired from his own experience. He invented the muleta, a scarlet cape with a wooden stick for support . . . .
His father, Juan Romero, was the one who really organized the cuadrilla (or crew) with picadors, banderillos, assistants, etc. he died aged 102.

Moving on now to Cádiz, we find the following items among our souvenirs:
 

A detailed map of the "COSTA DE LA LUZ (Cádiz)."

A pamphlet with the same title, containing "DATOS DE INTERÉS USEFUL INFORMATION."

A leaflet labeled "TRASMEDITERRANEA En la Cresta de la Ola CADIZ

BIENVENIDOS BIENVENUS WELCOME WILLKOMMEN."

Four tickets to the MUSEO DE CÁDIZ.
 

The following description of Cádiz appears in DISCOVER SPAIN, on page 340:
 
 

Rolling Atlantic waves crash against the rocky defence of this narrow peninsula city, basking in the sunshine. The Atlantic Ocean has shaped the history of Cádiz. It was founded about 3,000 years ago by Phoenician traders from Tyre, on account of its excellent harbor, and is therefore one of the world's oldest cities. Christoper Columbus, too, valued the location, and it was from here that he departed on his second and fourth voyages to America. . . .

On Thursday, May 7, 1998, we drove from Cádiz north to Sevilla and took rooms 103 and 112 in the Hotel Simón, García de Vinuesa, 9, 41001, Sevilla, Spain, at a rate of 22,500 pesetas per night. On the way we passed through the heart of the wine-producing country, and we took time to turn off the main highway and drove a few miles west to the town of Jerez de la Frontera, which became world-famous because it added the word "sherry" to the English language. However, it will take a bit of explaining to show how "Jerez" came into the English language as "sherry." DISCOVER SPAIN, our never-failing source in time of need, starts off the story by saying:
 
 

Just 400 years ago, Sir Francis Drake forcibly brought sherry to the attention of the English public. In a raid on Cádiz, the swashbuckling Drake seized nearly 3,000 barrels of the admirable aperitif. Then known as "sack," or "sherry-sack", it soon graced all the fashionable tables of London.

But what about the "y" in "sherry"? We must remember that there are still two pronunciations of "z" in Spain. In the northern part, it is pronounced "th," so, if the folks in London applied that pronunciation to the "z," and moved the stress back to the first syllable, as the British have a tendency to do, then "Xerez" could come out as "sherry."
 

Anyway, we were driving along and remembering what our guide book had said: "Old wines and young horses bring fame to Jerez . . . . As for the horses, the Royal Andalusian School of Equestrian Art has the smartest, prettiest, light-footed mounts you may have ever seen. . . ." Suddenly, right there on our right, we saw exactly what we were looking for: beautiful horses in a paddock on one side, and a huge winery on the other. We drove in, went to the office, and discovered that we had entered the domain of
 
 

JOS ESTEVEZ, S.A. (Bodegas Marqués del Real Tesoro)
Ctra. Nacional IV, km. 040
11408 Jerez de la Frontera (Cádiz)
Tlfno. 956 321004
Fax 956 340829
e.mail realtesoro@ctv.es

Ma. del Mar Reguera, Dpto. Visitas, received us graciously and offered to conduct us on a tour, but explained that, since they had not been expecting visitors, it would take a little time to get everything ready. Meanwhile she would show us the fine horses, the stables, and the tack room, of which Sr. Estevez was very proud, but, unfortunately, he could not receive us personally since he had taken his best horses to a fair. So we began with the hippic tour and wound up in the tack room, where everything was very elegant, but John remarked that two things were missing: there was no aroma of manure or horse sweat, two things which he always associated with stables back home.
 

By that time the winery was ready, so we went up into the balcony of what resembled a huge gymnasium, with the assembly line stretched out before us, and, just as we entered, somebody pushed a button, and the bottles began to march out of a hole in the wall on the right and weave back and forth along the assembly line toward our left, where they were gathered up, put in boxes, and loaded to go to market.
 

Next the lady took us to the "bodegas" or storage vaults where the barrels of wine were stored in huge piles. I remember seeing one marked "Amontillado," which reminded me of Poe's "The Cask of Amontillado" which we read in high school.
 

Then she took us to the sales room and allowed us to taste samples of four different varieties. She also gave us a leaflet which contained a description of the variety called "REAL TESORO TIO MATEO," with a guarantee signed by José Estévez, President of the Company, which read:
 
 

I guarantee that TIO MATEO is the first and only wine produced with the traditional system of the Jerez and the Manzanilla, with an application of the exclusive ESTEVEZ METHOD, which means that it PRACTICALLY DOES NOT CONTAIN ANY HISTAMINE. . . .

By now it was lunch time, so, at our request, the guide recommended that we visit a restaurant called the Bodegón de la Blanca Paloma, which assured us in its literature that it was a place where we could "Discover the most incredible andalusian cooking, and the purest 'flamenco-rociero' ambiance surrounded by timer [sic] green sea of the sherry vineyards," adding "vill offer you a Sherry on the house," and that there would be a "Flamenco Show in Live week-ends."
 

Somehow, after all that Southern Spanish hospitality, we were still able to find our way to Sevilla.
 

Our travel folder on Sevilla rivals the one on Madrid for thickness. First there is a leaflet headed "MAPA DE SEVILLA Welcome Ole!" (split into two parts).
 

