[April 20, somewhere in Andalucia]
... or rather, on a country road about 15 miles east of Cabezas de San Juan, the closest map reference we could find.
We had chosen this route from Arcos de la Frontera to Sevilla both to save a few miles and to see more of the scenic countryside. Spanish highways are generally good, but the idea of a "shoulder" has not reached the network of rural roads. Instead there is a 6 inch drop at the knife-sharp edge of paving, sufficient to lacerate any tire with the temerity to leave the main lane.
Our good opinion of Avis was diminished on discovering that the agency had neglected to provide a lug wrench. The last village we had passed through, inauspiciously named Espera ("hope" or "wait"), was miles behind. It was Sunday. The road had almost no traffic. And did we mention the threatening rain?
But sometimes things work as well as one might hope. Our cell phone connected to the network, and we were able to call Avis' breakdown number. A helpful English-speaking agent arranged to dispatch assistance from Cabezas. In 45 minutes we were snug on the bed of a tow truck headed for a garage.
The mechanic was a Moroccan immigrant from Meknes. We had been to Meknes, and despite his heavily-accented Spanish Bettie established rapport by complimenting his home town and the excellent cuisine of Morocco (which both he and we missed). We were all fast friends by the time our car was ready to go, and he invited us home to have mint tea. But a tapas dinner in Sevilla awaited us, so we regretfully declined.
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