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Anne enjoying some very salty bread, huge green beans, and, apparently from the blush in her face, a few beers...

This is probably in Plaza Larga in Granada.

But who knows for sure? That salty bread is quite disorienting.

Our travelers have some tea in a very middle-eastern tea house in the just a little bit Muslim Albaicín in Granada.
To get to Gibraltar you literally have to walk across an active runway.

Or buzz across it, your choice.

Just stay between the white lines.

It's 2pm in Sevilla. You can find us, and practically everyone else in the city, at a tapas bar.

After a mid-day beer, some tortilla and some big calamari rings, it will be high time for another great Spanish tradition that I heartily endorse: La Siesta.

A somewhat hot day in Sevilla, after a five or six mile walk.

Forget the environmental angle -- I'd recycle just due to the friendly bottle logo gathering a tiny tribe to his bottle-bosom.

John, with our most excellent rental car with one of the zillions of most excellent bull billboards in the background.

Why do cars abroad seem so much better than the same brand in the United States? I think they are sorted at the factory: Mushy suspension with bad fit-and-finish: Send to the U.S. Nice suspension and snug doors: Send to Europe.

Our Nissan Primero easily went 160 kph and it didn't seem like we were going that fast. We didn't figure out that this was over 90 mph until we got back home. D'oh!

Anne, listening to the stupefyingly dull audio-thingie in the Haren at the Alhambra.

The narration was in Washington Irving's voice -- oh my word what a snoozer this thing was. Not just boring, but frustratingly so.

Anne shopping in the Alcaicería in Granada.

Why didn't we buy a flamenco dress and a matador's outfit while we were there? We were looking, literally, *right* below them.

Anne away off in the distance on one of Ronda's many cliff-top lookouts.
Anne, checking out the police station in Ronda.
The classic "What?!?" stance.
Anne, holding the Lonely Planet, with a picture of tiles on it, in a room at the Sevilla Alcázar covered in tiles, in a dress that looks surprisingly like the tiles.

Neither of us noticed this. It took a British woman to point it out to us.

Yes, the British woman took a picture too.

Wandering through the serene hedgerow maze in Sevilla's Alcázar gardens.
Shopping along Calle Caro, just outside of Sevilla's Alcázar.
Anne, modeling a rat and feral cat infested Plaza de España well after we should have been somewhere a bit safer.
Anita, whipping out some serious language skills on the first day of the trip.

This is an actual hotel reservation, being made, in Spanish, in Spain.

I was stunned!

Anne, in hot, sweaty, stinky, crowded, and oppressively humid Gibraltar.

Hey, that's Morocco in the background. No foolin'!

John, again with Morroco in the background.
I wanna wanna go to the Prado.

Our bizarre roof-top hotel room in Madrid.

Give the Hotel Ambassador a pass.

A Smart car, and a big oaf in Madrid.

The car's designer claims that he wanted the vehicle to fit two adults and a case of beer -- and no more -- in this car.

I think he may have been a bit too successful.

A post-Paella muscat in Madrid.

This place is called Champagnerìa Gala on Moratín 22 in Madrid. Highly recommended, and a short walk from the Prado.

Dang good Paellas, and everyone, even the old biddies out shopping, drinks their muscat like this.

Dorky, yes. Foolish, yes. Dribbly, certainly. But who's to argue with the seventy-something society women and thirty-something business guys whooping it up throughout the restaurant?


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