After that is a large folder with a map of "SEVILLA - SEVILLE'" on one side, and numerous descriptions of points of tourist interest around Seville, on the other.
 

Then there is a 112-page newspaper headed "A B C SEVILLA 9 DE MAYO DE 1998," and behind that is another issue of the same newspaper, marked "NÚMERO ESPECIAL .. . MAYO DE 1998 ASÍ FUE LA FERIA DE ABRIL." Devoted to the bullfights.
 

Next comes the most beautiful one of all, an 86-page book, in full color, labeled on the front cover: "ALL SEVILLA A COLLECTION ALL SPAIN SEVILLE ENGLISH." I. S. B. N. 84-378-1496-0. Printed by FISA - Escudo de Oro, S.A. Palaudarias, 26, 08004 Barcelona, Spain. 1997.
 

After that I find a pamphlet or magazine labeled ""Revista Gratuita de Ocio y Cultura" ["Free Review of Idleness and Culture"] SEVILLA laútil (?) DE TU CIUDAD NO . ABRIL . 1998. . . ."
 

Plus issues of the magazine "Sevilla Welcome Olé" for April and May, 1998.
 

And the May, 1998, issue of the magazine called "The Tourist Sevilla Light and colour De luz y color."
 

As soon as we arrived, Doug came up to me and said, with a twinkle in his eye: "Grandpoppie, I think you need to get a haircut. There are lots of barbers in Seville." He was referring, of course to the opera called "The Barber of Seville." As a matter of fact, Seville has inspired more operas than any other city: THE BARBER OF SEVILLE, THE MARRIAGE OF FÍGARO, DON JUAN [the greatest lover of all time], FIDELIO, and CARMEN, to name the most famous. However, after glancing at the top of my head, he realized that I did not have any hirsute ornamentation, the indispensable prerequisite which enables the barber to ply his tonsorial trade, so Doug came up with another suggestion: he would scout around town to see if he could find something else that might be of interest to me.

In less than an hour he came back, all excited, and exclaimed: "Grandpoppie, I've found the Archivo General de Indias. I think you would be interested in seeing that!"
 

How Doug knew that I would be interested in the Archivo General de Indias is beyond me. Back in the 1960s--some ten years before he was born--I did have some dealings with those archives. I had discovered, in the Béxar Archives, at The University of Texas, Austin, an early eighteenth century manuscript giving the history of what is now the State of Nuevo León, Mexico, and I undertook to translate it into English, but, as I was nearing the end of the manuscript, I came across the author's statement that he was enclosing a map of the region, but there was no map, either in the Béxar Archives, or in the State Archives of Nuevo León, in Monterrey, or in the Archivo General de la Nación, in Mexico City. Therefore, in desperation, I got off a letter to the Archivo General de Indias, in Sevilla. You can imagine my astonishment, and delight, when, by return airmail, I received an 8"x10" glossy print of that map! It was accompanied by a letter dated May 3, 1962, from Sr. José de la Peña, Director del Archivo de Indias, granting me permission to publish it.
 

Meanwhile I had become acquainted with Professor Eugenio del Hoyo, Director of the Biblioteca Cervantina (Rare Book Collection), of the Instituto Tecnológico y de Estudios Superiores de Monterrey, and he volunteered to use his influence to get the manuscript published, so it came out under the title of DESCRIPCIÓN DEL NUEVO REINO DE LEÓN (1735-1740) por

DON JOSEPH ANTONIO FERNÁNDEZ DE JÁUREGUI URRUTIA, su Gobernador y Capitán General. Edición de Malcolm D. McLean, Texas Christian University, Fort Worth, Texas, U.S.A., y Escuala de Verano del Instituto Tecnológico y de Estudios Superiores, Monterrey, Nuevo León, Méx. MONTERREY. 1963 The map appears on page [103].
 

In 1964 Monterrey Tec published my English translation so that they could give complimentary copies to their distinguished visitors whom they invited to come down from the United States each year and give them professional advice. The complete description of that edition is as follows: DESCRIPTION OF NUEVO LEÓN, MÉXICO (1735-1740) by DON JOSEPH ANTONIO FERNÀNDEZ DE JÁUREGUI URRUTIA, Governor and Captain General. Edited by Malcolm D. McLean, Texas Christian University, Fort Worth, Texas, U.S.A., and The Summer School of the Instituto tecnológico y de Estudios Superiores, Monterrey, Nuevo León, México. Translated by Malcolm D. McLean. Monterrey, Nuevo León, México. The Summer School of the Instituto Tecnológico y de Estudios Superiores de Monterrey. 1964. The map also appears on page [103] of that edition..
 

When Doug first reported the Archivo General de Indias, I took a deep breath and tried to summarize, briefly, all the things that I had heard Dr. Hackett and Dr. Castañeda say about the importance of that institution, during the years that I listened to their lectures at UT-Austin, but my dim memory could not do justice to the subject. Therefore, after I got back home, I looked it up in A HISTORY OF SPAIN, FOUNDED ON THE HISTORIA DE ESPAÑA Y DE LA CIVILIZACIÓN ESPAÑOLA OF RAFAEL ALTAMIRA BY CHARLES E. CHAPMAN, PH.D., ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF HISTORY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. New York. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 1948, and there, on page 476, I found it stated very succinctly. In speaking of the eighteenth century, he said:
 
 

. . . This . . . was an age of official accumulation of libraries; the royal library, forerunner of the present-day Biblioteca Nacional, was thrown open to the public in 1714. Archives, also, were reorganized and their contents put in order. Such was the case with those of Simancas and the crown of Aragon, while many documents relating to the Americas were taken from the former in 1785 to make a beginning of the great Archivo General de Indias at Seville

. . . .

