Ten days ago we took the Skinny Island Post on the road again, but technical issues and budget constraints would not allow us to post from the trail, so we are doing that now, after the fact, from the safe and comfy confines of the little hacienda, tuckered out, but richer from the experience.

This was a bit of a stretch for us in a couple of ways.  First, it was a trip across the pond to Spain and Portugal.  We mostly do our exploring stateside; it’s been ten years since we took the show abroad.  Second, it was a package tour, something we’ve never tried, which meant, besides there being a tight schedule, we would be in close proximity to a bunch of other people for more than a week, not exactly our forte.  But it was a good deal, and promised to cover a lot of ground, and we were ready to let someone else do the driving. Turned out to be a great decision.

 Up at three for a drive to Orlando where we left the intrepid van in a lot and took a shuttle to the terminal for the first leg, a short flight to Philadelphia, where we had a significant lay-over before hopping the flight to Madrid.  We were picked up by Barbara’s long-time friend Dayle, who lives nearby in Delaware, and whisked off for a driving tour of some of the famous historic sites downtown.  Most impressive, even the statue of Rocky.

We parked in a garage and toured a wonderful indoor market place consisting of dozens of food vendors of every description, from vegetable and fish markets, to pizza and deli sandwiches, to breads and unbelievably tempting desserts.  Very European, and predictive of things to come. This place was huge, and bustling with a lunch-time crowd.  We made a pretty thorough inspection, somehow managing not to indulge at this point, then set off to meet Dayle’s husband Steve, who had promised to take us to his favorite place for Philly Cheese Steak.  We weren’t even in Europe yet, and the trip was already about food.

Though the place had moved since the last time he had been there, Steve successfully guided us to the new home of Rick’s Steaks, and we dove in.  Coached by a veteran, we knew to ask for a regular steak, with “Wiz,” meaning Cheese-Wiz, of course, which endeared us to the staff.  No food rookies on this junket.  It was delicious.

 On the way back to the car, we stopped in the market again and got a Reuben and a pastrami to eat on the plane, and then Dayle kindly deposited us at the airport.  A fine way to spend a lay-over, and good memories to carry onto what turned out to be a miserable flight over.  We’ve never been real good at sleeping sitting upright in a cramped space.  It was just six hour to be endured, made worse by a flight staff that was not only gum-smackingly rude, but downright hostile! Never seen anything like it.  Post-Modern Relativism at it behavioral worst.  Dozed a little finally and woke at seven to watch the sunrise from the air.  Pretty nice.  Landed in Madrid at 0840 local time, claimed our bags, and went looking for the bus that was supposed to deposit us near our hotel very near the city center.  Hang on.