Dastardly Adventures of the Lack of Spanish Skills...

...in Carmona we arrived at sunset, a lovely town set upon a hill that jumps from the greener placid Spanish landscape surrounding it. We headed for the town square to find the loveliest of villagers enjoying the waining evening light. Just like Alcaudete, the older people were fantastically dressed and lively, one even engaging me in a whole conversation that eventually ended in "Well you should work on your Spanish so we can talk more!" This was of course in Spanish.

Carmona is amazingly sleepy, but has some first rate hotels that one can stay in peppered throughout it's edges. We couldn't afford a single one, but was nice to imagine taking a sweet somebody back there one day to at least sleep on a bed with. Jeff and I have abstained from such behavior thus far. So to say the least would be in the tune of stretched, burdened, dizzy with though about where to lay our heads. We asked a local shop owner if there was anyway to stash our bags in an empty back room, at least to search the city corners unburdened. To our astonishment he obliged in English and before we could grab a 1Euro cotton candy we were light as down feathers. The night's processions began down the city square way, enchanting us before we had any possibility to break away. Children of every age were dressed in the traditional Nazareños costumes, reminiscent of Klan's members. "So the Klan's in Spain...That sucks," was the frequent dwindling joke. The most special air came from sharing with families in the close intimate space, their children walking by and waving behind their pointed hoods. Or the younger children rushing around with baseball sized handfuls of wax, asking the hooded to drip their candle sized staff onto the ball adding to it another years worth of Semana Santa memory. Some as ambitiously sized liked softballs, while the more infant collected their first on a bit of rolled up foil. Magically fascinating.

When the second float passed holding a crying mother Mary encircled in probably hundreds of candles we decided it was probably a good idea to try and find quarters to stay. Every single economic establishment was full, the last being one nested between a withering 15th century gate and had two large touring motorcycles which we drooled over, fantasying about mounting and riding into the night. At that hour we retrieved our bags, with knee weakening and hand clasped thanks. Soliciting the shopkeeper regarding information on whereabouts for a cheap place to stay left us with nothing, but the space offered for our rucksacks the following day. "See you tomorrow then."

We headed for the Arch of Cordoba at the town's true front, which lead to more rural settings that outlined the city. The Arch itself had a ledge cut out of it that we hoisted each other to and theorised a bivouac for the night but knew the passing cars would result in fear peppered sleep, it being a holiday and the Arch being one of the cities' historical monuments. A grassy hill curved the city limits and we found a trail by street light. Down the rabbit road, by Luna's grand three quarter full reach of light, I saw a sinking notch in the hill.

Now this is important, some would call it a profound indentation in the hill's strata. Some would call it a space where a whole number of ecological activities could have occurred in creating it. Some would see it as a gorge that was created in order to cache an assortment of creatures yet mostly moisture. And I guess some would call it a cave. In our desperate circumstances it was a suitable bivouac that was safe after thorough inspection. It was not deeply profound, the entrance wide enough for two prime young mens shoulder's length and a mouth that early-American cave dwelling populations would have been proud of. The only way anyone could get to it would be edging themselves around awkward curvaceous footholds leading to the bottom lip with a ten foot drop for the ill stepping. How Anasazian! We settled in with easy hearts regarding the lack of bad fellows in the sleepy town and enjoyed what beautiful night sky our fluttering heavy eye lids would let us before rest. The sunrise was galaxies more beautiful the picture even describes.

We gathered our things and stumbled back to town center and watched Carmona wake up. Our shopkeepers door's flew open and we greeted him with dusty smiles. He asked where we had ended up the previous night and I chuckled saying "Well you know the Arch? Just a little outside of that." He smiled a sideways smile with dinner plates behind his glasses. Before we could thank him again for the stash space our shopkeeper asked if we had any newly printed American bills. Only having unchanged twenties he sighed and explained that he collected paper currency from around the world and if were interested could show us his binder. We obliged and flipped through his binder full of legal tender as common as beautifully colored Swiss notes to the rare like his Gibraltar One Pound note. He had no South African Rands, which shocked me and I offered to send him some in the week I had in Europe, coming back from South Africa and before flying home. Our shopkeeper lit up and said it wasn't necessary but would love the gesture. We told him we'd be back in the afternoon waving goodbye.

We ate quiet Chinese food and immediately question our thrifty choice with full gargling bellies. We wandered the Carmona streets, found the bus station for the following day and afternoon came earlier then we had wanted, dreading the cave's calling for another night. I picked up a bottle of wine to ease our minds while Jeff grabbed some Spanish cookies. We sheepishly entered our shopkeepers storefront and pointed for the back room. We smiled, came to the counter, and began to offer us the gracious trophy for the trip. He was remodeling a house on the other side of town and we could spend the night in it's shell protected, warm and happy. Our faces must have been something because he started a chuckle and said it was nothing. We dove into his car and rolled to his bachelor pad of a catus nursery- another collecting habit of his. The night was simple, we play lots of Ukulele and drank the wine greedily with mirth cookies. We took possibly hundreds of jumping photos.


Well folks that took longer then I thought but the details felt juicy enough to go into. This catch-up is going to take a little while longer, seeing as Jeff and I are fixing to head desert-side in the next couple days (Zagora or Merzoga?...). I'll come back, and transcribe the Sevilla adventure at my best efforts and ability to capture internet cafe butterflies. Enjoy, geographers!