The PEQUEÑO LAROUSSE ILUSTRADO says that the Archivo de Indias contains more than 50,000 "legajos" (dossiers, files, or bundles of documents) referring to the Spanish Colonies of the New World. Therefore we went over there, met the lady in charge, and she gave us her card, which reads as follows:

Pilar Lazaro de la Escosura
Jefe de Servicio de Referencias
Archivo General de Indias
Avda. de la Constitución, s/n
Tlf. 450 05 30
Fax. 421 94 85 41004 SEVILLA

Sevilla grew to be the fourth-largest city in Spain because it straddled the Guadalquivir River, which is 400 miles long, and, although the city is 70 miles from the sea, it became the head of sea-going navigation. According to DISCOVER SPAIN, page 253:
 
 

The history of Sevilla leaps from success to success, under the Romans, the Visigoths, and the Moors. After the Reconquest, Seville won a monopoly on trade with newly discovered America and great riches literally flowed straight into the city on the River Guadalquivir (Seville is still Spain's only major river port). During this Golden Age, a slogan developed: "Madrid is the capital of Spain, but Seville is the capital of the world." . . ..

Therefore, in 1503, Spain established in Seville a "Casa de Contratación" (or "House of Trade") where all those going to the New World had to sign their contracts. Here we quote from Chapman, page 348:
 
 

. . . In dealing with the Americas a practice was made of gathering geographical data which for its completeness has scarcely ever been surpassed. Explorers were required by law to make the most detailed observations as to distances, general geographical features, character of the soil, products, animals, and peoples, with a view to the collection and the study of their reports at the "Casa de Contratación," for which purpose the post of cosmographical chronicler of the Indies was created. Equal amplitude of data was also to be found in books of travel. To enumerate the contributors to geographical knowledge it would be necessary to name the hundreds of Spanish voyages and explorations in the new world of which accounts were written by their leaders or by friars accompanying the expeditions. . . .

The tourist guide called MICHELIN SPAIN, on page 246, contains this information about the Gold Tower:
 
 

.. . . The ramparts on the north side of the town, the lofty Alcázar, the Torre del Oro (Gold Tower) -- built in 1220 on the banks of the Guadalquivir to guard the port which could be closed by a chain stretched across the river to another tower, since vanished, on the far bank -- and finally, the Giralda, are all reminders of Seville's Moorish occupation.

. . . The discovery of America in 1492 brought new prosperity to Sevilla. Expeditions to the new world set out from the port. Americo Vespucci (1451-1512), the Florentine who determined to prove that Columbus's discoveries were not the Indies but a new continent to which his own name was ultimately given; who set out in 1519 to circumnavigate the world. . . .

Today this Gold Tower marks the point of embarkation for cruises up and down the Guadalquivir River. Among our souvenirs I find four tickets for the cruise that we took. On our return there was a photographer waiting to surprise us with two splendid photographs that he had taken of us as we went up the gangplank: one of Marky and one of me, with Ellen in the background, and in both cases the "Torre de Oro" looms up very prominently behind us, and there is a very artistic golden frame showing scenes from Seville..
 

In one of the passages quoted above there is mention of "the Giralda," a term which we need to explain more fully here. The best description that we have found of this structure is contained in the guide book entitled ALL SEVILLA, on pages 4-[6], as follows:
 
 

. . . From amongst the surrounding buildings rises the elegant Giralda Tower, a marvel of brick and stone, embellished with the grace of Moorish art.

Although tradition attributes its construction to the Moorish architect Gever, it now seems that this celebrated tower was commenced by Abu Yugub Yusuf and was completed during the reign of his successor, Almanzor Jacob. The work was supervised by a poet, Abubequer Benzoar, and this fact probably explains the sensation of delicate fantasy which invades one  on contemplating the unique and elegant design of the Giralda.

The 93-metre high tower was originally surmounted by four globes, but these were destroyed by an earthquake in 1568. Hernán de Ruiz added four Renaissance figures and the huge pinnacle of the Triumph of the Faith. This pinnacle is moved by the wind and is the origin of the tower's name, for the people of Seville call it "La Giralda", the name for a weather vane on which is mounted the figure of a person or animal. This tower is without doubt one of the most popular Spanish monuments, and according to the historian Aben Said Basala, "it excels all other towers in Spain."

As we have mentioned above, there were several bold explorers who sailed from Seville, one to give a name to the New World, and another to undertake to sail all the way around the world, but the most famous person to return to Seville was Christopher Columbus, and he did that posthumously, after having been buried in several other places first. Our book DISCOVER SPAIN, on page. 253, sums it up as follows:
 
 

It seems that even in death Christopher Columbus was exceedingly well travelled. He died in Valladolid [Spain] (incredibly, alone and virtually forgotten) in 1506, and was interred for the next 27 years in the monastery of La Cartuja in Seville. The rest of his posthumous journey is fogged by historical confusion, but the bones were shipped off to Santo Domingo and maybe to Cuba. After the defeat in the Spanish-American War, his presumed remains sailed back to Seville, where he finally received the heroic tomb that he might have expected.

