A week ago, I was just as frustrated as any other chump annoyed by the weight of responsibility. Finishing one job just to rush to the next; paying one bill and another was already on its way. The monotony was beginning to take its toll. Food didn’t taste as good and Seinfeld wasn’t making me laugh as hard. It was definitely time for a vacation. So as a travel hippie at heart, it didn’t take more than a little opportunity and some extra cash to transform my trip from elaborate daydream to comforting reality.
While traveling through southern Andalucia, on the road from Sevilla, the region's capital, to the village of Casariche (about 130 kilometers away), I was reminded of earlier rural travelers I had heard about, who had never reached their destinations. They were victims of Bandoleros: armed men who would rob those passing through the southern mountain range of Sierra Morenain the 18th and 19th centuries.
The train out of Barcelona leaves at a quarter to noon. On the wall of the station, the iron clock reads 11:23. I turn to the line of dusty travelers in front of me. This is going to be close. I reach the window
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