Sweltering in Manila, 6 June, 2013

No marvelous color photos with which to grace this post-it's too damn' hot and muggy to carry a camera.  The ever-present cloudbursts are of no concern, as I have my underwater camera, but it's just another thing to weigh down the clothes and make them stick to the skin. So far, I've re-hydrated with a case of San Miguel numerous bottles of water and half a litre of tequila to kill anything in the water.  I'm beginning to feel like a carachter in a Michener novel; bouncing from sweltering bar to almost-air-conditioned bar in the eternal pursuit of something to kill or ward off tropical parasites.  The only thing I look forward to other than de-planing at Madrid is the cold shower at the end of each day.  I've been here a week, and there's twenty days to go.

Don't be surprised if I pull a double-Van Gogh and cut off both my ears.  If you've been following this blog, you'll remember my 2011 rant about the incessant noise here in Manila. I can't say that it's gotten worse, but it isn't any better.  Anyway, we fly to Negros for a week, starting the 7th, then rush back for second fittings of her gown and my suit.  Had to go to a tailor, as all I could find on the racks here were dark woolens, shiny sharkstooth or piped "guido" suits that look as though they should be worn by a cross between Elvis Presley (on drugs) and a Times Square pimp.  So I ordered a conservative, light linen suit which will probably turn out looking like something Don Johnson would have worn on Miami Vice.  I think his tailor was a pimp.

Looking forward to going home to Spain.

Mid-May in Spain

No, this photo is not of Spain, nor was it taken in mid May.  It was actually cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey and was taken on Prince Edward Island, Canada.  Not having any recent photos, I decided to fake a pass.
We've been house-hunting for the past couple of weeks; staying up cruising realtors' websites until the wee hours, and driving all over the province viewing possibilities.  We've covered grand intown apartments to wretched four-bedroom flats, to overpriced villas and long-neglected town-houses in "urbanizaciones" that remind one of ghost towns.  I would have jumped into a typical Spanish town-house, but Is didn't want a place with the sidewalk right under the front door.  She liked some houses in urbs that were accessible only by car and had no amenities nearby other than a Brit. bar and a dying corner store.  We finally found a nice town-house right in the village so the process is started.
I'm 80% packed for the trip to the PI.  That happens in eleven days-Oh joy!  Another month off the bicycle-just as I was getting back into shape after the year I spent in England last month.
Pardon my whining, but you can't blame me.  I'll be leaving warm, dry, great cycling on safe roads for wet, humid pandemonium in cycle-impossible Manila.  The leisurly afternoon paseos with "Hola, buenas tardes." as a greeting will be traded for hectic dashes through the jostling crowds of Manila and the blaring of horns.  One bit of silver lining will be the return to the home of GOOD San Miguel Pale Pilsen-elixer of the gods.
Hasta whenever....

House-hunting Begins

Busy day today.  The shipment of fourteen boxes from Is' house in England was supposed to arrive at 1400. Then the shipper called and asked if it could arrive at 1600.  We said OK and rescheduled an appointment to view a house.  That was for 1700 then the shipper called back and said that it would be much later than 1600, blah, blah,blah.  We stood our ground , got the shipment at 1600 and went to see the house as scheduled.
All the time we were cooling our heels, I was on the phone to the third and fourth then third Travelocity agent trying to rectify a flight reschedule caused by a British Airways flight cancellation.  By the time the hassle was done, I had spent easily an hour and a half on the phone to those four agents, been disconnected twice and run around several bushes.  The bottom line is that our flight to Boston was delayed by thirty minutes and our flight back to Madrid was advanced by twenty-two hours.  All this was accomplished at no cost with the help of a very competent agent named Hazel who had a Philippine accent.
Back to the house-hunting.  We looked at a great house (a bank repo) in Formentera, a nice town about 4 km. away.  Right in town, three bedrooms, garage, lots of space and very little wrong with it...EXCEPT an awful stench of sewer gas (methane) leaking in through the garage floor drain.  If it weren't for the odor, we'd jump on it, but we have to hold and do some research on methane abation, drain re-construction or odor-eating plants.

