Photo credit: Carol Madigan

   Given we had a 5:45 a.m. wake up call for our 8:00 a.m. train to Seville in the morning, I was still hoping for a light day. El Retiro Park was a pleasant subway ride, further enhanced by a smiling toddler who wanted to practice waving hello to total strangers such as myself. There’s no greater pleasure than engaging with a baby, who you hope will imprint the experience and plant the idea that the world is not such a scary place after all. (Of course, by engaging with the likes of me, the opposite is just as likely to permanently warp the little tyke’s psyche.)

“It’s turning into a light day after all, though Carol mysteriously mentions her feet are tired, as I pour her a glass from what remained of the bottle of white I had ordered while I waited for her. My feet, to the extent I could still feel them, felt fine.”

   The park afforded many shady places to sit and watch the locals promenade, while Carol roamed the grounds taking pictures of all the “must sees” to show me later over a beer in one one of the leafy outdoor park cafés.

   Later, while Carol explored the city’s Real Jardin Botanico, I enjoyably awaited her at a café across the street, serene in the awareness that Carol and I had fully restored our commodious sightseeing routine. It’s turning into a light day after all, though Carol mysteriously mentions her feet are tired, as I pour her a glass from what remained of the bottle of white I had ordered while I waited for her. My feet, to the extent I could still feel them, felt fine.

   There was a big UEFA Europa League playoff game this evening between Manchester United and Seville, the team we had bought tickets to see when we’d be in that city beginning tomorrow. After dinner (the paella I mentioned in my last blog), we found an Irish pub featuring the game, and we settled in with a couple of Guinnesses to watch Seville put on a show as the underdog (winning 3-0 and moving on to the semifinals). We were about the only Seville fans in the pub, and we weakly explained to our waiter that our loyalties were due to our tickets, and that we normally were solid EPL fans (Liverpool). He accepted our explanation with a nonchalant indifference that told me my mansplaining had not been required nor solicited.

   We wobbled home after 11:00 p.m. tired but happy. I record this as one of the longest (a good 12 hours) days of our travels, and one of the most perfect. Carol got to see some wonderful sights and took beautiful pictures, and I got to spend most of those hours watching the world pass me by, which is the most wonderful way for me to see things. I just have to understand that for this to be sustainable, I’ve got to show some flexibility. That night I slipped into a gentle slumber over how better to make café sitting the very thing Carol looks forward to doing. In Seville I would learn the secret: keep those espadrilles moving until she she cries out “no mas!” and we head for the first set of wicker chairs we can find.