On Saturday morning, May 9, 1998, we left Sevilla and headed east, then north, to Toledo, where we arrived at 2:00 p.m. and found lodging in the Hotel Maravilla, Plaza de Barrio Rey, 7, 45001 Toledo, Spain. Phone: 22 33 00. We took rooms on the Planta Baja, Nos. 104 and 105. On that leg of our journey we were passing through the western portion of the region called "La Mancha," which has been made famous in world literature by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, in his novel AVENTURAS DEL INGENIOSO DON QUIJOTE DE LA MANCHA, a satire on the romances of chivalry. La Mancha is defined as a district which includes parts of the provinces of Ciudad Real, Toledo, Cuenca, and Albacete--level and monotonous, producing cereals and wine, and famous for its windmills.
 

Cervantes began writing this book in Argamasilla de Alba, a village in the Province of Ciudad Real. At one point, as we were driving through this province, we saw, off to our left or west of the highway, a long ridge with eight or nine of those huge windmills of the type which Don Quijote, in his fevered imagination, mistook for giants. They are not like the windmills that we are familiar with in West Texas--tall, slender, steel towers topped by blades spinning in a sandstorm and a sucker-rod screaming for oil.

These Spanish windmills had a broad, squat, stone base, surmounted by huge arms or blades that came down almost to the ground, so that Don Quijote could easily have charged them, and got his lance hung in a blade, which moved inexorably upward, leaving the doughty knight and his steed dangling in the precarious position in which they are depicted in the novel. We shall have more to say about Cervantes when we get to Madrid.

In addition to the two folders about the Hotel Maravilla, which include a map of the city, here is the rest of the literature that we find in the Toledo folder:
 

CASA MUSEO EL GRECO.

[Map:] TOLEDO Junta de Comunidades de Castilla-La Mancha.

[Postcards:] SAGRADA FAMILIA Museo de Tavera Pintor: El Greco

TOLEDO Calle típica Rue Typique Typical street [child riding donkey]

TOLEDO Puente San Martín Escudo Imperial de Toledo.

Pont San Martín. Ecusson Imperial de Toledo

San Martín Bridge. Imperial Shield of Toledo.

TOLEDO. Vista general y vendedor típico.

Vue Générale et vendeur typique ,

General view and typical Hawker.
 

Here is an excerpt from what DISCOVER SPAIN has to say about Toledo (taken from page 106:
 
 

Everything that is quintessentially Spanish, in terms of tradition, grandeur and art, is crammed into El Greco's adopted home town, set on a Castilian hill-top. The one-time imperial capital remains the religious centre of Spain and an incomparable treasure-house of the fine arts, but Toledo is not just a collection of museums, Above all, this is a town to wander in, drinking in the ancient atmosphere, just happening upon vestiges of a glorious past. . . .

Toledo is also famous for another reason, as we can see from the following paragraph taken from DISCOVER SPAIN, page 109:
 
 

Toledo is famous all over the world for the quality of its steel, and swords have been forged here since the times of the ancient Romans. According to legend, the special property of the steel is inherited from the magical water of the river Tagus which surrounds the town. Look out for [i.e., watch for] "damascene" steel souvenirs. This is a craft unique to the city, which nvolves inlaying black steel with decorative gold, copper and silver filigree.

Following the guide book's instructions, we "looked out for" damascene steel souvenirs, and we found a dealer in precisely those items. His card reads:
 
 

* DAMASQUINADOS
* PORCELANAS
* REGALOS

================
 

Toledo de Ohío, 7
Calle Comercio, 36
Tel. ( 45001 TOLEDO
Fax. ( (925) 21 68 70 E S P A Ñ A

GARANTIZAMOS
PIEZA DAMASQUINA-
DA DE ORO AMARILLO DE 24 KTS.
Y ORO VERDE DE 18 KTS.
CON UN MÍNIMO DE 4 - 6
MICRAS DE ESPESOR IN-
CRUSTADO.

On Sunday morning, May 10, 1998, we set out from Toledo for Madrid, and, right there on our windshield,

but that was the only real rain in Spain that we encountered during our entire trip. We took rooms 304 and 305 in the Hotel Mercator, c/ Atocha 123, Madrid, Spain. Tel. (91) 429 05 00.
 
 

Now this little tourist tale is suddenly going to assume epic proportions, with heroic characters, but, in order to prepare the reader for what is to come, we need to violate the classical unities of time, place, and shift our setting to another time, and another clime.
 

The basic facts of the story are summed up very nicely in a magnificent two-page feature article by Marshall Anderson which appeared in the June 4, 1998, issue of the CORPUS CHRISTI CALLER-TIMES, in the "PEOPLE" section, on pages 1 and 2, under this heading: "JOSE ANTONIO BARRERA. Sailing-school director lets wind carry him and students back to the time of Columbus. It tells how, back in the late 1980s, the Spanish Government, as part of its plan to celebrate the 500th anniversary of Columbus' discovery of America, built replicas of his three ships (the "Niña," the "Pinta," and the "Santa María") and advertised for crew members to sail the ships to America.
 

