More awesome Madrid!  You know you get bored by it.

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11 Apr 2008.  1:02am.

After the Biblioteca Real, we separated - but as we were leaving, Carolina asked if I wanted to come to dinner with them.  I answered in the affirmative, and we exchanged mobile numbers.

Around 10pm my mobile rang, and I was off to meet them for dinner by the opera house.  (Gotta love Spain's version of dinnertime - 9pm at the earliest.)

I arrived just as they did, and as we gathered they asked questions about my name.  Due to difficulties in pronouncing my first name, they all decided to just call me Jones ("Like Indiana," Carlos laughed).  They then once again introduced themselves and made me play the 'repeat our names' game.  I got almost all of them, and we headed towards the restaurant - Fresc Co, and all-you-can-eat salad bar joint.

It was a wonderful time spent with them, getting to know them all.  They are quite the dynamic group of people, from Asunta who is completely withdrawn and quiet, to Gloria who is outspoken, brazen, and frankly hilarious.

I carefully positioned myself by Carolina again, drawn to her paper-thin skin and wet, sad eyes.  As we ate, the conversation raged from one extreme to the other.  I told old mission stories about dog bites and witnessing murders, slammed doors and successes, and they were all impressed that I would leave everything for two years just to serve God.  I used the opportunity to share a little bit about the gospel.

Eventually the topic of conversation changed to relationships, and they all went around the table telling of their current boyfriends.  They asked me about a girlfriend, and I answered, "The last two encounters I had were . . . messy.  So for now I'm single - blissfully."

Carolina, next in the round-table, responded, "Me too.  I just had a really bad breakup, after four years together."

If I weren't so not keen on dating someone right now, I would've probably been excited to hear that.

We finished eating, and everyone but me got a tea or coffee to sip on as we chatted.  It was a pleasant way to spend an evening that was going to be filled with rereading Niebla and wishing the idiots honking in the street would stop.

As we walked back after being kicked out at closing time, we passed a music store and I expressed how I missed my sweet guitars, especially Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farms.  Carolina laughed almost uncontrollably upon hearing her name, and her giggles made me smile.  She told me she plays guitar and sings in a heavy metal band in Tarragona, and I demanded that she call me for their next performance.

We reached the metro station and Carolina explained that she had to head back home early the next day, and consequently wouldn't be around for our activities the following day, but she promised to call me next week so we could hang out.

I parted from the rest, giving the customary Mediterranean farewell to each (except Carlos) on each cheek, and headed back to the hostel - tired, full, but happy.

2:33pm.

I stand in the inner sanctum of the Real Academia de la Lengua Española, famous purveyors of fine dictionaries (of which I own a copy).  But at this point, I couldn't care less about dictionaries.

On the dais in front of me is a 1605 version of the first part of the single most important piece of fiction ever written - a first edition Don Quijote.

I reach out my carefully washed and dried hands, under the watchful eye of the RAE director.  He explains that, under normal circumstances they wouldn't allow this.  The rest of the group had moved on, and I had stayed like a pilgrim in front of Cervante's masterpiece.  The director had approached me, and I explained my adoration of Quijote, and he told me to wash up and give it a touch.

This is like the fiction equivalent of the freakin' Gutenberg Bible, I think to myself as I lightly caress the cover with two fingers, feeling the light designs that dot the front.  I pull it open reverently, looking at the title page, and my breath is short.  I glance at the director, and his face is almost as expectant as mine.  I leaf through a bit, and find myself at the encounter with the barber and the helmet of Mambrino.  I read a few lines, the words leaping off the page as images of Quijote and Sancho fill my head and my heart once again.

It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

The thank the director and he winks at me, saying, "Come here.  It's a first edition printing of the second part - 1615."

Make that twice-in-a-lifetime.