We ate at 8:30 then everyone was in bed by 9:30. I guess that helps my being hungry at night. I got an extra blanket, so I did my favorite thing. Slept warm in a cold room. Now I am going to see what useful things I can do today.

Tineo is a small town and how it merits a four star hotel that calls itself a “Palacio” is beyond me. I’ve spent most of the day in the lobby charging and updating, too far from the router to get any work done and without a Brenham VPN anyway. I’m starting to suspect I should have gotten one before I left but I thought one was built in because the computer said I was in Brenham even when I was in Navasota. I’ll investigate more when I’m at Stef’s place. He is supposed to have good WIFI.

Tineo is on the Camino Primitivo and here is proof.

I walked around a bit but it is threatening rain and I’m not used to the altitude. I don’t know if Pola de Allande is in the mountains but Tineo sure is!

This was a really cool sight.

Stef is going to be on the same bus to Pola de Allande I will. There is only one bus from here to there a day. This is good because I won’t have to pay for international data to know where to get off or to find his house. And I found out why I couldn’t buy a ticket straight there. Tickets can only be bought from the driver.

I went to the station around 12:30 to purchase a ticket, and the ticket window was not only dark and empty but clearly abandoned. So I went upstairs to see if it was there (although I didn’t think so,) and a woman asked if she could help me. She didn’t speak English, but managed to make me understand I will get the ticket from the driver. So I am back in the hotel sipping Coke Zero and waiting.

The picture of the ridiculously expensive Coke Zero won’t upload. Let’s just say I could have gotten twice as much from a grocery for 0.50 euros less. I figure this is rent for the chair. I’m debating whether to have a bocadillo before the bus. On the one hand, I’m pretty sure Stef hasn’t eaten, and I don’t want to get out of sync, but on the other I don’t want a repeat of yesterday. I didn’t eat for over twelve hours and I got REALLY hungry. I decided that starvation has to be one of the worst deaths out there.

Drowning and death by fire I think are worse, but far less common. So many people feel what I felt yesterday, without the prospect of remedy if they could just get to their hotel. How do they do it? How can we stop it? What do I do with this lesson?

I switched the computer to the small backpack so I could log onto Blinn and work from 2-4 (8-10 their time.) But I’m too far from the router. So no work until my computer is charged and can leave the plug. So play on the phone it is.

Missing the bus had one advantage. My view went from this…

to this.

Now granted, there is nothing to do in Tineo, but I plan to park myself in the lobby till it’s time for the bus and try to work. Switched my laptop from the big mochilla to the small one. It is less protected but more accessible. And now I have to go check out.

I am now ensconced in my hotel In Tineo. Stef suggested I stay in Madrid but I had already bought the tickets and booked this place. It’s very different from my last place.

The bathroom almost makes up for the bed, which is as hard as a rock. (The picture of the bed won’t load for some reason.) Had I the money, I might travel with my own mattress. I’m glad I’m a) exhausted and b) the possessor of sleeping pills. I’m gonna need ‘em. I hope the beds are soft at Stef’s place.

There were many exhibits at Reina Sofia I found interesting, and many more I thought, “That’s art? How is ‘a video of a guy drawing an ink picture while being wet with a garden hose’ art?” it was interesting that so many modern artists are choosing video as their medium.

A video I enjoyed was watching the artist draw on glass, as if I were the canvas. Several I was befuddled by involved American politicians: Nixon, Reagan, etc. A disturbingly powerful video was footage of atomic bombs, shown to the soundtrack of an old song from the ‘40s, singing about meeting again some sunny day, while on the screen ground zero glowed like the sun.

But the exhibit that really stuck with me, other than “Guernica,” was “Kuba.” (I can’t put the symbol above the “u.”) The artist lived in the shantytown, Kuba, (I think it’s in Cuba,) for several years. The citizens of it have formed a tight knit and enduring community. He interviewed many people and videoed their stories.

You walk into a room full of televisions, at least 30. Each one has a chair in front. Each set and each chair is unique. There is a kitchen chair, a lawn chair, an armchair, etc. And on each tv set is a different person, telling their story. I didn’t sit in a chair but I think you could.

It was fascinating, a modern and more personal version of what the old masters were conveying with “Market Day.”