One of the successful applicants was José Antonio Barrera, native of Madrid, a residential architect, now 43 years of age. He was chosen to navigate the "Santa María," the flagship, and it took them 29 days to cross the Atlantic, in 1991. Then they began to visit the ports of the United States, and their warmest welcome was in Corpus Christi, Texas. Consequently the Spanish Government decided to lease the vessels to the Columbus Fleet in Corpus Christi, where they now serve as very popular tourist attractions.
 

Unfortunately two of the ships (the "Pinta" and the "Santa María") were both damaged when a barge collided with them in 1994, and it has taken four years to repair them, because the Spanish authorities insisted on going back to get the timber from the same forests that had supplied materials for the original ships.
 

Meanwhile Barrera had taken up residence in Corpus Christi in 1993 and set up the "XV Century Sailing School," in which he uses the "Niña," the smallest of the ships, to teach classes for volunteers who want to learn how to sail a ship the way the Spaniards did in the fifteenth century.
 

That was when Marky, who learned Spanish many years ago and has always been eager to try anything new, volunteered to take a class, and she went through the whole rigorous routine, learning how to hoist sails, coil hawsers, splice ropes, even passing the swimming survival test, and she earned her certificate Now she serves as a docent for those who want to learn the technique and terminology needed by those with enough intellectual curiosity to find out how things really were in the fifteenth century.
 

Right at this point, when Barrera learned that Marky was going to Spain, he showed up at her house and said "Please take this little box to my sister, Ana Barrera, who lives in Madrid." He did not continue, like the little bird did in the song which we quoted at the beginning of this story, and say "Look and see what it has inside." No, no. It was already wrapped elegantly as a present, so Marky did not dare open it.
 

However, she could tell by feeling of it, and from its weight, that it must be made of metal, and not gold--probably something much heavier, like cast iron or lead. Despite that fact, she carried it with her, enfolded in a pillow, during all the trip, sleeping with it in her lap on the plane, and holding it in her arms when we went through customs. That is probably why the metal did not set off any alarm because of the pillow insulation, and she did not have the slightest idea of what might be inside of it. Therefore it was a very fortunate break for her when the customs officer pointed to our luggage and asked the routine question: "Do those suitcases contain anything that anybody has given you to take to somebody else?" "No," she could answer truthfully, as she clutched the present in her arms, inside the pillow.
 

Naturally the first thing that Marky wanted to do, as soon as we arrived in Madrid, was to deliver that little box to Ana Barrera, but we needed to select a meeting place, a landmark that would be easy to find. We left that choice to Doug, who had been to Madrid before and had explored the principal streets. He chose the Monument to Cervantes, which is located in the Plaza de España, so we agreed for Anna to meet us there. We arrived first and immediately realized that finding Anna was not going to be as simple as we had thought it would be.
 

To begin with, the Plaza de España had been laid out on a vast scale, with Cervantes, Spain's much beloved literary figure, seated in a chair, with a cloak around his shoulders, a volume (which must have been Part I of the QUIJOTE, held upright in his right hand}, and what must have been Part II lying in his lap, in his left hand. He was mounted on an imposing pedestal, flanked by majestic columns on either side, and down below him rode Don Quijote, mounted on his steed, Rocinante, accompanied by his squire, Sancho Panza, on his donkey. Then, below all of this, was a reflecting pool which mirrored all of those bronze figures, and much farther on down the hill were the sidewalks where we stood. We could not get any closer because the area had been roped off so that the statues could be restored. Hundreds of people were milling about in all directions, hurrying to their appointments, so we realized that, if we ever expected to find Anna, we would have to fan out in all directions, leaving Marky in the center, because she was the only one of our party that Anna knew by sight.
 

Anna arrived promptly; the little box was delivered to her, accompanied by the oral messages which her brother had sent to her through Marky. She opened the box eagerly, then uttered a gasp of incredibility, and held out the box so that we could all see what it contained--the most elaborate assortment of cosmetics that a person could possibly buy, for his sister or anyone else!
 

Then it became Anna's turn, to deliver a present to Marky, for the Spanish can never be outdone in matters of courtesy. When Marky opened her present, it turned out to be a Spanish fan, the type which you see in those pictures of a Spanish señorita wearing a mantilla over a high tortoise-shell comb, a dark shawl, and a flowing skirt. Anna went the second mile of the way and immediately proceeded to give Marky and Ellen a lesson in how to use the fan, following the instructions which her grandmother had given her many years ago. You are supposed to open the fan to its fullest extent, with a casual flip of the wrist--something which takes hours and hours of practice to master it perfectly. Then comes the next part: how to flutter the fan, with eyes demurely cast down, lids a-flutter, and smiling coyly. After that comes the language of the fan, or how to use it to convey messages to a gallant swain across the room, but that is an advanced course which will have to be postponed until another time.
 

