Old Hands, part 11

As we moved into spring there were more wonderful trips for us, both inside Spain and out. Late in February Mike and I took the kids back to Sevilla, which we had seen just for half a day two years earlier, when we were deciding whether to move to Spain. This time we drove down, stopping at Carmona to see a Roman amphitheater, and at Itálica, a large, well-preserved site that had been a retirement community for Roman soldiers. Itálica had several large and beautiful floor mosaics in place, and we saw more of those the next day when we went to Sevilla’s archaeological museum.

We visited the Alcázar in Sevilla, the palace where King Juan Carlos stayed whenever he visited the city. It was built after the Moors had been expelled from Spain, but the style was entirely Moorish, with dripping plaster ornamentation and colorful tiles. The gardens were beautiful, and the kids had fun running through the outdoor maze and watching fish in the many ponds.

In Sevilla’s central park, Parque María Luisa, we went to the Pabellón Mudejar, which housed re-creations of a blacksmith’s shop, a potter’s workshop, and similar evocations of the past. We took a long walk from there to the Plaza de España, where we sat near a huge fountain, enjoying the sun for a while. We took a taxi back to the cathedral area and had a pizza lunch, then walked through a sun-splashed neighborhood of white houses with yellow trim and wrought-iron balconies. We climbed the Giralda, the famous Moorish bell tower of Sevilla’s cathedral—36 ramps to the top—rewarded by a lovely view of the town and the Patio de los Naranjos, the church’s courtyard, filled with orange trees.

We went to the island of La Cartuja, where Expo 92 had taken place. Many of the exposition buildings were still there, and we went to see two films at the Imax theater there. The kids enjoyed them even thought they didn’t understand much of the Spanish voice-overs.

For dinner we chose a Moroccan restaurant. The girls looked doubtfully at the menu. “I don’t think there’s anything I want to eat here,” Julie complained.

“Let’s just order a bunch of different things. If you taste something you like, it’s yours,” I said. And we were surprisingly successful with that strategy. Julie ate some bean soup and a lemon chicken dish, Lisa liked the lamb couscous, and I had a lamb kebab. Mike ate assorted Moroccan salads and a pigeon pie.

The next day we drove northwest almost to the Portuguese border and visited a large cave, the Gruta de las Maravillas. There were six lakes to see in the cave, and many stalagmites and stalactites. The temperature was warmer in the cave than outside, and it was very humid. The girls loved exploring the place.

On the way back to Madrid I drove through a speed trap at 140 kilometers per hour (about 84 mph). The speed limit was 120 km/hr (72 mph). A policeman pulled me over, and I was terrified, thinking of my nonexistent residence card.

“Dieciseis mil pesetas,” the cop told me—about $120. We had about a third of that with us, we explained to the cop. He understood, and he took my driver’s license and directed us back to the small town we’d just passed, where we visited the cash machine. I drove back, gave the cop the money, and got my license back.

“I guess he didn’t care about our immigration status,” I said to Mike.

“No, he just wanted the money,” Mike said.

“You know, that could just as easily have been you as me,” I said. “You drive even faster than I do.”

“I know,” Mike said. “You just got lucky.”