scottmerrickdotnet: July the Fourth Be With You -- Spain, Part I

Okay, it doesn't have the same weight as "May the Fourth..." but here we are. Nearly mid-way through a very hot summer and up at dawn on the sofa downstairs where I flopped down around 3 in the morning after walking my neurotic but much loved Watson downstairs.

He doesn't do it every morning, but enough that Lee Ann and I have a tacit understanding that we will take turns dealing with it. Sometimes that might mean cajoling all nearly 90 pounds of him back up onto the bed with our partner and re-retiring upon said bed; sometimes it means padding down the steps with him because he has just told us, in that psychically conveyed way that dogs have of saying, for example, "Hey Dad, Hey Dad, it's time to move downstairs but I need ya to come with me because just because..."

We're lucky that our leather sectional sofa is very comfy. We slept all night on it twice last week, and come to think of it he didn't once slap his tail against the blinds and say it was time to go upstairs...hmmmm...

Lots of ellipses in life...

So, I likely won't get this posted today but I did want to begin reflecting on our 17 day trip to Spain. I've posted on Instagerm (sic) the two drawings I did but I'll put 'em in the blog as I come to them in the space/time continuum I'm beginning to travel as I write. This is all for me, by the way, so you don't have to keep reading. But...

Day 1 was a travel day and we had packed up the day before and had our luggage by the door when we arose early. We had done a pretty good job of getting things in the 3 bags and two carry-ons we were taking. I also carried my tenor ukulele. No paints or mediums, just a sketchbook and a little box of pencils. We took a Lyft and boy was that ride "interesting." Gary picked us up in his (I think) Toyota Corolla, a black coupe, which was fitted out for pandemic with a plexi barrier between front and back. Of course he had a full-sized skeleton in the passenger seat up front and a paper fan hanging on the plexi for for passenger air conditioning. Now, some Uber and Lyft drivers are humans of few words. Not Gary. We knew everything about him by the time we unloaded at BNA curbside, including his recent medical history and the fact that he was a production designer who set up shows for Jimmy Buffet and others and was driving Lyft because he had developed chronic back issues. It was the non-stop Gary Show the whole way, and it provided a colorful beginning. Lee Ann has a few pics but we'll just leave Gary to your imagination.

Why were we going to Spain anyway? Well, because it had been oh around two or three decades since we had taken a really serious vacation together, and because I am "retired" and Lee Ann works most of her waking hours feeding Nashville at her grab-and-go gourmet kitchen and store, Tinwings. I am so completely proud of her and thankful that she embraces a calling that so beautifully satisfies her drive to care for others and her creativity in any kitchen. She has been in that historic little building on 51st Avenue North for nearly eight years and she just purchased her portion of it, no longer dependent on a landlord's whims and fortunes for the security of herself and her "other family" of creatives, (David, Anitra, Taylor, Ashley, Daniel, and Loren) the close-knit group of humans who work with her and for her. And hey, whilst we're at it, vote for her in a current competition for recognition as the world-class chef that she is. (Note: she placed 6th in the top five, which, considering we did not throw any money in it, was a darned good showing. You can click that previous link to see her results and competitor page.)

We wanted time together and neither of us had ever been to España. Did we wing it? No. Absolutely not. A couple Lee Ann knew who had traveled together there had very highly recommended RH Travel Design and we contacted them. They planned it all with several phone call meetings along the way, and they did it marvelously. RH Travel = Very Highly Recommended, I am happy to pass along. We started this whole process, btw, fully a year ago. Planning? Priceless. Shoutout to the immensely capable and helpful Rachel, Brian, and Mia!

At BNA curbside, we checked our bags through to Manilla. Our porter at the curbside was the first person I gave a shiny copper ("gold(en)") dollar coin, explaining that I am a very lucky man and that the coin should be considered a piece of my luck all for them. This was to be a thread for taxi drivers, doormen, servers, and guides during our journey. I began somewhere along the way to believe I was giving out actual good luck. Perhaps I was. I hope so. We also tipped accordingly, with Euros, as perceived appropriate. We'll talk about tipping, which was to be a thing of its own overseas.

We passed through Security easily and found ourselves near the gate, at Tennessee Rickhouse, a bar at the airport, for one celebratory beverage.

We boarded the American Airlines flight without incident an settled into cushy first class seats for the first time. Yes, it was that kind of trip, and I am not mad at that. In fact, if I had my way, that would be all I'd ever fly. Looking forward from that moment, it would be the Chicago airport on the way home from Barcelona before any harsh realities of domestic travel slapped us in the faces again.

At Charlotte our transatlantic flight was delayed over two hours due to "some problem with a jet prop, y'all, I don't know nothing about nfixin' no airplane," as the airline attendant said over the intercom speaker at our first gate. We allowed as how it was good they isolated that on the ground, right? The debarkation gate was changed to another terminal, requiring a goodly trek to a plane that wasn't there yet. In about another hour we boarded, again in Group A, this time Business Class, and experienced those extraordinary space pods that would encase us in our transatlantic flights. That was the shiz! Although we sat across an aisle from one another, we still could lean up and beam at one another across that aisle, and the completely reclining seats, the pillows, and the blankets took good care of us between the meals and the beverages, the movies, and the extensive music offerings, all of which kept us entertained at will. I watched "The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck" movie and a couple Austin City Limits, including one featuring James Taylor. I also listened to a Soccer Mommy album, one of the two they offered. I did sleep, but maybe only 3 hours, and I did willfully ignore the common wisdom to refrain from alcohol. They were serving complimentary Woodford Reserve, after all.

Later, we landed in Madrid. I had a weird moment once the seat belt sign was off where I could not locate my freakin' shoes. I had stowed them in the upper bin before sleeping. But then...

Here's where we knew we had done ourselves a super solid by working with RH. At the 787's exit door--not at baggage, not at the gate, but at the freaking exit door--we were met by a tall handsome man named Javier, wearing a crisp black suit, who opened a stairwell door right off the plane and escorted us down one flight of steps to a parking lot where another man in a crisp black suit awaited with a crisp (lol) black Mercedes-Benz. He introduced himself and took our carry-ons, stowing them in the spotless trunk of the car, and we drove around and around airport roads until we ended up a a building wherein polite ladies greeted us and led us to the VIP waiting room.

On the way we stopped at a desk and had our passport stamped by a uniformed customs official, and our man Javier took our passports. Inside, we availed ourselves of the plush bathroom facilities and sat on a sofa for I swear not 15 minutes, sipping cold bottles of water, until we were fetched again and led to the car, into the spotless trunk of which were being placed our three bags. Into the car, up the highway, into Madrid with its plethora of cars and scooters and motorbikes, and into the tight winding streets of the Old City to our first of four hotels, the Palacio de los Duques Gran Melia, the Palace of the Dukes. Yes, it was once an actual palace. No lie.

I can see it will be a while before I get through these next two weeks, but I'm up for it. Right now my lovely human's morning alarm is starting to go off and I need to take her coffee. She's off work for the holiday and for the week and her sister Amy and Jim, my brother-in-law, will be arriving at that trusty old BNA in two hours and change. I'll carry on beginning with the Hotel de Marguerite (my nickname) next post.