and so i found myself running again to el faro de triana. i had heard the cabalgata pass along resolana and then turn the corner of the block next to mine onto feria, where, had i actually caught it -- or, rather, had it stopped me down the block from my building -- i likely wouldn’t (couldn’t) have continued my progress; but as it was i seemed to have timed my departure perfectly to make my scheduled dash to catch the three kings and their cavalcade as they crossed the isabel ii bridge, on schedule, at seven-thirty. i knew my way.
the previous saturday, the thirty-first, i’d made my last of the same dash of the old year. the portuguese delegation (from faro) was scheduled to meet us there in the early afternoon, and i’d had just enough time to make the end of the beginning of the meeting having woken late from a five hour nap necessitated by too much not enough sleep on my overnight bus from madrid. luckily, when i arrived i’d only been preceded by one member of the foreign delegation and -- a double stroke of luck -- she appeared to have been thoroughly engaged by an englishman named trevor. (lucky for us or not, el faro de triana is full of those, and the local delegation seems to attract them.) in short order, which is to say two (more orders, that is), the rest of her contingent had joined us and we were on our way.
and our way stopped us at quite a few places more, doubled back, doubled back again, stopped, tried to dance before doubling back once more to try to dance again, lost a credit card, finally danced, and sang a festive (but totally unironic) choral rendition of “summertime” before putting us in the path of that family of amantes on a corner near the star café -- where the one of the portuguese still in conference invited the thirteen year couple and their three shared lovers to visit her apartment near the beach (as she had done with most of the people we’d encountered in the previous three hours. and had we not dallied for forty-five minutes on that corner, we might have made it into vintage before it closed instead of having to take refuge from the cold in the bar next door where the progeny of better heeled seville were still carousing (and the bouncers politely resetting the overturned tables as they fell). at that point, however, we were really just headed for home, or for triana, that is, where that first and last portuguese was staying with one of our own, and vintage just happened to be near one side of the isabel ii bridge. el faro de triana is at the other, and on that other side it was cold, so i stayed.
the next day, i was firmly resolved to…something. but as i couldn’t quite pin that something down -- and as christmas still had five days left in it anyway -- i thought it might be wise to give the resolution some time. what’s more, if it got dark again, people might not notice that my cuffs were soiled and my patent leather scuffed, so after the portuguese had agreed to terms and left (we’re to meet once a month for the duration of 2012), we camped out at our faro on this side of the border until, well, a few hours after dark and i was sure it was safe to make the return trip.
when i passed el faro de triana yesterday evening, still well ahead of the kings, the crowds had already gathered along the bridge and along the wider part of san jacinto, so i was confused as to why my friend was still at home. making dinner. apparently enough time had passed since our last conversation about the parade that she thought i wasn’t coming, she said over the phone. but i was there, so i decided to join her in her apartment for a cup of tea.
and it was over that cup of tea that i heard the cabalgata pass, and neither i nor my friend made any move away from the kitchen. so the three kings passed, throwing candy to the crowds, and their entourage trampled the candies not foraged by the trampling crowd, and the quickest way home after i’d decided that i was finally over the holiday took me right through the sticky upshot of christmas. maybe because i missed their big moment, or maybe because i swore at them with every gummy step i took up the staircase of my building, but i woke up this morning to find that the kings hadn’t left me a thing in the night. but on the beach in conil this afternoon, it was hard to remember what exactly had been so interesting about their coming in the first place, and if i hadn’t had the shocking reminder of soaking my head in the salt water in an attempt to clear up the congestion of my lingering cold, i might have forgotten the mad dash to the parade all together. but there’s always tomorrow. and by then the decorations should be down.
merry christmas.
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