I saw the story of a young man, who asked for leave from the army, thinking he would get the normal 20 days. He got six. So he stayed 20, thinking he would get a “Ha, ha, you bad boy.” and a slap on the wrist. Instead he got two years in prison, of which he served five months.

Another one was a girl whose family left the barrio. Her father had a coffee house with an apartment above. She hated it. She felt smothered, and kept running away.

Eventually her father gave up the coffee house and built another shack next to the first one. He lives in one; his wife lives in the other. The girl switches between.

She said something like, “ Out there are rules. Before you visit your neighbor you must call and ask. There are doors that shut people out. Here you are free. You can visit anyonek, any time. I can’t live out there; I can’t breathe.”

I wonder what stories Navasota could tell?

So when I went to catch the bus this morning I left in what I thought was plenty of time. 40 minutes before my departure with 30 minutes to buy a ticket and find my platform. I did not count on each person’s transaction taking five minutes, nor the clerk misunderstanding where I wanted to go and selling me the wrong ticket. Long story short, I missed the bus.

I got a room in Tineo. I will bus there, stay the night, then bus to Pola de Allande tomorrow. So I have time to kill in Madrid., because the bus doesn’t leave till 2:15.

I put my stuff in a locker, carefully noted the location of the bus station, although if I’m desperate I can always take a taxi, and headed out. It is a cold, rainy day here in Madrid. Being lost today is not fun.

Verizon told me I had used all my high speed access for this session, which is up in one minute. That means no map updates. So I found a nice little cafe and had tortilla and cafe con leche. When I went to be use their bathroom, I couldn’t get the door open. So I told the waitress, who came over and slid it open. I put my hand to my head in the fairly universal “How stupid am I?” gesture and she smothers her giggles as she walks off.

In a bit I will go for one more session ( I’ve only had two so far, although I think there should have been more.) I will use my map to find the Plaza of Charles the V. I think the temple of gastronomy is there, although I’m not terribly hungry right now. I wish I had a warm bed, hot tea, and a good book. It’s that kind of day.

This is where I went instead of the Prado, which I will be going to tomorrow along with the Royal Palace. The Reina Sofia houses the more modern artists: Picasso, Dali, Diego Rivera, etc. And it has “Guernica.”

How to describe this painting? We’ve all seen it.

But unless you’ve stood in front of “Guernica,” you haven’t seen it.

It is huge, for one thing. Almost twelve feet high and over 25 feet long. The figures are larger than life, and their impact is equally large.

The whole painting is screaming.. The screams enter your eyes and tighten your chest before roiling around in your stomach. They echo in your head, all the more powerful in their silence. Each figure screams in a different way: the horse in terrified innocence, the mother in unimaginable grief, the half-naked woman and the woman trapped by fire in different forms of despair. Even the man at the bottom is locked in a scream of death. And over it all the bull, which I assume is Spain, looks on in befuddlement while the lady with the lamp, which I assume is America, is horrified.

They say Velasquez was one of the first artists not to romanticize war, to paint it more like it truly is. “Guernica” is war. It is the horror of war and the toll it takes upon the innocent. And it was all the more affecting because 85 years later the same thing is going on. Right now. And not just in the Ukraine. And the same damn thing has been going on for millenia, and will go on for millenia more, probably. Humans just can’t seem to stop killing each other.

I will write more about some of the other exhibits, most importantly “Kuba,” but right now I need to get to bed because I have to be at the Royal Palace at 9:45 in the morning, and I have to get dressed, and breakfast, and a taxi, and…They somehow have my language as Spanish even though I clearly marked “English,” so I need to get there all the earlier. But I learned if I don’t post some of you worry, so I’m posting. Good night.

Apparently the Prado is limiting the number of visitors, so I couldn’t get in. There is an English-speaking tour at 11 and even though it will be expensive I’m going to do it. Maybe I’ll do the Royal Palace tour also.

I walked around and admired the palaces, bought Coke Zero and conditioner, and just soaked up Spanish. That is, of course, goal #1 in coming to Spain. Goal # 2 is the book, from the hospitalera’s viewpoint this time. I’m not sure if it will be combined with the first book or if it will be a sequel. ( A sequel to a book never published, hah!)

Aaron, I still haven’t found that plain. I think I’m going to stop looking for now.