Scapa, Tomintoul, Oban, Aberlour,Ardbeg, Strathisla and Singleton

One might think I am planning a road trip through Scotland, but these names are part of tonight's project.  They are the remnants of Russel's whiskey collection, which must be properly laid to rest before we all vacate early Saturday.  Ten mostly-consumed bottles sit on the table begging to regale us with visions of foggy crags, soggy bogs and sagging Haggis.  Well, forget the latter.
Among the collection are a couple of odd ducks; the Irish Tullamore Dew and some seven-year-old rum direct from Cuba.  Maybe I'll have a taste and raise a glass to the gorgeous, green-eyed Cuban blonde, who added spice to my time at the University of Hawaii where my "moveable feast" began.  
Back to Spain soon, for the next chapter.

Departure Imminent

We've our tickets outta here, and the cherry tree has produced a fine crop of blossoms.  They will do a lot to  brighten up the view of the garden, but probably have been rained off by next Saturday. We'll miss the greenery but it will be good to be back on the Costa Blanca.  No lawns to mow there.

Day 10 in Bedfordshire

Yesterday was a sparkling day, today not so, but at least it's dry enough to hang out another wash.  The house has been viewed several times, and there is one viable offer.  Every time a viewing is scheduled, I pack up the painting gear and wander around behind stray animals in the yard until the prospective buyers disappear.  Then I unpack my shoebox and go back to whatever painting.  I guess it's better than watching paint dry.  Haven't started anything big or even serious, but have done several experimental pieces or studies with which I'm pleased.  Am watching a lot of artists' demos on YouTube, and have been spurred to try some really different stuff.  Unfortunately my studio (space) is in Westbrook and a lot of materials are in Algorfa.  Someday I hope to have everything in one place.
It's beginning to look as though we may fly out on the 20th.  Hallelujah!

Antidote to British Weather

Having missed my last chance to ride with my Amigos because of an appointment with my Spanish tax accountant; I decided to reward myself with a ride around the Embalse de Pedrera.  It was a beautiful sight and I drank it in, storing up sunshine in anticipation of snow, fog, drizzle and sub-freezing weather-all of which we're told await us in England.  Temperature was around 23C and I got my second light sunburn of the year.
Iave  looked up gyms in Luton and found one that has six spinners that provide "virtual cycling".  You know, the computer & tv equipped excuses for a bicycle that show you a film and program resistance to match the terrain on the program selected.  GBP16/month sounds alright-if the machines aren't booked up solid except for zero-dark-thirty.
Today's lunch was an overdose of foods I'll sorely miss:  Toasted slices of pan de pueblo, rubbed with raw garlic, topped with grilled tomatoes, toasted garlic, basil, chorizo Iberico and cheese, drizzled with olive oil and served with semi-bitter purple and green olives which had been prepared in a brine containing bay leaf, thyme and rosemary.  Had to have ice-cold pilsner and not tinto as it was lunch and I didn't want my siesta to last too long.  Get thee begone, bangers, mashed and mushy peas!

Packing winter gear

Today, while Is was at her Spanish class, I sat outdoors at Cafeteria Badulake on the plaza in Algorfa; talking painting, politics and all sorts of stuff with Johannes.  His wife Susanne is one of Is' classmates and Johannes and I meet to have coffee and wait for them.  The sun was blazing, and there was a cool breeze to counteract, so it was very pleasant; especially since Johannes had picked the upwind table and we were free from the emissions from the cancer ward.  I know, there's nothing worse than a reformed smoker.

So, anyway, back to the winter gear...As spring washes oveer the Costa Blanca, we are heading for  Luton, England to prepare her house for sale.  I just checked the weather there and was dismayed to see that the temperature is -1C, and the wind is at 24 km/hr.  Who cares from where it's coming?  It's still bloody cold.  I brought no boots to Spain, the worthiest shoes I have are a pair of Canadian brogues, but they won't keep out any significant snow-It's expected, I'm told.  My suitcase contains an eclectic mixture; wool sweater and socks, cycling jerseys, water-sports shoes, windproof vest, tropical-weight travelling shirt, bottle of Tequila, two kilos of garlic-ed peanuts and a large chorizo.  I'll be damned if I'll do without the necessities of life.

I hope to be back here in about three weeks.  Hate the thought of wasting away in the fog, rain and snow...I've gotten used to sunshine.  Better go pack some lemons to go with the Tequila. Next post will probably be from the east side of the big pond.
"Talogo", which is the local slang for "Hasta luego".

