I am only 6 weeks into this blogging thing. I guess I could be considered a “Blogger” since I’ve written and published my first post, not to mention the following three posts. And now this one. However, I’m certainly no expert at it, and it doesn’t make me any money, and I don’t have a million followers – Yet. But I get to practice and learn everything I want. And that’s all the satisfaction I need. For now.
To the layman this is difficult to explain. For the layman it may be difficult to grasp. Because the layman, apparently, knows a thing or two about blogging. I know. I’ve heard. I just may be doing it all wrong. Actually. Evidentally. Apparently. Indubitably.
So. Ahem. I started dating. Kind of. Since I seem to be ensconced in estrogen these days, I could use a good shot of testosterone every now and again. What can I say? A man friend. A part-time boyfriend. A lover. A let’s-go-out-and-hit-a-few-balls-in-the-park guy. Any of these would be great. I still love my girlfriends. But. Just put a man in my world. Please.
So. I have started my dating adventure with the online dating thing.
(a continuation from May 1, 2015 post, Part 1)
Even though we have completely recovered from Madrid’s nightlife, our legs are still lucky enough to get an almost-three-hour respite from day-walking. We are now on a high speed train headed to Seville.
I’m heavily train-sedated by the time we arrive, and I stumble into the station to first glance up and see “Salida – Kansas City Blvd.” And directions to “Florida Street.” And a blurb on my text-machine referencing some lounge called “New York.” Where the heck am I? I feel like I’ve been dumped back into the States and my trip has come to a screeching halt! I shake my head like I’m tossing marbles around inside the top of an hourglass. Then I come to. So we do exit Kansas City Blvd. And we do hike up Florida Street. Then as we drag our luggage up through alleyways to get to the hotel, we see the town crowded with families, professionals, teenagers and young couples – everyone dressed in their Sunday best. Women’s high heels click on cobblestone walkways, and strollers and suitcases bounce through the cobblestone streets as Spaniards and foreigners arrive for the Semana Santa. By late that Palm Sunday afternoon, there is a crowd gathering outside the Cathedral. And, we, along with that crowd, are awaiting our first experience with a Semana Santa procession.
This past Good Friday, the Friday before Easter, I met Jesus. Yep, that’s right…Jesus!
Jesus from Barcelona bought me two shots of whiskey at a little jazz club on the corner of Calle Fernando Colon and Calle Pedro Lopez in Cordoba, Spain. He could barely speak English. I could barely speak Spanish. Yet, over the whisky and a lot of sign language, we became fast friends.
Yes! I got to be in Cordoba, Spain on a Good Friday courtesy of my now-rapidly dwindling savings account.
What put me in Cordoba, Spain on that early Good Friday morning?