Shocked in Sevilla before a monster road trip home

My day began perfectly.  My new friend, Lynette, who hosted me overnight researched the metro and bus systems for me while her friend, Rosa, made us coffee.  The outpouring of eager people to help me during this sojourn continues to amaze me.  Not only did Lynette send me maps she'd highlighted, but she led me to the metro station, helped me purchase the ticket, and we got on the train to Sevilla.  She had an appointment there.  "Why don't you ride to Sevilla on the metro with me and I'll show you where to get off?"  It would be the perfect plan for me to scout out my hotel for next week.  So, I went.

The San Juan Bajo metro is situated between a parking area and the bridge that would later take me from Sevilla and back to Calahonda.  No challenges so far.  We said goodbye and off I went at the Plaza de Cuba stop, which was only one block from my hotel.  The streets were noisy and people were everywhere.  It was exhilarating to stand on the corner and breathe it in.

I was in Sevilla, a city where I'd been before in 2012 with my brother, Steven.  The city where my ancestors got off a train, got on a boat to sail to the ocean and then walked twelve days on to Gibraltar to board the SS Orteric for Hawaii.  The history was sweet for me.  I found our hotel, noted the grocery store nearby and decided I'd walk toward the large Plaza de Cuba, take time to smell the flowers... And maybe get myself a cafe con leche before I backtracked onto the metro, found my car and left town.  The roundabout was filled with flowers, spilling over the sides of planters, in pots and hanging from light poles.  It is a beautiful area and I threw my head back and looked at everything around me.  When I spied the outdoor cafe, I wandered over there to find an empty table.

And that is when I saw him.  When I realized my eyes were not deceiving me, I stopped and stared.  Our faces mirrored shock.  And then we shook our heads at each other as I came forward and he stood to kiss both my cheeks in the Spanish hello.  Professor James Fernandez sat there alone and we just could not believe we'd crossed paths in a city of thousands.  After finally meeting him yesterday after a five-year internet friendship, we couldn't imagine seeing each other first in Huelva yesterday during his lecture and now.  On a street in Sevilla.  At an outside cafe.  Near the metro that I'd just that morning decided to ride from Gelves to find my hotel... I am still shaking my head and I'm sure he is also.  What are the odds, I wonder? We were too stunned to think of photographing the moment.

After a little chat, I was off to the metro and he was off to meet a friend who was going to show him the city.  My car was still in the parking spot.  I zipped out of there, below the beautiful building high above me and sped across the bridge toward home, which was a two and a half hour drive away.  I'd looked at my list of road changes, list of town names, but didn't set the GPS.  I'd been on that route just yesterday, you see.  And I had a head full of marbles thinking I didn't need it.  I was so wrong.

I remembered most of the road numbers.

When I saw the sign to Jerez de la Frontera, I remembered the town comes into play in my Wine, Vines and Picasso book (#3) and that it might again in Flamenco Strings: Uncorked (4), so I jumped off the exit.  I drove up, up and up some more and was delighted to see the city where sherry is made from white wine grapes.  The city is beautiful and I found the large, elegant gates into one of the vineyards.  I was interested in Emilio Lustau because it was founded by a family with a Ruiz surname.  But, of course, I was on my way home...maybe when Rina arrives, we can go sherry and brandy tasting?  After getting El Carro a full tank of gas and a car wash, we were on the road again pointed south.

And then I missed just one teensy weensy road change and found myself driving toward Cadiz.  Uh-oh.  I got off the highway so I could turn around but it wasn't so easy.  Nearly an hour passed as I drove in villages, danced through roundabouts, missed connections and finally decided to look at my map.  (See?  I'd forgotten about the GPS in my frustration).  I saw I'd missed road 381 and THEN I put in the coordinates for the GPS to Calahonda.  Finally winding my way back nearly ten miles, El Carro spit out the map and I was back on line.  Nothing could pry me off this road, I told myself.

After driving through flat lands, then tree lined hills, I knew the mountain was ahead.  It is a very long mountain highway and I also knew it would take me south to the ocean where I would catch the A-7 that runs parallel to the Mediterranean and home again.  And then it started raining.  And then the wind picked up.  Hard, strong winds that blew El Carro so badly that both of my fists gripped the steering wheel and my knuckles were white.  Semi trucks shook in their lanes.  A Mini-Cooper swooped across the lane just missing my fender and swung close to the edge and the gorge below.  When I crossed the bridges, the wind was worse -- like a wind tunnel.  I loved driving inside the tunnels (three of them) because I was out of the wind for moments.

When the steepest incline on the mountain lay ahead of me, I noticed El Carro was losing compression.  My Buick is an automatic and despite doing well on El Carro's manual shift, I still don't remember all the secrets.  I was flooring the gas pedal and the speedometer was dropping at an alarming rate...down 90, 80, 75, 70, 68...and then I remembered the gear shift!  I pushed it from 5 into 4 and wow.  El Carro reached up and kissed me.  My mind was doing cartwheels as I thought I was going to break down on that road...

I saw the sign to El Barrios and knew I was nearing A-7.  And then the unthinkable happened.  My GPS started chirping loudly.  I looked at the monitor and it wanted me to take the next exit, go across the highway and back down again.  Huh?  How could I have missed a road change?  Since I'd been lost earlier, I spun the wheel and followed the directions.  Back over the highway, back down the ramp, back across three tunnels, fighting to stay on the bridges as the wind buffeted me like an ice cube in a punch bowl...and then I put my brain in gear.  Wait a minute!  By the time I'd driven nearly twenty miles backwards, I knew something was wrong.

When I saw the road sign "Via de camino servicios" I took it quickly.  Thank goodness for roadside service, I thought.  "I hope there's someone there to help me," I muttered.  The road ran parallel to the highway, a little less wind, narrow, winding up and down hills but I couldn't find any service area.  AND then it hit me.  Lost in translation!  Spanish words don't translate like my brain does.  It wasn't a road for services.  It was a SERVICE ROAD!  I pulled over into the rocky lane of a long-dead farmhouse with its stones falling ramshackle around its foundation and looked at the GPS.  It now had me heading back to Sevilla.  My only conclusion is that the wind had shaken it and Calahonda's coordinates got lost.  I re-set it and sure enough, El Carro was blithely telling me to turn around...another five miles on the "service road" and I was able to get back onto the road going back...through the tunnels again, over the bridges...fighting the wind and then rain started pouring.  As you can imagine, by now I must admit I wanted to cry.  Maybe I did...but at least I was going the right way.

Until I got to Estepona, took that stupid roundabout again and landed smack in the middle of the city. The GPS took me through all the back streets, past cars jutting out into the street in some semblance of parking...

But when I saw the water, I knew where I was.  My stomach calmed.  And the sea?  The wind was churning it up so much, the breakers looked about three or four feet high.  Everyone had jackets on, holding them closed with one hand and their head down walking along the street fighting their way along the sidewalk.

I want to go home!  Casa Grande, where are you?  But of course, I settled myself down as I whispered R's words, "slow and easy." I made it home, parked El Carro without kicking his tires and dropped when I walked in the door.  My bruise from fighting the steering wheel...

It took me five hours to make the journey today.  Yesterday, it took exactly two and a half.

And goodie. I get to drive back to Sevilla again on Wednesday.  Hmmmm...I think I'll go through Antequera this time.  I've scouted out more roads in Spain than I can count.

AND tomorrow I have been invited back to Los Nuñez to visit Lyn and Saidie.  My bedroom is now a haven, roosters, dogs, hilly roads and all.  I can hardly wait to get back there again.