A treat in store …

We are going on a three-week trip, first to Algarve on the southern Atlantic coast of Portugal, and then to the island of Madeira, a Portuguese “possession?” closest to Morocco. From there we head to Geneva, or thereabouts, to visit our daughter, who will take us on a tour ot southern France. She’s an excellent tour guide and fun traveling companion.

In the past in our travels I have strived to avoid making this blog a travelogue, as in visiting new places I know less than anyone there. I need to just observe and be quiet. I have stumbled on matters that became thrilling blog content, as with the crypt of Eva Peron in Buenos Aires, Argentina, leading to the discovery of her fake death and married life in Michigan, producing a daughter we came to know as the pop singer Madonna, explaining both her fame despite lack of talent at once.

That’s a rarity, however. Mostly I am reminded of comedian Ron White, who on his honeymoon in Greece rode a donkey up a hill on his bride’s insistence, because up at the top was “another one of them cathedrals.” I’ve been in a few cathedrals, and I surely miss everything of significance in them, as I am so un-Catholic as to be jaded by it all. Just melt down the f****** gold and get on with it!

An exception to this is basilica Sagrada Família in Barcelona, currently (and perpetually) under construction. It seems inspired more by the unconventional genius of the architect Antoni Gaudi than anything religious. As the story goes, Gaudi met his end after being hit by a passing tram while walking, and since he was dressed like a beggar, no one knew it was him. The basilica is unlike any cathedral I’ve ever seen, and any description I offer will not do justice. If ever you have a chance …

I know this to be a lie, but as far as I know, they don’t say daily mass in that place, which makes it a most useful and interesting landmark. But the Catholic ritual is part of the basis for continued funding, so I accept it as necessary.

Will I ever get to the point? Why start now! I have been treated to some of the writing of Jan Spreen, whose name you might recognize from comments. Jan, a man by the way, is a resident of the Netherlands. I first encountered him in a comment which I urged our friend Petra to dissect. It was about the impossibility of a controlled return of a space capsule from Moon to Earth. We’re about to see that lie again.

Jan has given me an invented dialogue between a young boy and wizened teacher on the impossibility of orbital machines operating out there, and if I describe it further he’ll have to set me straight. There’s been ongoing dialogue here on the (im)possibility of space machines going place to place, and he takes it in a direction I would not anticipate. I’ll publish that on Sunday, the day we leave.

After that he has given us a love story coupled with the fraud we all endured called “AIDS/HIV”. I like a well-done love story, my favorite of all time 1995’s Forget Paris with Billy Crystal and Debra Winger. In that story, the lead characters fall in love, as we are known to do, and then deal with real life. That, to me, is the appeal. Romantic love becomes adult love, with all the associated problems of life. When it succeeds, it is a wonderful tale to tell.

That will lead to Jan’s story, Twenty-First Century Love,  which will appear sometime during our travels.

If by chance I pop up with travelogue stuff, humor me.