We left at 10 in the morning and arrived at 8 pm. We traveled up, down, around, and over the roller-coaster hills of Spain. Often, for as far as you could see, were olive trees.
We stopped at exotic places along the way. We HAD to stop along the way since there was no toilet on the bus. Most of the (exotic) bus stations had toilet paper. At first, we didn't think the bus was air conditioned; we were sweltering. Then we made one of our exotic stops. When we stepped off the bus, it felt like we stepped into an oven. Whoosh.
Our bus was filled with grandparents. Our lack of Spanish didn't inhibit conversation at all. For the first hour, the grandmother sitting across from us told us her life story. We didn't even understand her name. She didn't mind and kept talking a mile a minute. She simply enjoyed telling us her story and, by the end, treated us as her own. When Bronson got sick, she summoned bags, napkins, a lemon (to neutralize), a knife (to cut the lemon), medicine, a motion sickness bracelet, a yogurt drink and lots and lots of advice (in Spanish).
If someone had passed us a cutting board to cut the lemon, I would have strongly suspected that Dena Engel or Geneva Fox were somewhere on the bus. They are both ever-ready mothers who pack everything you didn't imagine you would need. On the other hand, I usually forgot to pack diapers.
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