June 3, 2012
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While the daughters and I peered into the crypt beneath
Granada's Cathedral, where the bones of Ferdinand, Isabella,
and their daughter Juana the Mad are interred, Jen waited at
street level, saving 3 euros. But that allowed her to witness
two Roma -- oh, okay: Gypsy -- women running their game on
a young tourist family: hold out a branch of rosemary in offering;
when it's accepted, they grab the hand and hold it while they
blurt out a quick palm reading, then demand payment. Coins are
bad luck and the smallest bill in Spain is a 5 euro note, so
cough it up. After a few minutes witnessing the captive tourists'
awkwardness and discomfort, Jen charged out of the lobby
where she was waiting and implored them to just leave: it's a
racket, just walk away!
No, Roma. No.