The Bilbao Song

I’m watching a film on Netflix that takes place in Bilbao, a city in northern Spain.

I can’t stop remembering when, many years ago, I visited Bilbao, courtesy of the US Navy.

Our ship docked in San Sebastian, a sleepy fishing village where nothing EVER happens. However, a dozen miles away lay Bilbao, a thriving metropolis.

Connecting the two was an ancient commuter train, which charged the princely sum of a dime for the trip. Naturally, when our shipboard chores were done, we all boarded the train.

The seats on the train were situated all along the outside walls, so the passengers faced each other. On this occasion, the opposite seats were occupied by a number of young seňoritas who were obviously enjoying themselves at our expense. One would say something and they would all laugh, then another.

However, they failed to realize that one of the sailors was born in Puerto Rico and spoke fluent Spanish.

Just before we disembarked, he let out an extended burst of Spanish that left no doubt that at least one of us understood everything they were saying.

Later, he explained that the girls were discussing which of us had the largest male member!

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