We just returned from walking about 15 minutes through some narrow streets to have dinner at a bar. Think English pub more than meat-market American bars. ;) This was one of my friend's favorite places because you order a drink and they serve wonderful tapas. I took that to mean appetizers, probably not unlike happy hour.

We had three kids along with us and it didn't seem to cause a stir. Cokes all around and then they brought out several plates full of pan y carneceria y...well...I don't know the spanish word for olives. Anyway, it was quite tasty and I enjoyed both the light meal and the walk to get there.

Actually, I'm a big fan in general of the latin approach to food. The biggest meal at lunch, then something like a light snack for dinner. When I was in Senegal I often had bread and cheese or some sort of fruit variety. Just perfect for collapsing into bed. :p

Contrary to my request and thus my normal pattern, mom gave me more than the standard two sleeping pills for the long flights. I've just downed one of the extras to combat the afternoon coffee and the 9p coke. I'm not sure it's strictly necessary, but I'm not taking any chances with this first night. In my mind, surviving the first day without even hinting at a snore, then deeply engaging in the first night are your best defense against jetleg.

One time I remember sitting in the living room of a hostel in London with my grandma the first morning we'd arrived after flying all day and all night. We were desperate for sleep, but knew that if we clambered up our three flights of stairs we'd be in bed for the night at 2p. I believe I was trying to read a very engaging book...1776 if memory serves...and had to reread each page a couple times when not zoning out on the mtv-ish programming spilling from the telly.

The two smokin youngsters -- and I don't mean smokin like boy howdy are they hot, I mean truly smoking and playing a game about who could poof their puff farther across the room, meanwhile inconceivably trying to pick up on us. Grandma and I looked bleery eyed at one another and decided that was the last straw. We hauled ourselves up and crashed into our quite serviceable bunkbeds. I thought I did fairly well, waking somewhere south of 10 hours later. Grandma had me beat -- she finally rolled out at 16.

Well it looks like the stroll down memory lane will have to come screeching to a halt. I do believe Mr. Ambien is making his presence known amongst the crowd and my typing skills are fading by the minute. I just took a look and had to correct six misspellings and typos in this short missive. I'd say that it's bueno tiempo for me to say ciao ciao. :)