Romance and fun on a trip to Spain. Author and columnist Tom Blake provides details on an Easter week trip to Spain with his partner. Dating information and advice for widowers, widows, divorced men, divorced women, middle-aged singles boomer singles and senior singles who are dating again and hope to meet a mate.

Romance and fun in Spain
© 2004 by Tom Blake

Their stay in Spain anything but plain

Monday, April 26, 2004
TOM BLAKE Register columnist

Last month, this column shared opinions from readers on whether my partner Greta and I should go to Spain over Easter week in light of the terrorists' bombings of three train stations.

We had planned the vacation last July and had intended to travel through Spain by train. More than 80 percent of you encouraged us to go. We accepted your advice and spent a week in Spain, but traveled by car instead. Being careful and inconspicuous were top considerations. Our clothes were plain and big crowds were to be avoided.

On the first day in Madrid, after visiting the Prado - one of the great museums in the world - we were walking on a nearby street when a rowdy and near riotous group of young people entered the intersection 30 yards in front of us. We thought, "Oh no, this is it, we've found trouble already."

When a man told us to leave, we didn't know whether to back away slowly or run. Then he said, "Sorry, we're filming a commercial." We looked at each other and agreed from that moment on, we were going to lighten up and just enjoy the trip.

The next day was Palm Sunday. Spanish families and tourists crowded the Plaza Mayor, one of Madrid's most popular squares. While we dined on paella at one of the Plaza's many outdoor cafes, musicians played and then passed their hats for tips.

During Easter week, known as Semana Santa, nearly every city in Spain has somber religious processionals that wind through city streets at dusk. In Granada, we sat at an outdoor café on the Plaza Nueva, with the 15th century Alhambra fortress perched on a hill above us, having dinner while watching the two-hour parade pass nearby.

Next on our itinerary was a stay in an apartment in the small town of Nerja on the Costa del Sol.

On our first evening there, instead of going out to dinner, a local market provided the supplies for an impromptu picnic. In 75-degree weather, Greta and I sat on our deck and looked over red tile roofs at the blue Mediterranean. The aroma of orange blossoms came from the trees below. A dove cooed from a nearby rooftop and swallows flitted about as they do at the Mission San Juan Capistrano. On the table: a superb Spanish red wine, Estola Reserva 1996, a baguette still warm from the market's oven, fresh Spanish olives, extra virgin olive oil, salami and Camembert cheese.

The Swiss dark chocolate was still in its wrapper.

"This is living," I said to Greta. "And very romantic," she added. "It's time to open the chocolate."

A trip together means sharing experiences. While I did the driving, Greta navigated, and both of us felt blessed to survive those infamous traffic circles where cars from three directions merge into one circular dance and you have to instantly figure out who has the right of way. On Good Friday it rained. We needed paper towels and oranges from the market before it closed at noon. After shopping, and entirely on the spur of the moment, we started driving along the coast and ended up going 30 miles to Malaga, a seaport on the Mediterranean.

When Good Friday Mass ended at the Malaga cathedral, the locals poured into the nearby bars and restaurants to eat tapas and drink. Greta and I wedged our way to the bar and drank beer and ate calamari and fried octopus with them. The people seemed pleased that we were there and toasted us every time they raised their glasses, which was often. A trip also means sharing laughter. Toward the end, we hand-washed a few clothes. When the rain came, we couldn't dry them outside. We put one of my T-shirts in the microwave and managed to brown it like toast.

Getting lost is inevitable. In Toledo, where El Greco lived, we parked in a garage under the old city. When it was time to leave, we couldn't find our way out through the maze of cobblestone streets and alleys. I said, "I know the way," which, of course, I didn't. After asking two people for directions, Greta found the car. In the taxi on the way to the airport, we held hands and agreed it had been a great trip.

NOTES

I will be speaking at the Mission Viejo Senior Center on Friday, May 14, at the Senior Connection Twilight dinner. For reservations: call (949) 470-3062.
Topic: dating experiences and tips.