Hakuna Matata!

I just felt like exclaiming that. This post doesn't have anything to do with The Lion King, Africa, Elton John, or even Swahili. Although that's a language I've always wanted to learn.

Ahem.

Anyway, while my sister steals babysits MY SHOES in New York, I'm wandering around Madrid. I freakin' love it here. The people are awesome, the city is lovely, and the booze is plentiful. What more could you ask for?

That's right—pictures! 

Did I mention how beautiful it is here? The city is peppered with plazas full of outdoor cafés and public gardens like this one (Jardines de Sabatini). I've spent part of every day sitting on a bench here, reading or writing or watching German tourists jump into the fountain.

Because we're all about books on this site, I thought I'd include this picture of a charming old bookstore I stumbled across. (Although your store is obviously superior, Bradley. And less dusty.)

Meet Oscar, el bombero (the fireman). We met in a park—he was running and I was contemplating the clouds. He sat with me, and we chatted for the next half hour. He was a bright light in my day, with his smile and lightness of being. 

Aren't these purses awesome? I don't need one. I'm positive I don't need one. Nor do I need the pair of the rockin' wedge sandals I saw in the next store window.  

The only thing wrong with Madrid...

The dearth of coffee houses. WTF? So far I've found two options: the smoky café down the street, which is awesome but (like I said) smoky; and Starbucks. In desperation, I went to the fancy Starbucks on Paseo del Prado yesterday. I sat on the terrace outside and was hit on by cologne-drenched Eastern European tourists who thought I was a Madrileña.

Don't forget!

Brenda Novak's diabetes auction is going on, and I'm being offered up like the proverbial lamb. You can either get a critique by me or, if you need a gentler option, have COCKTAILS WITH ME at the RWA National conference. Do it. It's for a good cause.