In a small garden courtyard, over a pot of tea, I negotiated hard, a camel for my girl, a night in the desert. A deal was struck and my guide and I walked alongside Darlene, regal on her camel. From high in the dunes, we could gaze over the black Sahara and into Algeria.

That night, after a fiery sunset, the moon rose over our camp, a valley in the dunes, a lone date palm, and a grumpy caravan of camels. Two cots pushed together, we slept in the open air, under a pile of wool blankets.

All quiet on the eastern front.

So what is that?  Arabic? Or Berber. And would it really matter?  Naw, we are doing just fine.

Sangria, aceitunas verdes, pimientos de atun, calamares, mejillones, una mas cerveza… Elbowed between strangers, swimming in the raucous energy, I’m crazy for madrid.

Past midnight, I sang above the crowd in Spanish what I thought was, “Puedo pegar?” (Can I pay?)

“Pero? por que” (But why?) blushed our young Manolito, serving up tapas, his dark, long eyelashes flirted back…
“Usted quiere pegarme?” (You want to slap me?). Laughter erupted from the standing room only bar.

I soon learned the sweet difference an e as in pegarte (hit/slap) and an a as in pagar (pay) sounds to the inexperienced…