Chapter 3: The Route to Talavera

I hadn't realised how large a country Spain was; my original plan was to visit as many battlefields of the Peninsula War as possible, but time and distance scuppered that plan, and anyway I didn't want to spend too much time travelling when I could be better employed entangled in lust with Miriam. We decided to visit Madrid and then Talavera. The latter place was the site of a battle, but not one in which the 95th had been engaged, although, after a series of forced marches from Lisbon, they had arrived just after General Wellesley (as he was then) had triumphed over the French.

We had booked on the overnight train from Barcelona to Madrid, which gave us the opportunity to look around the famous Catalonian city, home to Barcelona FC, the second finest football (soccer) club in the world, before setting off for Madrid. Barcelona at the time was like a building site, as they desperately tried to have all the venues built in time for the Summer Olympics of 1992.

After visiting all of the main tourist sites – the Antoni Gaudi houses and Sagrada Familia Basilica, the cathedral and other churches, and the fabulous Boqueria covered market with its gorgeous displays of fresh fruits and vegetables, we sat at a side walk/pavement café on the Ramblas, ordered coffee and watched the promenade of the beautiful sultry señoritas and macho señores. Miriam, with glowing suntanned shoulders and tops of her breasts on show, thanks to the off-the-shoulder emerald green blouse she wore, her small waist emphasised by a wide red leather belt around a vivid green red and orange skirt, showing a length of sun tanned thigh as she sat with her legs crossed, got more attention than all the promenaders put together.

I had booked a couchette on the overnight train to Madrid, and we made love as the express shuddered over points, rattled over bridges, and entered dark tunnels with a shriek of a whistle through the night. Miriam and I also shuddered, rattled, and shrieked throughout the night.

Back in Munster Annalise had always banged on about Goya, and what a fantastic artist he was. There were none of his works in the Munster Museum of Art, but she had seen some in Berlin. Miriam and I had several hours to spare in Madrid before our train left for Talavera and I knew that the Prado museum had a large collection of Goya's work. After an early breakfast at the Madrid station restaurant (well recommended by the way), we took a cab to the world famous gallery.

I don't think Miriam was too overwhelmed by the place, although there were some paintings she liked. I was gobsmacked by what I saw, and realised then what Annalise had been trying to get me to see when she had dragged me around Munster Museum.'The Shootings of May 3rd ' really hit home-- fantastic. My favourite, and I expect you already know what I'm doing to say, was 'The Naked Maja'. It could have been Miriam lying on that couch, and once again I wondered if her ancestry contained Romany or Spanish blood.

The train to Talavera was a stopping one, which gave us a chance to view the countryside, and the locals. I of course understood what they were saying, and a beautiful Spanish looking girl, sat with an 'inglés' caused some comment. I heard one large Señora lamenting the fact that,