Beño is once again using normal typeface. Sabriñita is in italics.

I was a little sad to leave Begur and the Costa Brava. The weather had been immaculate, the accommodation comfortable, and I felt like we were just starting to get to know our way around the town. After the jet lag and din of Barcelona, escaping up to this regional gem to get our brains and legs into adventure mode turned out to be the perfect plan.

But Spain is large and full of wonders so we set off west-southwest for the dry lands of Zaragoza. Sabrina was showing a lot more confidence in her driving. The stop lines and pedestrian crossings are further back, the traffic lights aren’t quite in the usual place, and of course we are taking wild guesses at what any sign means. Despite pretty heavy traffic, a lot of freeway interchanges as we passed near Barcelona’s orbit, and a brief bout of torrential rain, Sabrina guided us safely to our hotel just north of the Rio Ebro in downtown Zaragoza.

Safely, but perhaps not sanely. The hotel had parking in an underground garage, which we’ve established are my nemeses. That rivalry continued with this garage, which was guarded by a security gate that took us two tries to get through because the engine stalled and screaming didn’t fix it. It took a couple hours of laying in the hotel room to emotionally recover from the embarrassing snafu, which yes, the concierge witnessed.

When we’d recovered, we did just about the only thing it seems we know how to do here: go for a walk. South to the Ebro and across a magnificent stone bridge guarded by 4 enormous bronze lions on pillars. The sculptor appeared to have been told to make them true-to-life because they endowed them with a complete anatomy.

Balls the size of desk globes, I tell ya.

We strolled down the very long central plaza of the Pilar. Along one side runs a very ornate cathedral with many spires and colourful tile domes. I suppose the pillar must be inside, but we didn’t try to make it past security. Two towering statues caught our eyes: tall, gaunt giants with long fingers and grim faces. On one end there are statues of Goya and other luminaries. On the other sit some modern art including a large stone globe, some kind of weird angled mirror building, and the remnants of a very old stone wall.

It was meant to be a short walk, but we ended up following a series a narrow alleys to La Aljaferia, a castle with Islamic Mudejar influences that now hosts parliamentary proceedings. Being after 8, the older gentlemen of Zaragoza had emerged en masse and were nursing what looked like tiny cups of espresso in every cafe, restaurant and bar we passed. It’s rare that I’m outside my bedroom at that hour so I enjoyed the chance to people-watch during Spain’s notoriously late dinner time.

La Aljaferia was closed, like seemingly everything in the city, until 10 the next morning, so we did a lap around the grounds outside. The manicured landscaping was alive with dog walkers and joggers. We came away with the feeling of having shared the evening among locals, not vacationing Spaniards or foreigners like ourselves. This wasn’t the case in Barca or even Begur. Probably we looked just as much like tourists as ever, but just being in a space enjoyed by locals made me feel more comfortable.

We got so caught up that it was dark when we returned to our hotel room. It was also then that we realized our plug adaptor was still enjoying the Mediterranean climate back in Begur.

Cut to the next morning, which saw Ben scouring the neighbourhood for a means to charge our phones. I meanwhile was doing some bathroom sink laundering of our filthy hiking clothes and accidentally turning the hotel room into a steam room.

The window in that room doesn’t open, so when I stepped in, my glasses practically fogged up. However, my mission had been a success. The first cell phone store I went to turned out to be a dentist office now. The next was closed. Finally, I noticed I was passing something called “China Bazar” that looked like it had one of every product ever made, and sure enough, there was a wall of every type of cable and charger. All was well again with respect to electronico y ropa, so we hustled back across the lovely stone bridge to start our museum tour.

We planned to get the pass for the 4 Roman buildings, but the guy upsold us and we added on an art museum for the sculptor Pablo Gargallo. We began with the Roman forum by descending to a dark, quiet cavern. (All 4 museums are underground because those Romans dug down to build sewers and lower levels, and all the stuff above ground has been destroyed, infilled, and over-built by subsequent inhabitants.) I was immediately transported to informational plaque heaven. Beside column bases, scale models, and sewer tunnels called cloaca sat excellent multi-language signs explaining everything.