GregLocsin'sArt is up and under construction

I'm still in the throes of developing the site, so any constructive suggestions would be appreciated.  Bear in mind that my background in  web-stuff is so basic that I just learned what an URL is, though I can't tell you what it means.
Check it out at http://greglocsinart.blogspot.com.es/

greglocsinart.com

Mid-March in Costa Blanca has been cold and windy with a few days of moderate rain.  That's kept us indoors painting and working on cataloging our work.   Many were the nights I stumbled off to bed bleary-eyed and talking to myself.  Cycling took a back seat due to cold, wind and wet.  Ultimately, I decided that I'm too old to be breaking bones, or catching pneumonia on a bike.
We've started the process of setting up a joint exhibition and are waiting for confirmation and a date.  It looks like November will be the earliest, but that's a good thing since we'll be returning to Spain in mid-October.  Corollary to this project, I have been wrestling with the idea of building a website or starting another blog with which to display my artwork.  The first step was to buy a domain name to use in the event that a website is the final outcome.

Now to sift through and try to decipher all the website-building blather then weigh the expense and bother versus the potential gain.

Madrid & Toledo in February

On the 4th we took the train to Madrid, experiencing our first near miss in connections.  The local train out of Callosa was ten minutes late, and we had only twelve minutes between scheduled times to catch the Madrid train in Murcia.  We had barely sat down when the doors closed and we were off.  

Madrid was quite a bit older, but the weather was excellent.  It rained one night, but that just cleaned the streets.  We had lunch with Cely at El Lacon, one of our favorite watering/feeding spots, then set off to find a supermarket and pick up provisions.

Tuesday, we went to the US embassy to apply for my new passport (which arrived today, much to my surprise)and were out of there five minutes before my scheduled appointment time.  A first!!!!
Since we had lots of time, we went to the Joaquin Sorolla museum which was four blocks away.  Is was enraptured; Sorolla being her favourite artist.  We made the mandatory pilgrimage to the gift shop, leaving behind many light banknotes in exchange for heavy books.  

After a cheap bus tour to the north caused by taking the right-numbered bus on the wrong side of the street, we wound up at the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum to catch a temporary exhibit of expressionist plein-aire paintings, and then ran through the permanent exhibitions, trying to see all before they closed at 1900. We failed, but did get to the gift shop to pick up more heavy books, including an out-of-print catalogue from the 2012 collaboration between the French National museum and Thyssen showing an exhaustive collection of Hopper's work.  More heavy books added to our rucksacks.

Cancelled our planned trip to El Escorial the next day to rest and just chill out preperatory to our day trip to Toledo.  I figured that it had been there for hundreds of years and should stand for a couple more.

Toledo was great.  Other than the fact that there seems to be a souvenir shop every 75 feet or so, it was beautiful.  We managed to get a tour of a jewelry factory and watch the artisans working their metal skills on fine filigreed trinkets.
Next stop was a museum depicting the Sephardic life in old Toledo.

Then it was off to a mediocre lunch in an attractive restaurant-Cely's usual spot being closed.  After that there was the El Greco Museum, and then a long wander to see what there was to see.

Finally, around 1900 we dragged ourselves onto the train and returned to Madrid to pack for Friday's return.  My final souvenir was a bad cold caused by inhaling second-hand smoke and getting a sore throat.  Same thing happened in Barcelona and London.  Maybe they should sequester smokers in a glass booth similar to the one planted in the center of the Taipei airport, instead of polluting the outdoors.

February update

Lots of interesting events happening this time of year.  We had the pigeon races a couple of weeks ago.  Last week we had cold, fierce winds that blew roofing tiles off and sent them crashing into the courtyard; scattering shards like shrapnel.  The blow kept me off the bike for five days.

Then a warm spell which brought the almond blossoms out early.  The cycle group did another foray over the mountains and into the Hondon Valley in which some orchard areas appeared snow-covered.  Back over the mountains again into the Vega Baja and homeward.  When I got near home, I decided to go an extra thirty kliks to log 161 and complete my (imperial) century for the year.  That leaves the Whaleback as the only cycling "must" this year.

Is and I cycled to Formentera on the Segura River trail yesterday; marveling at the fact that it was the first of February, and we were sweating in our shirtsleeves cycling in bright sunshine.  Pardon me while I crow about the weather.

Today was cool and windy again, but we hit the Orihuela medieval market again, this time with David and Margaret.  A great time, weather notwithstanding.  We gave paella a miss and hit the "massive bread" counter.  Dave and I had foot-long slices, an inch thick, topped with Morcillo (black sausage) and chorizo Criollo, respectively.  The ladies settled for monster slices of pizza.  A bottle of Jumilla crianza washed it all down well.  I couldn't finish mine, and brought one chorizo home wrapped in a third of the bread.