From the Plaza de España we drove to the Plaza Mayor, which is described in DISCOVER SPAIN, pp. 96-97, as follows:
 
 

The Plaza Mayor (Main Square) . . . is a 17th-century architectural symphony in bold but balanced tones. Broad arcades surround a vast cobbled rectangle. Plaza Mayor may be entered from all four sides through any of nine arrchways, but mercifully not by motor vehicles. In the past, this was the scene of pageants, bullfights, even executions:  Residents owning one of the 400-plus balconies overlooking the square used to sell tickets for such events. A statue of King Philip III  occupies the place of honour but is no obstacle to events ranging from pop concerts to theatre festivals. Take a seat at one of the outdoor cafés in the square and enjoy the perfect proportions of Madrid's most elegant architectural ensemble.

We did as instructed, selecting a table diagonally across from a large stage, which appeared to have been erected there in the plaza for this special occasion, and we were sitting there, quietly sipping that popular Spanish drink called "Coca Cola," when we noticed that gaily costumed figures, in twos and threes, men, women, and children were coming in through one of those archways and taking their places on the stage, at which time we realized that their colorful costumes represented the regional dress of the various provinces of Spain. As it turned out, we discovered that, although Doug had carefully planned ahead so that we could avoid the huge crowds in Barcelona, it was a different story in Madrid. We had happened along precisely at the time when they celebrate the Fiesta de San Isidro Labrador, the patron saint of Madrid. According to the volume called INSIGHT GUIDES, SPAIN, pp. 95 and 108, that festival falls on May 15, but the Spaniards get a good running head start so that they can make it the longest fiesta of all--27 days of "corridas" or bullfights. That makes us wonder why the Spaniards want to honor that particular saint in such a grand manner. The answer appears in the same source cited above:
 
 

. . . One day when he [Isidro] was supposed to be working in his master's field, he had a refreshing siesta instead. Two passing angels took pity on him, commandeered his team of oxen and plowed the field for him. Apparently some of this same blessed good fortune has rubbed off on Madrid itself where it seems that everything keeps going by divine intervention while the city sits and chats.

(Now let us return to the Plaza Mayor.)
 

Soon the sun went down, the lights came on, the master of ceremonies walked up to the microphone, and the singing and dancing began. Just at this point, Ellen's walky-talky began to squawk. It was John and Doug, who had gone to park the car, so she gave them specific instructions as to how they could find us. "directly behind the rear of the horse of the statue honoring King Philip III."
 

At the conclusion of the program, some of us thought that we might eat our evening meal (dinner, supper, or "cena") right there in the Plaza, at one of the very attractive open-air tables, but Ana said she knew of a better place nearby, so we followed her through one of those archways and down a steep, cobbled street to a sign which read "LAS CUEVAS DE LUIS CANDELAS ("The Caves of Luis Candelas"). Passing through a long, narrow room, we went down some stairs and wove our way to a table back in a sort of grotto, with a ceiling which consisted merely of the original walls of the cave plastered over, following the natural contours of the cave itself. In fact, when I started to sit down, the ceiling curved forward over the table at such a sharp angle that I bumped my head in the process (which is where it hurts the most).
 

The menu was splendid--absolutely the best food that I ate anywhere in Spain--and we were even serenaded by a fellow playing the accordion. Without asking us what we would like to hear, he began with half a dozen tunes that I had first heard in Texas, thinking that they had come from Mexico, but I learned later that they had originated in Spain. Take "Cielito Lindo," for instance, which mentions the Sierra Morena. I thought that was in Mexico, but later, when I studied Mexican geography, I found out that there wasn't any such place south of the border, but there is a Sierra Morena in Southern Spain. That proved to be the case with all the other tunes, except one. He concluded with "The Yellow Rose of Texas," which has always been one of my favorites. When I asked where he had learned that tune, he said that he had spent a couple of years along the Rio Grande, in the general neighborhood of El Paso.
 

Next morning (Monday, May 11, 1998) John woke up with the idea that he would like to see a Spanish bullfight, so he went down to the desk clerk to find out where he could buy tickets. The clerk gave him a couple of gaudy souvenir posters advertising the "Corrida Goyesca" which had been held on May 2, 1998. Other bullfights were still being held every day, but the clerk advised John not to go that day because it looked like rain, and he knew that, if they started a bullfight, and managed to kill the first bull, there was absolutely no way that he could get his money back, even if the rain was falling in torrents. In fact, the posters which he gave John spelled out that fact, in very small type, three times, on the face of the posters, and again on the back side.
 

Therefore John did not buy any tickets, but that afternoon he decided that he could at least watch the bullfight on television, but the reception was very poor. He called the desk clerk to show him how to clear it up, but he couldn't do any better. Finally the clerk gave up with a sigh of resignation and exclaimed: "Es una estación pirata," and then explained that the station was not approved by the Government. "It's strange that it won't come in on this set," John commented. "It's coming in fine on the one in the next room." At that point the desk clerk suddenly remembered that he had urgent business elsewhere, but he must have sneaked back the next day when we were out of the room and tinkered with the set some more, because, the next time we tried it, the reception was much better.
 

Consequently, instead of going to a bullfight on Monday, we went to the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, where the tour begins with the origins of modernism in Spanish contemporary art and comes on down through the avante-garde artists, including "vibracionismo," Constructivism, "Simultaneísmo," Dadaism, and Cubism. There was also a section devoted to "Minimal art and its context." Need we say more?
 

