March 4, 2000
Iīm in Spain! Itīs different, but itīs still Carnival 2000 here! Ayamonte is larger and brighter than the boarder town in Portugal which I just took the ferry from with my new Moroccan friend.
Itīs night and the girls are getting ready to go out to the disco... they all wear black skirts, black boots, black jackets, dark lipstick and when a pack walks by perfume pervades through the street.
Thereīs a taste of the 80īs here and I like it. Things are also moving a bit faster than in Portugal, but at a very comfortable pace.
Carnival lights and rides fill the central area, but thereīs still a low enough level of light to be able to get a good look at the stars.
Thereīs no train and no more buses for the night and it looks hard to find a room. I suggest camping out in the bus station for the seis y quatro and he agrees. We settle in the outdoor waiting area and I sling the packs on the roof. Actually, Hassan really only has one bag and wears all his clothes in layers all the time. I wonder what is that little sack?
Aparently, this isnīt one of those places where you can sleep in. I donīt know what the hombré here is saying, but he wants me to come down and shows me out to the door. I play it cool and wander to the bench across the street. Hassan, the arab that he is, negotiates and the man says he will leave the door open for us as long as we donīt come back until after midnight when the last busses are parked for the night.
We watch the last bus (the driver stays until 1am cleaning it) then we make our approach. All the doors are locked!
When the coast is clear, we decide to seek refuge. We werenīt really in sync here... I climb over the fence and setup camp on the roof of the station... Hassan is wondering where the heck I went. Iīm wondering where heīs gone.
I drift asleep with a panoramic view of the marina and am startily awaken by, "Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy!" "Jesus!" I shout and then realize itīs Hassan. He found an easier way... he slid right under the gate! Itīs cold and we pack up around 5am to make a graceful entrance from the street once the station opens.
We catch the bus and Iīm off at Seville and Hassan is off to the Spanish Eastern coast to stay with a friend. He letīs me know heīs had a wonderful time and canīt wait to share his adventure in a letter to his son back home. He promises a postcard when he returns before the next span at sea from his native port. I promise the photograph of him sleeping on the station roof.
Iīm now in Seville (said Sav-e-ya in Spanish) catching up on the good rest. Iīve got a private room for the next three days and have already staked out the essentials to get started... Food, water, lodging, Internet, etc.