April 6, 2013

28 of 65

Spain

Every morning there’s a halo hangin’
From the corner of my girlfriend’s four post bed,
I know it’s not mine but I’ll see if I can use it for
The weekend or a one-night stand.
–Sugar Ray, “Every Morning” (1999)

It was the Spring of 1999 at the end of a very long day. We spent the previous night in Malaga, Spain, rose early and drove our rented car to Gibraltar. After some sightseeing, we boarded a ferry to Morocco where we spent the day on a whirlwind tour of Tangier. Like all tourists, we visited the Kasbah and the British colonial quarter of Mershan. For lunch we ate couscous and delicious vegetables and drank mint tea, with belly dancers for entertainment. Suzanne and Michael rode camels, and we had many opportunities to purchase souvenirs (we didn’t even need to go into shops; vendors followed us down the street). Then it was back on the ferry for the return to Europe, and then to the car for a 250 mile drive – even longer in kilometers – to Almeria where we were staying.

By midnight, the Moon was reflecting off the Mediterranean, I was driving at least the speed limit along the Costa del Sol and Costa de Almeria, and Cathy and the kids were sleeping. I tried not to wake them, but to keep from falling asleep myself, I turned the radio on at low volume to listen to Spanish music. The first song I heard was “Every Morning” by Sugar Ray, a California group. When commercials began, I changed stations and again heard “Every Morning.” As stations faded out of range and I scanned for something new, “Every Morning” was played time and again. The song got me through the night, kept me awake and stayed in my head for days afterward. Wherever we went the radio kept playing it for days afterward, helping it to keep it in my head. Not the flamenco I was expecting, but catchy.

Before we went to Spain, many of our urbane friends told us that we would not need to know much Spanish because everyone there speaks English. Not so much where we were, though. Almost no one spoke English. Michael was taking a Spanish class in school and we thought he could help us communicate. Unfortunately, his class had mostly studied the names for articles of clothing. They were going to begin the words associated with food after Spring Break. The food words would have been more helpful, as workers in most restaurants don’t spend time discussing clothing with customers. When hungry, we managed to haltingly order using Michael’s beginning Spanish and the little bit of the language I had picked up over the years.

Most often, though, we would buy food fresh from the farm or just off the fishing boat at the local market. We did not need to know what it was called in Spanish. We merely pointed.

One thing we noticed about the areas frequented by tourists was the near impossibility of parking. There was virtually no parking at the Alhambra, a magnificent Moorish palace and fortress near Granada; and in Granada itself trying to maneuver any vehicle larger than a motor scooter through the twisting streets seemed madness.

In Madrid, parking was difficult and expensive, but was simple compared to getting a good night’s sleep. Madrid was a busy, modern city during the day; at night it became a giant party. The streets were packed with people, music was heard through the open doors of every restaurant and club (the music often was “Every Morning”) and wine and sangria flowed freely. The sounds of revelry easily reached our hotel room until nearly dawn.

Madrid, of course, is home to the Prado, one of the most famous and spectacular art museums, with perhaps the world’s best collection of pre-20th Century European art. Its works by Spanish painters like Goya, El Greco and Velazquez are deservedly considered national treasures. Additionally, there are some of the finest and most famous paintings of Titian, Rubens, Bosch and others. One could easily spend days at the Prado.

However, one should first carefully check the hours it is open. We happened to arrive 30 minutes before closing time on our last day in the country. Moving quickly through the many halls, we were able to see some absolutely amazing artwork, though we did not linger and absorb the details.

After our nearly sleepless night in Madrid, we were at the airport early the next morning for our flight back to the U.S. on Iberia Airlines. Check-in was a very smooth process – except for the part about the pilots being on strike so the plane could not leave. We were not privy to what was going on behind the scenes, but eventually a new flight crew was brought in from another country and we departed only 10 or 12 hours behind schedule. We wished we could have slept in.

What I have written here does not do justice to the beautiful county that is Spain or the wonderful people we met there. I think, though, that it fairly describes how popular the song “Every Morning” was in the Spring of 1999 – even where English is not spoken. It is a catchy tune.