Next year we might have to have half a suckling piglet, or a rack or ribs or any of the countless other temptations that assaulted our nostrils as we wandered for hours.

Monday, we jump on a train and head off for Madrid to start the passport renewal process.  We'll take in the Thyssen Museum, do a couple of day trips to Toledo and El Escorial then return Friday.  "'talogo" (the Vega Baja way of saying, "Hasta luego")

Flocking Pigeons

Hemingway may have run with the bulls in Pamplona, but he has nothing on me.  I flocked with the pigeons in Formentera.  After a fine lunch and the mandatory vino tinto at Rebate Restaurant, we hurried to Dave and Margaret's home in Formentera on the banks of the Rio Segura to observe the annual pigeon (mating) race.  Our vantage point was the fourth floor roof of their building and it soon turned into the front line of the battle. 

 A brief synopsis:  A fertile female is presented to a host of anxious males, and the race is on.  The males had been painted with vegetable dye, in the pattern and colors of their respective owners, but the female is left in her natural colors.  After wheeling and soaring, the female will eventually select her beau from the constantly competing males and then they will settle in somewhere and start cooing and billing, among other activities.   It is then that the event judge must identify the successful male and announce the winner to the crowd.  The proud owner then collects unbelievable amounts of money.  I've been told that the prize is often in the tens of thousands of Euros.

Before that happened, we were surprised to have the flock of males settle onto the roof with us and start their pecking, puffing up and jostling among themselves in order to eliminate competitors and put on the best show for the lucky damsel.  We found ourselves fluttered upon, stepped and landed on and herded from corner to railing by aggressive and human-contemptuous males sporting  all colors of the rainbow.

As dusk settled, we were hailed by the judge down on the street.  Apparently the reluctant lady had hidden in a tree and the contest was being called off till the coming Wednesday.  We were asked to shoo/launch/or otherwise evict the male horde which was more interested in procreating than it was scared of us.  The things you are called upon to do when you don't have a shotgun!

Christmas in Barcelona

Gaudi must have had a crooked pusher who sold him bad acid.  I hate to sound like a Philistine, but his stuff leaves me cold.  We stayed in a nice hotel three blocks from the Sagrada Familia Metro station and surfaced  to this view every time we went home.  There was a massive queue at all but the latest hours, one which would have dissuaded me from paying an exorbitant fee to see the interior.  

Matt, Kim and the girls did take the tour and he came away from it with some beautiful pictures of the interior lit by stained glass.  They said that it was well worth the price and the queue.  

Nick and Susan arrived on the 24th, a day after we did; their visit cut short by the threatened and later, cancelled Iberia strike.  We enjoyed two evenings with them all doing our different forays during the day.  Nick cooked a delicious paella with several varieties of chorizo for Christmas dinner.  Matt and Kim laid in a vast selection of wines and we contributed garlic peanuts, vodka, wine and detergent.  That's a long story...

Camilla and Collette entertained us with a couple of plays, dressing in their finery and new flamenco fans and hair-thingies.  On Christmas day, they led their parents/grandparents on a tour of the Gaudi-designed Guell Park.  We declined, having seen it in June and experiencing magnificent underwhelment.  It seemed to me to be a Disneyland for LSD fans.  OK, so I'm biased.

There were no crime-related incidents this trip, and Is actually managed to relax and enjoy it.  Perhaps the fact that we learned from our first trip and appeared to be hardened targets, prevented us from attracting muggers, buggers and thieves.  ("...love that dirty water...")  We found and tried a Filipino restaurant; enjoying crispy pata to the hilt.  One lunch was at an unimposing but good Indian restaurant just off La Rambla, and one afternoon I discovered a delicious tapa, Bunuelos de Bacalla.  They are a sort of puff pastry with salt cod bits mixed into the dough with unidentified herbs and spices, then deep-fried to a crisp exterior.  

The train trip up and back was shared, coincidentally with new friends, Susanne and Johannes whom we met at the American Thanksgiving lunch.  A very pleasant time, fine weather and a good reunion with family.

Happy New Year to you-all.

