With the natural ageing process, comes a growing inability. In one sense, or another. Either physical, or mental, or both. An inevitability. Difficult to slow down. Harder to delay.
Mental and physical, work hand in hand. Both affecting the other. Adjusting and adapting is key. Not giving up on yourself vitally important too. “After 68, you renegotiate” [John Mayer] Even more important, maintaining a sense of humour. Being able to laugh squarely in the face of that new found inability. Even when you fail to recognise the face that’s staring back at you from the mirror.
Long journeys involve many hours of sitting. So to compensate, we focus on that grey stuff sitting up top. Give our brains a regular work out. Share a daily crossword. Some days we feel like a couple of dummkopfs. Left wordless and speechless. Unable to locate words that have gone into deep hibernation. We know they’re in there somewhere, but the cave seems empty (or, is the correct answer ‘void’?) Frantically play the alphabet from A to Z. Then back again. Emulate a couple of maniacal xylophonists practising scales. Like trying to find just the right combination of lottery numbers, but with letters. Then Mrs S shares her Quordle. Concentration concentrates each day’s journey. Squeezes it down into a manageable size. Time passes as quickly as the passing countryside.
Day 20 – With eyes eyeing the return journey north and its colder climes, our bodies still yearn for the warmer weather south. So we delay. Head south west. Leave the cold wet Atlantic weather front to do what it does best in Bilbau. Head for Zaragoza’s promised sun. We’re not disappointed. A large municipal site Ciudad de Zaragoza is bathed in late afternoon sun on arrival. Before unscheduled rain sets in for a few hours, Mr S has just enough time to make solo use of the 25metre pool. There is good, there is – as Hugh would say.
Day 21 – We walk. Then bus the 19 stops almost into Old Town. Then walk some more. An hour later we’re heading for the Plaza of Our Lady of the Pillar, via the incredible enclosed fish and meat market. It has the feel of a souk. Either side, a huge line of traders’ stalls overflow with variety and freshness. Patient queues at each shop. It’s a buyers’ market.
Goya’s Museum is just around the corner. We forget that most ‘attractions’ have a siesta in Spain. Should have done it first. We get there twenty minutes before it’s shut-eye time. Not long enough. Re-opens at 4pm. We take a riverside walk. Shake off the frustration. Aim for the Palacio De La Aljaferia. That too is feeling sleepy. Re-opens at 4.30pm. In circumstances like this we take the only other viable option. Go search out a coffee and cake.
Ninety minutes of Goya magic are pure magic. Born just 44K from Zaragoza, he’s considered a home bred boy. His family having moved from Zaragoza that year.
Two floors dedicated to Goya’s painted masterpieces, his prints and engravings. One floor to some acceptable abstractions.