That day we also took a bus tour around Madrid, passing such famous landmarks as the National Palace, where the guide told us nobody was home, and the National Library, which our literature told us was now on the Internet. It was about this time that we also took a stroll through the Real Jardín Botánico which Ferdinand VI ordered created by a decree dated October 17, 1755, so it contains more than two centuries of botanical history.

On Tuesday morning, May 12, 1998, we were scheduled to go to what Marky had been referring to constantly as "The Prado," a place that she very much wanted to see, I had looked up the word "Prado" years ago in my small Spanish-English dictionary, and it had told me very clearly that the word "prado" meant "meadow, pasture, walk, promenade," so I could not get very excited about it, but she said that, once we got to Madrid, all that we would have to do would be to drop her off at the entrance when they opened up, and pick her up that afternoon, when they ran her out to close up the place.
 

We were slightly delayed in getting started, though, because, on the day before, Doug had done all his laundry and decorated every possible available space in our room with the results. Therefore on Tuesday morning he spent a couple of hours carefully wringing out each piece, between towels, rolling it, and then cramming it into one of the countless little pockets which he kept unzipping, zipping, and rezipping on his huge back pack. Finally, when he got everything stuffed inside and put the pack on his back, to accompany us part of the way to the Prado, he looked at least seven feet tall, as Ellen depicted him in the sketch she drew in Marky's "Journal."
 

He said that he was going on to Greece to spend the rest of his vacation there, so I asked him, in an offhand way, if he was going to try to locate the grave of Isosceles, the inventor of that famous triangle. "No," he replied, with a tolerant smile, trying to humor the ignorance of his Grandpoppie, but he did say that he might try snorkeling for a Grecian urn.
 

Meanwhile, to get back to our trip to the Prado, I had prepared myself more thoroughly on the subject earlier that morning, by looking into our infallible traveling companion, DISCOVER SPAIN, and here is what I found, on p. 99:
 
 

Madrid's pride and joy, the MUSEO DEL PRADO, houses what is indisputably the world's greatest collection of Spanish paintings. In addition, there are hundreds of foreign masterpieces, especially of the Italian and Flemish schools. This immense treasure trove was assembled from the collections of Spain's Hapsburg and Bourbon kings, patrons of the arts, and various convents and monasteries.

Charles III commissioned architect Juan de Villanueva to design the neoclassical building towards the end of the 18th century. It was supposed to have served as a museum of natural history, but after some eventful delays (Napoleon's invasion badly damaged the building), its mission was diverted to art: the Royal Museum of Painting was inaugurated in 1819, and in 1868 it became "el Museo del Prado."

It took her a long time to examine each painting, sitting there comfortably, while I had to wander on and do the best I could, making a comparative study of the salient points of Goya's "Maja Vestida" and his "Maja Desnuda," standing up. It was hard!
 

Finally she caught up with me while I was gazing at the picture of a man playing a piano. "He isn't really looking at the music," she pointed out. "I hate to say it, but he's looking at that woman off there in the background, to the left." I looked in that direction, expecting to find the usual depiction of St. Cecilia, the patron saint of musicians, descending from heaven to inspire the pianist, but she wasn't descending from heaven at all. In fact, she was . . . . But the reader will just have to go to the Prado himself to find out what she was doing.
 

Another museum that we visited was called the "Museo Thyssen Bornenisza," which is described in DISCOVER SPAIN, p. 104, as follows:
 
 

Opposite the Prado is the elegant three-story brick Palacio de Villahermosa, which now houses the famous Museo Thyssen Bornemisza. This is the kind of collection that curators from all over the world would die for, and it is a measure of Madrid's stature that the city was chosen to house them, neatly coinciding with its nomination as the 1992 European Cultural Capital. More than 800 paintings are exhibited, from the 13th century to the present day.

The most honored man in Spain, and deservedly so, is Christopher Columbus. For example, in DISCOVER SPAIN, on pp. 70-72, the authors list fifteen monuments to Columbus, without including the one in Madrid, which we shall describe below. The monuments which they list are as follows:
 

1. LA RÁBIDA.

Columbus endures a long wait in the Franciscan monastery for royal approval. The prior gives vital support to his 'world is round' theory. Columbiana includes models of his ships and the study where he worked.

Still awaiting a decision from Ferdinand and Isabella, Columbus fathers his second son, Ferdinand. [We suspect that his wife may have been present for this event also, but the authors do not mention that fact.]

April, 1492. Near recently reconquered Granada, Catholic Monarchs finally approve the Columbus expedition.

3 August 1492. With many local men in his crew, Columbus sets forth for the 'Indies' from here. (Palos is no longer a port; it has long since silted up.)

5 September 1493. From this fine harbour, Columbus departed on his second voyage to America with 17 ships and 1500 men. (Cádiz was also the port of departure for his fourth expedition in 1502.)

30 MAY 1498. A third Columbus venture launched, on a southward course.

Enjoy the pompous 19th-century Columbus mausoleum in Sevilla Cathedral; Columbus books and marginal notes in Archives of the Indies and the Monastery of La Cartuja where he spent some time in residence.

The local shipyard is said to have built the flagship SANTA MARÍA.

1 March 1493. The PINTA lands back in Spain.

Ferdinand and Isabella receive Columbus (and some 'sample' Indians) in Plaça del Rei. A full-size replica of the SANTA MARÍA is moored in Barcelona port, overlooked by a fine column and statue of Columbus.

