Deportation

Today, we were rolling through town on our bikes and I went through a yellow and Duffy was just behind me, barely catching a red light. Two police motorcycles pulled us over, chastising us for our dangerous behavior, since many are probably drinking and driving throughout the weekend of festivities.

Sometimes, you're supposed to lie. It's almost assumed and encouraged. But I lack the ability for some stupid reason. Without any trouble, he was able to glean every piece of information from me: I'm an American, living in Alcoy, and I even wrote down my real name. So many other, safer options. I could have made up any name, told him I was just here for the weekend to watch the festival, anything. But with that, and a few stern words, he sent us on our way. Telling the truth to the authorities can be the right thing to do, and sometimes the stupid thing to do.

I spent the next few hours worrying that they would soon realize I was already overdue on leaving Spain (I've surpassed the 90 day limit). We will see if they go to the trouble of even looking up my name. Never know. Sam and Jose say there's nothing to be worried about, which makes me feel better.

And it all could have been avoided with just a little fib. It would be ridiculous, but almost fitting, if I were deported for running a red light.