Love at Spain's Iron Cross

5 - Sevilla

5

Sevilla

Saturday, May 15

While walking about ten miles per day, Jordan had felt confident about his knee. Even when the cords on both folding poles snapped yesterday, he felt strong. The knee seemed fine, so despite no longer being able to use his arms to relieve weight from his legs, he thought it would be no problem. Didn't need the poles. But today's trek from Utrera was nearly 21 miles, and his surgically repaired knee reacted, especially on the downhill stretches. The knee took a pounding and the usual distractions didn't work.

Jordan didn't pay much attention to the colors of the wildflowers or the animals in the countryside. He ignored the people working out in the fields. Even his usual self-entertainment plan of singing didn't work. He limped into Sevilla, the pain intense, the joint already swelling. He checked into the albergue, terrified he was done walking not just for the day, but on the Camino for good.

"Bienvenidos," said the manager. "Welcome to the Backpackers Albergue. My name is Carlos Estacion, and I am at your service." Carlos was around his age, short and portly, but had a huge smile and engaging manner, with brown eyes that twinkled. He was handsome, if plump, and he appraised Jordan carefully, wondering about him. Carlos thought this tourist was a hunk. Hmmm. Perhaps he was also gay? He hoped so.

"Gracias." Jordan registered, explaining he would be in Sevilla for at least two nights. He asked the location of a shop where he might purchase new trekking poles.

"I am sorry, Jordan, but tomorrow is the day of worship, so all stores in Sevilla will be closed. But here is where you can go on Monday." He gave Jordan a local map and circled the site.

"Perhaps it is best. I must rest my knee, so make it a three-night stay. Would you have some ice to reduce the swelling?"

"Certainly," said Carlos. "When you are settled, please return here, and I will have an ice pack for you." Three nights, he thought. Good. Time enough to get better acquainted.

"Gracias por su ayuda, Carlos."

"No problem. I am happy to help. I see on your passport that you are American. I am surprised."

"I know," said Jordan, as he explained about his Nepali mother and British father.

"And your name, it sounds familiar. Have I heard of you before?"

Jordan was tempted to say nothing, his default being modesty. But his publisher told him he needed to advertise whenever he could. "I've written one book, 'Love in the Himalayas'. Perhaps that is the connection?"

Carlos smiled. "Yes, Jordan, I have read and enjoyed your book." An interesting man. Unfortunately, heterosexual. Oh, well. "I read online about your wife passing away recently. Please accept my condolences."

Jordan nodded, smiling sadly.

"Our dining hall opens at seven for our backpackers who are not used to the late nights of Spain. Will you join me for dinner? I can explain a little about my beloved Sevilla, and the first glass of vino is on me."

"I would be honored, Carlos, so long as I pay for the second. I will rest my knee until then."

Carlos nodded, and Jordan left to unpack and shower. Carlos got on the phone with the albergue's owner. "Greta, are you free for dinner around seven tonight? I have someone staying here that I think you will want to meet." He paused while she spoke. "No, he is not gay. I would have kept him for myself and not told you. But I am sticking to our agreement to pass along information about all attractive straight men to you." He smiled and described Jordan, both physically and professionally. "But cuidado, Greta. You must be careful with him because I can see he is in much pain from the loss of his wife." He listened to her reply and hung up.