Ferdinand and Isabella welcome him back from his second trip in the Burgos town house called La Casa del Cordón (now a bank).

Columbus lives his last years, alone and forgotten, in what is now the Casa Museo de Colón. He dies 21 May 1506.

Columbus takes leave of the known world from here on 6 September 1492. There are several Columbus-connected sites in the tine capital of San Sebastián.

Columbus stops en route to the New World in 1492 at Las Palmas. Visit the church where he prayed and the lovely house in which he resided on three occasions.

An actual-size concrete and timber replica of the SANTA MARÍA, housing a small naval museum (although Columbus was never here).

The description of the Madrid Monument to Columbus, as given in DISCOVER SPAIN, page 105, is fine, as far as it goes. It says:
 
 

Plaza de Colón (Columbus Plaza). Beneath the plaza is the city's cultural centre, where art exhibitions, concerts and plays are staged Drop in and see what's on. The bus station which serves the airport is also here. Above ground, a colossal abstract sculptural ensemble in the Jardines del Descubrimiento (Discovery Gardens) gives credit to Columbus' unsung crewmen, all of whose names are listed here.

On a pedestal: The Jardines del Descubrimiento alongside the Plaza de Colón -- which translates as "Square of Columbus" --are graced by a statue of the discoverer on a neo-Gothic column and huge beige sculptures which resemble large decayed teeth. At the western end, an attractive, noisy waterfall guards the entrance to the Centro Cultural de la Villita, an arts complex with a theatre, concert hall and exhibition space.

Alongside the plaza is a monolithic Hellenic structure enclosing the National Library, inaugurated in 1892 to mark the 400th anniversary of Columbus' voyage, contains manuscripts dating from . the 10th century.

The Archaeological Museum has rich displays from prehistoric Spain, Iberian treasures such as the mysterious impassive Lady of Elche, Roman statues and mosaics and a Visigothic crown studded with jewels. In the garden are reproductions of the Altamira cave paintings in a reconstructed cave.

However, we approached the Columbus statue on foot, going up to it on the righthand side, then down some stairs, where we were greeted with the deafening roar of a waterfall, on the left, amplified by a wall on the right which curved up over our heads and out towards the waterfall, thus very effectively capturing the noise between the stone wall and bronze plates on the right and the falling water on the left. This completely drowned out our voices as we attempted to express our pleasure at the detailed bronze maps of the Atlantic Ocean, showing the routes of each of the voyages made by Columbus, with the dates of departure and the dates of return. This was by far the most imposing of all the monuments that we saw in Spain, but we do hope that they turn off the water at night so that the customers can hear what is being said, or played, in the cultural performances which are presented inside. The most symbolic, and practical touch of all, though, is the arrangement whereby travelers can take a bus at the foot of the Columbus statue and go out to the airport to board planes headed for all parts of the world.
 

On Wednesday, May 13, 1998, we were scheduled to leave the airport at 2:25 p.m. on our return journey to Texas, so that morning I spent most of my time watching John carefully pack all his zipper pockets on his backpack, the pouches on his belt, and his suitcases. He particularly called my attention to the care with which he packed those three bottles of sherry, taking each one out of the stiff cardboard container, inserting it into thickly woven sox, and then returning it to the container, which he then surrounded with a very extensive padding of all his used laundry. But he had literally reckoned without his host.
 

When we got to the airport, and were patiently standing in line to board the plane, those ever-courteous Castilian officials noticed immediately that Marky and I were displaying all the exterior signs of Senior Citizenship, so they moved our entire party up to the head of the line so that we could board the plane first. What we did not realize was that this also meant that our baggage would be loaded first, and that all the baggage of the other 222 passengers would be dumped in on top of it.
 

The results did not become apparent until we went up to the counter to claim our baggage when we landed in Atlanta. One of those dusky damsels came out carrying John's suitcase, and, as she heaved it up on the counter, she pointed to a spirited stream that was trickling down on the floor. Looking at me, she asked: "Did this bag have some sort of liquid in it?"
 

"Yes, it probably did," I replied, so she carried the dripping bag back through the door and returned a little later, carrying the offending suitcase in a plastic container which fitted it exactly, with about an inch to spare on all sides; in fact it looked like it had been manufactured specifically for that purpose. I could tell, from the resigned expression on her face, that she was saying to herself: "It happens all the time!"
 

We reached Dallas at 8:34 p.m. and stood outside the airport for about an hour while John went to retrieve our car from Remote Parking. As each taxi drove up and carried away group after group of passengers, it grew later and later, and we began to imagine all sorts of things that could be delaying John. Had the car battery run down? Had somebody stolen the gas, or the tires, or the entire car? Finally, though, he did appear, and we started home on I-35. John stopped by the McLean Beefmaster Ranch long enough to drop off Marky, with her luggage, and then he and Ellen drove me on down to Georgetown, where we arrived about 2:00 a.m. on the morning of May 14, 1998. As we turned into the driveway, we saw a light in the window. and we knew that MARGARET WAS WAITING UP FOR US!
 

Cordially,
 

Malcolm D.McLean 1-512-869-0166
206 Golden Oaks Drive mdmclean@texas.net
Georgetown, Texas 78628-3320 HTTP://lonestar.texas.net/~mdmclean
July 20, 1998