Voy A Recordar

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Me, in Virabhadrasana II on the Plaza de España.

I’m still recovering from my whirlwind of a trip. We visited nine cities in as many days.  I prayed for my mom in Fatima. We ate massive steaks and patatas fritas in Madrid. We hopped on the metro in Lisboa and took the train to the last stop, Cais do Sodre, where we strolled along the Tagus River and had an early dinner at a chic little restaurant/lounge  in Praça do Comércio.  We climbed the hills of Toledo, visited the old Jewish quarter of Cordoba. While the rest of the folks on our tour were heading to bed, we ventured into the streets of Sevilla at 10 pm  for tapas and sangria.  The next night we found ourselves squeezing through the crowds of Semana Santa to attend a flamenco show, then devouring delicious paella mixta, taquitos de bacalao, and chocolate con churros at Cafeteria Spala. Our waiter, who spoke no English, showed me the receipt and pointed out that he hadn’t charged us for the churros.  I understand enough Spanish to know he said he extended that kindness because he wanted us to remember Spain.  I’ll never forget it.