I have spent a lot of time on this trip alone in places
where even an introverted curmudgeon like me would have appreciated seeing
another human, and the drive to Zaragoza wasn’t an exception. Every now and
then I would see a lone person on a bicycle and wonder what they were doing out
on a deserted road miles from anywhere, and then realize that other drivers
were wondering the same thing about me last week.
Zaragoza remedied that problem very quickly. Turns out that
the annual, weeklong Festival of Pilar honoring (what else) the patron saint of
Zaragoza, with concerts every night, parades, mountains of flowers and wild
festivities ended the night before I got to town.
Undeterred by the truckloads of dying flowers being swept up
all over the main plaza by the cleaning crew and sleep-deprived American
tourists heading out for one more Starbucks, I woke up early and went for a
run. And surprisingly ran into my buddy, the Ebro River, which actually did finally
part ways with me, this time in the most stunning way possible.
And then a train to Barcelona, where I am staying for a few
days. On one hand, my apartment is on the top floor of a building and has a
private terrace overlooking the kind of famous Santa Maria del Mar church. On
the other hand, it is the size of a large walk-in closet and I have to hold my
arms at my side to turn around. There is no place I’d rather be.
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