I found myself there, then in Andalucía, somewhere near the Straight of Gibraltar, Cadiz, so close to Africa.  Perhaps that's where it originated, this heat now, though I'm not sure.  What I remember is being stranded there, now wandering with him outside this dusty town the early evening our train had stopped running.   It was the first of many times we'd end up somewhere thanks to circumstance, mechanics, fate.  We'd originally been on our way to see where Joyce's Molly and Bloom had found themselves rolling, falling beneath, entangled in the rhododendrons that held her, her home town – the rock.