Paris with Dylan

On 15 Nov, I flew to Paris to join Dylan who was near the tail end of the conference he organized for Dell users.  We had a fine time, traipsing through the neighbourhoods he frequented back in his college days, dropping into bistros to sample the offerings and wandering the Rive Gauche till 0330 one morning.  I think we both felt that we were a little old for that sort of thing, but had a ball, nevertheless.

While he was working, I managed to hit the Musee D'Orsay and the Musee De Arte Moderne, both of which were well worth the trip.  I wandered the Champs Elysee, explored by Metro and foot and generally wore myself out, stopping now and then to partake of refreshment (at an exorbitant price).  
The weather was wet and foggy most of the time and that prevented me from renting one of the Velib bicycles and trying my hand at navigating Paris traffic.  Probably a good thing, though as the pandemonium I observed convinced me that cycling in Paris is not for the faint-at-heart.  I'll take L.A. or Boston traffic any day.


Four days were just not enough for "the city of light", but my feet and wallet were relieved once we boarded the jet for Alicante.  Many images were recorded both mentally and digitally, in hope of turning them into paintings at a later date.

Now I can cross Paris off the Bucket List, even though I never put it there. Thanks, Dylan for convincing me that it is a "must".

Skinny tires vs. wet clay

This is what happens when you follow the Newest Sadist into the field roads and campos of Alicante, after a heavy rain.  Richard and I decided to explore the canal roads, and eventually strayed into the field roads which, in dry weather are fine, packed clay.  On this occasion, they were a very sticky mass of goo over which he sailed merrily with his fat, knobby tires.  I, on the other hand, had skinny cyclo-cross tires which cut through, causing the mud to jam up into my brake calipers; bringing me to a complete stop.  I narrowly escaped flopping sideways and becoming a mud-puppy.  Anyway, I had to spend about ten minutes every puddle or so, cleaning the brakes off, and when I finally cleaned off the clay (which had turned into concrete), it took me three hours.  

I think I will reserve my off-road escapades to dry days.

The Mountains of La Mancha

Here is Mark heading toward the windmills to do battle right after lunch in Carcelen on  Day two of the Amigos' Fall Colours Tour.  Six of us left Benimar on Halloween and headed into strong headwinds for the mountains.   For two days we battled the wind and climbed to over 3600'; having a great time and working up some ferocious appetites.  The third day was mostly downhill, with the only significant climb being out of the Hondon Valley toward Crevillente and home.
Some of the highlights:
Day 1-We cycled the last 15 kliks in the dark, coming to a screeching halt when blinded by oncoming traffic and puckering mightily when we sensed headlights behind us.  I was appointed to be tail light, as I was the only one to have the foresight to bring a red blinker.  Probably should have brought the front light, as well, but I didn't think we'd be on the road after dark.  That's what getting lost can do to the best aid plan.
Day 2-Imagine the wingeing when we all realized that we had to ride our expensive road bikes through gravel and mud or turn back and  find the right road.  Mud and gravel won.

            Here the Pauls are contemplating leaving us dirt-bikers behind when they get on the black road.

           Dave pointed us toward the mountain passes and we set off into 30+kph winds.  The climb into them was bad enough, but the insult came when we had to pedal downhill to make any significant progress.  I found myself struggling to make 26 kph (16 mph) on a descent that should easily have been a 50+ freewheel.

          One of the best scenes was the descent into Ayora, with the castle and valley ahead of us.  Dave took this shot of me as I fantasized about doing a ride across Spain as he did.
           Paul and Paul disappeared up the hill in front of us and we never saw them again until that night when they hailed us from the bar, as we limped in.
Day 3-Homeward bound out of Yecla, we were on a long, slighly downhill straightaway with the wind behind us , finally, and I was cruising at 52 k, when Norman blew by, using his frame like a spinnaker.  I never caught  him til the next set of hills.
            Mark redefined saddle-sore when he mumbled something about his nipples bleeding.      

It was a great trip and we're all looking forward to the next one-maybe a little earlier than November, though.

