Spain! Day 1 (or what feels like day 38 in travel time–kind of the opposite of time travel)

Travelling for more than 24 hours makes you feel like you are hungover and have just had a baby (two,hopefully, mutually exclusive pursuits that result in feeling dehydrated, sore and sleepless). Traveling more than 24 hours in economy class, on a-not-major airline, sitting in seats made from black fabric stapled on plastic lawn chairs (that would feel like a tight fit to Luke) with long layovers makes you feel like that party was really, really good but you don’t remember it and maybe you just had twins the day before. I realize I’m writing this from a position of great privilege and this trip is stuff dreams are made of (thank you Jim), because it is a dream come true for Izzy and me.

So the trip was long, I may have walked in the mens’ room a few times and awoke from a Dramamine fueled dream on the plane unable to take off my sleeping mask. It was scary for me, but far scarier for the other people in my dream who were grappling with me driving by feel down a one way cobblestone street in the wrong direction with a sleeping mask on and Dramamine sedatives in my system. Keep those other dream drivers in your prayers—I would not have been able to walk a straight line or recite the alphabet backwards). I’m sure they are going to need it, because I definitely was working on a giant auto wreck when I woke up.

Izzy is an excellent travel companion and is grateful for every minute—savoring every sight, taste and experience with me.

When I found the horse portion of our trip, I was googling without any prior knowledge. So we are at a farm called Son Menut on Palma de Mallorca. I’ve been riding for more than 40 years, but if you were to describe my skill level it would be: 94% terrified unless I’m riding my own horse. I took a year off between high school and college to see if I wanted a career in horses—but terror and sensitive flight animals isn’t usually a great blend. True to what they advertised, we both got to ride Andalusians. What I didn’t quite realize is that they were both going to be stallions. Mine did a nice spook at the beginning to ensure I upped my skills to 102% terrified for the remainder of the ride and to see if I really could hand wash undergarments. We survived with zero proof, because I was not going to let go of an 01/8inch of rein to film.

The instructor was less than impressed than he should have been. Izzy and I basically won golds by the time we jumped off. Tomorrow is a hack with hopefully something less stalliony and maybe on something less of this century. I prefer a 1900s vintage horse.

We rented bikes after our ride to go to Felanitx. The millions of European tourists who were at the airport yesterday didn’t join us here because it’s not close to a beach and it is el infierno temperature and humidity wise. My number 1 purchase here will be all the water. The island can’t keep up with Izzy and my demands for hydration. I’m loving the sleepy town with its spectacular church. The church had all the gold work, sculptures, tiles and paintings we loved in Portugal with the little idiosyncratic touches that are my favorite. In Portugal it was the less talented artist Marty who couldn’t paint or sculpt animals or people mixed with great intricate talent. In Sant Michael, the stained glass was primarily done by masters except that one summer where I imagine they had the really popular “bring your kid to work” week back in the 70s. Let’s just say a few of the stained glass should probably be tacked to my fridge.

This stained glass depicts the guy who was waiting to use the pay phone behind me in Ketchikan in the 1990s. He was a drunk fisherman and I was in my 20s trying to find an escape route.