Taxi! The train! And flamenco too. 💃🏻

 Oblivious to the craziness that lay ahead of us… me at Maria Zambrano Train Station in Malaga

Overconfident, I led my brother into the station, through security and through the gates.  Waving my train ticket with coche (car) 4 clearly showing us where to go as we walked along the AVE bullet train, we began counting. We found coche 1, 2, 3, cafetería and then 5 and 6. Hmmm. Maybe the cafeteria train? I directed Steven to push all our luggage up the steps (it wasn’t easy) and we pushed them into a slot.  When I found our seat, a young woman was already there. I asked her if this was coche 4. “No, cinco (5).  I hurried back to Steven with the news and we were indecisive. What to do?  And then, along came a train hostess who looked at the ticket, stared at the coche 4 printed there and pursed her lips.  She pointed toward the cafeteria and asked me to wait for a supervisor because she thought we may be on the wrong train.  Huh? It was the train 2123 at 11:55 a.m.  Steven and I pushed all four bags into the shelving on the empty cafeteria car. Steven stood guard and I headed to the other end.  I was happy when the train doors locked and it began to move. They wouldn’t make us get off now…but we had no seat.  I give Spanish trains a 5* though, because a supervisor found me, stared at our ticket, changed it to coche 3 and we were soon seated for the 2-1/2 ride ahead of us. All good.  I would have ridden in the food car if there’d been seats…not far to go for coffee.  So much for over confidence.

We arrived at Atocha, Madrid’s train station and again, I led my brother along the marble-floored building stretching my neck to look out the high windows.  If I could see the street, I’d get my head straight. The Hotel Mediodía was across the street, just past the giant roundabout, hundreds of people, too many cars to count whipping around it and the taxicabs.  But, we found it just fine. So, overconfidence paid off that time.  Cafés were strewn along the street with people sipping coffee, some with dogs at their feet. And there were homeless here and there, enough to break our stride feeling sad. The room was very nice and I was delighted with the floor to ceiling windows that opened out onto a small balcony above a guitar-playing singer just below.  

We had a date with Ana Silván Grimaldos, a cousin I’d met in 2017. We found her in front of the Museo Sofia Reina behind our hotel and we’re we’re quickly drinking cups of creamy coffee. She speaks a little Spanish, “poco poco,” she said with a grin. Her personality was adorable and she and Steven spoke more Spanish than I did…then just before we ended our chat, she lifted some papers from her bag and slid the, across the table.  “For you,” she said. I could hardly belief my eyes.  It was a family tree I had filled out listing the three Silván family members I knew.  The first name, the oldest son was Felipe. I only knew about him several years ago because he was listed as godfather to several other siblings from baptismal documents I had found.  She had completed Felipe’s column! Now we know exactly how she is related to us. My heart flipped and I can barely wait to update the Silván information when I return home. She was excited to share it with me after talking to her great aunt, who

is old, clear headed with a good memory.