Before leaving my fiancée’s hometown in central Spain, my son and I took a walk to the plaza, a routine we had together from the beginning of our trip. It was later than usual, the candy shop we usually visited for water was closed for siesta and it was very, very quiet in the streets. Diego walked the whole way on his own two feet, then returned home the same way - a great deal of exercise for a fifteen month-old kid and part of a plan to tire him out for the long car ride to Madrid. It worked well enough, but I have been stuck with the solemn mood of our final walk. I am very connected to my lady’s home town and country, even as I struggle mightily with the launguage and some of the customs (naps really mess with me!) I think Diego too felt that connection. So leaving was a sad experience for us both, I suspect, and there were tears in both our eyes as we bid goodbye to the family and the town. We’ll be back. This I know. But it’s still often sad to say goodbye.
