The Sound of Spain

October 30, 2009

We ate breakfast on the veranda and had toast, jam, strong coffee (not a molecule of instant powder was to be seen), and orange juice, muffins and (we supplied our own) bananas. My wife contributed the yogurt we bought just before closing last night at a small store that was indistinguishable from the private homes in the row of whitewashed terraces. I had bought two bulky 5-litre bottles of water and would have managed them on my own (a manly challenge) but my wife insisted she knew a shortcut. She didn't, and my arms are still hanging uselessly from their sockets this morning.

She is reading a student's phd thesis, I am typing on my Blackberry. We were interrupted by a young man's voice, singing a Spanish ballad in the bar. Good voice, and we think he's preparing for a carnival. He's practising the lyrics and different phrasing. I sauntered in, ostensibly to take photos of the model trains that are arranged carefully in custom-designed walnut cupboards built across arches in the walls. Really I wanted to video the man singing. Is he practising for the Spanish X-Factor? A funeral? A private function? "Una bella voz", I wanted to say - patronising, I know, but I meant well. But he was already speaking on his mobile and I exited stage left after taking a few snaps of the train sets.



Overhead, flying high above the whitewashed buildings and framed by a deep blue sky large birds were flying - we identified them as Griffon Vultures. How come I never have Griffon Vultures flying overhead while I have my cornflakes in Birmingham? Why lord, oh why?



Photo by Calo Bescós (19/10/05)
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