Falling in among Sadists and Masochists

It seems as though I attract that personality type.  Or, at least, it seems that way when I think about the guys I cycle with.  Dave plans our overnight tours.  His latest one is a three-day jaunt up into La Mancha and is reputed to be a very scenic, colorful ride through wine country (and now the kicker) including some "steep" and later "long, steady" climbs.  One of the highlights is going to be a cruise (my misnomer) through "one of  the jewels of La Mancha set in a deep river gorge."  Sounds great until you think it through.  "Gorge" is a low spot-usually cut by water, low is only reached from high, and can only be escaped by going lower (not a good idea) or higher-meaning climbing.  
Then there's Peter who lives for climbing and drools in a Pavlovian cascade when he hears Rebate, Hondon Valley or Guadalest.  Whenever he's not thrashing about in his sailboat, he's wagging his rear wheel at us mere mortals waaaay downhill.
We won't elaborate on Gary other than to mention that he breaks chains going uphill using the big ring.  Why he even bothers to weigh himself down with the small ring(s), I don't know.

And the latest is Richard, who on a supposedly tranquil trail cruise along the Segura River, announces that we are going up "that street".  An intown Orihuela lane that turns into a brutal climb up to the monastery.  I say brutal, because I was riding my ancient, steel,10-speed Colnago  and not the new carbon, 20-speed  Cannondale.  I watched him disappear uphill on his triple-ringed mountain bike as I dismounted at the halfway point and started pushing.  I joined him in a celebratory beer at the top, once I quit gasping for air. No complaints from the resident clergy as, after all, "It would just be rude, not to have a beer at the top."

Back Home in Algorfa

Well, the whole London/Wedding trip is done and over,  It ended not without another airline insult-a three hour delay in London.  Guess it wasn't their fault.  Our pane had flown to Algeria earlier in the day and the ground personnel there decided to start some sort of industrial action.  No comment!

The pic is of Canary Wharf viewed across Surrey Quay, taken as we were walking back to Tim's apartment after a fun dinner with Matt, Kim and the girls.  Had a pint with Matt at the Union Pub near Paddington Station and then went to their flat in the "Little Venice" neighborhood.  Very cool place in an old brownstone, with lots of room, high ceilings and a spare flush that operates with a chain.  I haven't seen one of those since I worked Dodge City with Wyatt.   Prominently posted on one wall was a poster that proves that the "crap" derived from Mr. Crapper's invention....interesting....

 

Now to clean up and spruce up the BH for sale.  Don't need three bikes here, and space is at a premium.  Gotta set up the "studio" again and get to work on some more painting projects.  Is is off to Vietnam in about five days for Tim & Ngoc's Buddhist wedding.  I'm hoping someone has cooked up an overnighter for the Amigos-timing would be perfect, but my fitness might not be.  So I'm the last one over the hill, at least I'll make it.

Trio enroute to Maine

Here is the happy trio wandering the streets of Murcia heading for Bistro Zaher to try the fabled Pastel de Murcia.  It is my favorite reason for going to the city, other than the art supply store and gallery Angie Meca.  We were happy to see that the store hadn't been badly affected by the recent flood, though the waters were probably only inches from their front door.  Sad to say, my favorite painting was not there-no mean feat to buy since it had a tag of Eu.650.  Anyway, the pasteles were fine, as expected and Jordan was delighted by the merengues and eclairs she chose.  The proprietor showed his gratitude by giving John and me a "secret" drink that was delicious and powerful, mixed with two shades of firewater.  One was clear and quite tequila-like on its own.  A small amount of that was mixed with about a jigger of some sort of Jerez brandy.  I'll have to check it out further when I have more time.  

How they wound up having lunch in Murcia is a long sad story.  In a nutshell, I mis-interpreted the train schedule and we wound up buying tickets in Callosa for a train that wasn't coming until their Madrid train left Murcia.  So We "raced" there in a car, sometimes listening to a lying GPS and sometimes relying on gut feelings and/or my recollection of landmarks glimpsed briefly while travelling in a speeding peloton.  We arrived at the station about five minutes after their train left.  So, after buying seats on the four-something, they had seven hours to kill.  Unfortunately, Is and I had to drop them with baggage (which had been locked in the car while we lunched), as we had to go home to straighten out baggage snafus with our London flight.  

The tired trio should be checking into their hotel room across from the Palacio Real in Madrid right about now.  My error lost them an afternoon in a beautiful city, but I'll make it up next time.  The rest of their stay was hectic with lots of sightseeing, some swimming, giraffe-feeding and cycling.  Jordan's favourite site was Guadalest, a Moorish castle built on a mountain top in the mountains West of Benidorm.  I was quite impressed with the view.  Had been there before on the soaking, almost-freezing and clouded-in cycle trip last December, and hadn't seen a bit of the castle due to the clouds and rain.