1980-01-03 - 11:06 a.m.

here's the much-anticipated (I'm sure) follow-up to what I did on my trip to spain, written long ago. The previous entry, incidentally, has been somewhat revised.

Sitting on the train. Look at these hillsides. Little tufts of bush on the way to Seville. Glancing over at Tom in the seat beside me, reading over his guidebook. Fiddling with my headphones and the Spanish radio stations, feeling neither here nor there. Me and Tom, and our little Spanish radio stations, and our guidebooks. And these row upon row of little shrubs and scattered houses. What do they do out here? Tend to the shrubs?

�I think I�m gonna check out the dining car,� I said. A classic act of avoidance, but then again, what the hell was the dining car? I squeezed my way past Tom, waved to Aaron, who was testing out his Spanish to a group of natives in the next row, and headed in. If only�

If only I had said, to the people chatting with Aaron, Como se disez, Would anyone like to join me in the dining car? And perhaps Aaron and the girl beside him would come, or maybe just the girl, and I would buy her a cerveza and chat about life as we rolled past the Spanish shrubbery. And then maybe a little later we would laugh, and lean up against the window and smile. For no good reason, just because we are two people who, just for that moment, understand one another.

--

Snapshots of Seville: palm trees and flamenco dancing, ice cream and pastels, hazy siestas and crowded streets, and kids playing street soccer alongside accordion players.

The pictures of the kids playing soccer never came out, I guess. Aaron and Tom and I were standing around by the street, by the outdoor dining tables, listening to the accordion player and watching the kids kick the ball around. One kid would kick it toward us, and the other kids would try to kick it away, and I would try to angle in for the pictures where the ball comes to Aaron or Tom or, on one occasion, when the ball comes to the accordion player. I tried to angle him into the shot, only they didn�t come out. Guess you can�t take night photos on a disposable camera.

--

We�d never planned to go to Segovia, so it felt like doing a victory lap. We were ready when the end came. Aaron had spent too much money and refused to buy anything more. Tom marveled the Roman aqueduct at the entrance to Segovia and professed himself satisfied. We went through the Alcazar castle with a modest bit of energy, but the closed tower turned the tide. Aaron was just going through the motions and Tom was beat. Both professed themselves �Cathedraled out.�

Instead we wandered off on some other random tour, of old rich peoples� homes and Romanesque churches, stumbling into an empty church where the caretaker went on and on about the face of Jesus in this one picture, and how the tear looked so real, and I can�t believe you haven�t heard of this picture, it�s very famous, and suddenly feeling just a bit defensive about it, as in, how dare you tourists come in here and spoil my feeling that my church�s painting is world-famous, you boys must really not know much, still smiling now but then lapsing into Spanish, only around me who doesn�t speak a lick of Spanish.

She spoke and I nodded and she just kept going. I realized then just how good I am at fooling someone into thinking I am listening, thinking I am understanding, when really I am off in my own world. This conversation, in the end, was no different than so many others. I make the requisite nods and grunts, and I make you believe that I am hearing you, but it is only an act, and in the end I don�t understand, because I just don�t speak your language.

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