The man loves a good informational plaque.

Every twenty minutes a school group punctured the contemplative quiet. A couple teachers herded the howling mob along the passages at a slow, steady walking pace. Presumably the students absorbed all that was necessary by osmosis since at no point did the teachers attempt any instruction, merely offering “ssshhhhh!” sounds now and then, which we hope provided them satisfaction despite failing to affect the noise level. Three minutes later, they had completed the circuit and peace returned.

Next, we moved quickly through the museums dedicated to the River Port and the Baths. Museums feels a little generous for these two spots. They were neat, but little more than a single chamber each. The real good stuff was our final stop: the theatre museum. Multi-level, with enough English-translated plaques that I swear I saw Ben’s eyes well up. The theatre itself is a surprisingly enormous ruin that is incredibly at odds with its surroundings. It butts up against apartment buildings and unremarkable city infrastructure, giving the feeling of a magnificently regal cat squishing itself into a tiny cardboard box. This is partly because no one knew the theatre was there until it was discovered by surprise in the early 70’s. Suffice to say that some developer is pissed their new building project was kiboshed, but we’re happy with the alternative. Also happy (I’m sure) are the people whose personal patios now overlook the remains of a 6,000-seat Roman amphitheatre.

We got to walk around the stage, orchestra pit and first level of the amphitheater. The museum itself was built out of the facade behind the stage. As everything above ground level has been gone since the first millennium CE, we didn’t get to tour all 6,000 seats, but we did get 3 floors of exhibits and an impassioned, 15-minute video about the site’s discovery. We had to hurry to finish before the 2pm siesta. By then, our museum feet and heads were ready for a change of pace anyway.

Los Xarmientos serves up Aragonese cuisine and we were excited to get absolutely clobbered by some meat-heavy dishes. We entered the hole-in-the-wall restaurant a few minutes past the hour and were told that yes, they could seat us at this lovely table by the window but they’d need it for a reservation at 3pm. Could we make that work? Uhhh clearly they’d never seen me and my boi destroy a buffet. The menu de dia will do nicely, por favor. Over the next 45 minutes we shared zucchini and mushroom appetizers, lamb and chicken entrees and cheesecake and chocolate mousse desserts that left us waddling to a park bench afterwards to lay down. It wasn’t the languidly long lunch that I’d had in mind but dang was it delicious.

Even the comforts of a park bench wasn’t enough. We ambled back the hotel to convalesce. It was still downright tropical in the hotel room from the damp but slowly drying clothes.

The afternoon wanes. Clouds gather. People in jackets walk below the window. A will to move returns to two bloated and footsore Canadians.

We paid for it so we’ll use it. Museo numero cinco for the day. Once more we sally across the Ebro towards the Gothic manor that houses Gargallo’s works. I can’t really say I take an interest in the fine arts, and sculpture is probably the most remote medium for me. I pretend to be well-read about more than I really am, so perhaps this will help cover a gaping area of ignorance. Here’s what I gather about Gargallo. He worked in two distinct styles. As a master of the classical form, he made normal looking sculptures that I couldn’t tell from an amateur or Michelangelo. As a modernist, he made some pretty neat stuff. My favourite was Ureno, a god on horseback holding the world but with large holes throughout, voids in the sculpture. Clever and also kind of brutal.

Leaving the quiet of the museum, we immediately had to dodge a gaggle of children playing ball in the plaza. The area was packed with people and we noted how so many kids were out in public at a time that would be past bedtime in North America. I had read that this is quite normal: Spanish kids will often just stay out with their parents into the night and tapas bars are far from being no-kids zones. While I’m not sure when they make up the hours of sleep, we agreed that we *did* like the fact that children and families were integrated (and gasp, even welcomed!) into public life here in a way that seems lacking, or at least less, back home.

By the end of the day, suffice to say we were all cultured out and ready to vacate to more trail-heavy pastures. We had a long day of driving to rest up for and we drifted off into the humid night.