On Thursday morning Carlos drove us through Madrid to the highway heading south to Castilla-La Mancha and Toledo. The historic city of Toledo sits on a high hill. To help prevent heart attacks from climbing up 20 stories in 100° heat, they have installed an escalator that goes up and down in five stages. When we reached the top, Carlos pointed towards where we thought the old Cathedral lay and asked a woman if the Cathedral was straight ahead, directo. She said, “Lo que dice ‘directo,’ directo.” What you mean by straight ahead, straight ahead it is. We soon understood what she meant as we wound through twisting, narrow streets and lanes in the direction of the Cathedral. We reached the main Plaza de Zocodover, a pleasant square with many trees for shade. A sign on a nearby building said that the Plaza had been used over the centuries for many gatherings, pronouncement, bull fights, and the auto da fé of the Inquisition. That last thought of burning Jews, conversos and heretics spoiled the place for me. On the way up we had passed the old synagogue and transport place for Jews being driven out of Spain.