My wife, Esther -- She Who Must Not Be Ignored -- and I flew into Madrid, stayed there a few days, then took the bullet train to Sevilla. From there we took an early morning bus to Granada, arriving at about noon.
From Granada, another bus took us to the much smaller town of Alcala la Real, and from there a friendly taxi driver drove us two miles along a one-lane road to Villalobos, Spain. We arrived at about two in the afternoon. I cannot say it was a disappointment, but Villalobos was not what I expected.
There were about six homes in the whole town. One church, one school, one bus stop. Olive fields blanketed the surrounding hillsides, with an occasional house in the distance....
The friendly taxi driver asked if we wanted to meet the mayor of Villalobos.
Indeed we did, so he drove us to a lovely two-story, whitewashed, flower-trellised and vine-covered house. Rather than knocking at the front door, though, our driver led us around to the side entrance and when we walked in through the open door we found...
...a tavern!
Inside, four men sat side by side at the small bar, a glass of wine or beer in each hand. They turned to face us as we entered.
On the walls hung old photographs that I guess were taken shortly after photography was invented.
Behind the bar stood a small, smiling man, the owner. The taxi driver introduced us to Usterio Garcia-Garcia (pronounced Garthia-Garthia) Villalobos. He was, we were informed, El Alcalde-- the mayor -- of Villalobos. We were greeted formally, in the Spanish manner, with the men at the bar eyeing us curiously. Why are you here? their expressions seemed to ask.
Esther informed Senor Villalobos that our last name was Villa-Lovos and that we had come all the way from Los Angeles.
"¿Donde?" he asked, apprently never having heard of that great city.
"California," Esther explained.
"¿Donde?" --He still didn't quite seem to know where we were from.
Finally, I said, "Los Estados Unidos."
"Ah! Mexico!"
With that bit of astounding news, Mayor Gacria-Garcia Villalobos hurried around from behind the bar and hugged first me and then my wife. We were, he declared, long-lost relatives from Mexico. I then had to explain that we were from the los Estados Unidos de America, not Los Estados Unidos de Mexico. I had forgotten that both countries call themselves "the United States of..."
That we came from America rather than Mexico seemed to lower our worth to some of the men, at least a little. But with introductions out of the way, I bought a round of drinks for the mayor and his friends, which elevated their opinion of us once again. They happily toasted our health and proudly posed for pictures.
The good mayor (third from the left, above) told us that the town was named for the wild wolves that roamed this region centuries ago. The entire area had once been a huge estate known as the Villa de Lobos.
Another round of drinks or two, then it was time for my wife and I to get back to Alcala la Real because there was only one bus returning to Granada, and only one bus leaving from Granada to Sevilla that day.
We said our regretful goodbyes, hugged or shook hands with everyone, and that was that.
The next time I go to Spain, I hope to visit the other town of Villalobos -- the one in the province of Zamora, Castile and León, north of Madrid.
If you ever visit the town of Villalobos in southern Spain, stop in and say hello to the mayor for me.
