But at least I saw Africa...

The theme of my last blog has come true much too often in the past week. Immediately after I wrote the blog I went to flamenco class, expecting to, well, dance. Instead, we discussed the nature of male-female relations in Spain in the present day and what to do if we know someone who's being abused in their relationship (at first I was disappointed not to dance, but then I realized that this conversation was invaluable cultural insight). Then this week, flamenco class was replaced with drinks at a nearby bar. Also a form of cultural insight? Continuing on that flamenco-not-working-out theme, Patra and I went to Sevilla yesterday to see a show featuring Antonio "El Pipa," the teacher of the class we went to in Jerez (see "Rain, Dance"). And it was sold out. But in each of these cases there was a valuable replacement for the activity I expected to do--serious conversation and then drinks with my dirty-joke-telling flamenco classmates (all women over the age of 50), Sevilla nightlife and fabulous tapas.

I'm still looking for a lesson in my travels (travails) of today. I boarded a bus at 4:30 in Sevilla that was supposed to go through Jerez, from which I would take a bus back to Arcos. At about 6:00, I began to realize that Jerez was not in my bus driver's agenda. We went past the city, to be sure, but failed to stop anywhere nearby. The saddest part of the ride, besides the immediate knot that tied up my innards as I came to this realization, was when we passed a turnoff marked "Arcos." I tried to silently will the bus driver to take that turn, but my psychic powers of persuasion failed me. The driver had only one destination in mind: Algeciras.

Let me give you some perspective about Algeciras. Rick Steves sums it up best: "Algeciras is only worth leaving." My Lonely Planet guide describes Algeciras thus: "The major port linking Spain with Africa: an industrial town, a big fishing port and a drug smuggling centre....unattractive and polluted." Then later the guide continues: "Be alert in the port, bus terminal, and market in the evening." And where was I headed? First to the port, and then the bus terminal. In the evening. I felt not a little nauseous.

Eventually we arrived, I waited in the brighest lights of the bus terminal, calmed my nerves by talking to Patrick, then later talking to Patra and Mom, and got on a return bus to Jerez (one that would actually stop there!). In Jerez I had to catch a taxi to Arcos, which was pricey but worth it to return to my own bed and hot shower, and Arcenses singing in the streets. In general, I can't say a lot of good came out the unexpected journey south. But there were a few moments when I was on the return bus to Jerez when I looked out my window and the lights of Tangiers, Africa pierced the night sky from across the water. Africa, so close that signs in Algeciras are in Spanish and Arabic, and on board my bus I heard the music of Moroccan French mixed with Arabic and Spanish (while meanwhile the Mexican-looking man across the aisle from me was reading "For Whom the Bell Tolls" in English).

As Mom reminded me during our conversation, it can be frustrating to have plans spoilt or expectations frustrated. But in the wreckage (in this case, of my nerves and wallet), there are equally unexpected joys. And perhaps that's the lesson: the beauty present in these situations is all the more poignant.