Life in the Fast Lane

Life in the Fast Lane                    March 29, 2014

The guys have left on a jet plane - back to Chicago.  And Bruce and I have spent a low-key day, doing more exploring of Barcelona, locating the bus station for our early departure for Madrid tomorrow - and writing another blog post, this one an account, in more detail, of our segway adventure back in Malaga.

Before their arrival, I had pulled together a bunch of brochures for Matt and Izik to peruse, things that I thought might interest them, including a segway tour.  It turns out that they were interested in the segways.  And not wanting to be old fogies, we agreed to join them!

It took a bit of looking and consulting with a big, blonde, kind Australian bicycle renter to find the segway operation, tucked into a storefront on a narrow side street.  Our guide for the adventure was Laura, who sells real estate during the week and runs segway tours on Sunday "for extra money and because I love it".  She was slim, smart, pretty, in her late 20's, and wants to come to the USA to ride a motorcyle on Route 66 from Chicago to LA!  (Maybe not so  smart :).

I was pleased to see that helmets and bright orange vests were part of the gear that Laura provided for us.  She also assured us that she would teach us how to ride the segways right there in the alley and that we wouldn't begin until we felt comfortable.  "Hm, right!" I thought.  "It's easy," claimed both Laura and Matt, who had used segways one summer when he worked for the Scarboro police.  They both certainly made it look easy!  Bruce, too, quickly became comfortable zooming up and down the alley.  For me and Izik, it was not so "intuitive" as described.  I leaned forward too much, especially when intent on stopping, just the opposite of what I was supposed to do.  Turning didn't come naturally either, but, with a bit of practice, I did feel some improvement - and I didn't want to hold up the group.

Laura took the lead as we lined up to begin, positioning me right  behind her for safe-keeping.  Luckily, it was just the four of us, and with that, Laura had her hands full, keeping an eye on the two cocky riders, lest they bump into a pedestrian, as well as the timid riders, lest they fall off the sidewalk or into an open stairwell leading underground.  Very reminiscent of leading a gaggle of kindergarteners!  Trying to get us all across a busy intersection in the short amount of time alloted, with traffic waiting impatiently, was a real challenge.  She had taken hold of my handlebars and guided me across; Izik wasn't taking any chances and had left his spot in the rear to rush safely across.  Ironically, it was Matt and Bruce who were caught in crosswalk limbo, after the light had changed.  Laura held back the revving motorists, and Matt and Bruce got successfully across.  It had taken all of my concentration to just stay in one spot on the sloping sidewalk, so I had missed the excitement, thankfully.

After that, we seemed to go along fairly smoothly, past the harbor filled with expensive sailboats on one side and outdoor tables of tapas restos on the other.  It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the guys were wearing shorts.  I wanted to take off my sweater and also to take photos - both entirely out of the question with both hands clenching the handlebars!

          The water on one side ... and restos on the other.  

Soon we were breezing along the beachfront of Malagueta, weaving in and out among pedestrians.  "The little kids are the most dangerous", warned Laura - and that was my fear: knocking over a toddler or an elderly person.  I had flashbacks of Bruce's collision with dogs in 1999, resulting in a broken hip.  Despite these thoughts, I relaxed a bit and began to enjoy this new way of moving.

Once out of the congested area, we found a place to stop and get off the machines for a few minutes.  Our feet had been doing the brunt of the work in steering (probably incorrectly) and they needed a rest.

The trip back was more comfortable.  No traffic problems and no collisions - until the last moment when I crashed into a wire fence, gently and without consequence.  It had been a new experience for all of us except Matt, and we were all feeling quite pleased about it.  Laura had taken good care of us, and her USA fund received a boost from us that day!

Tomorrow we head to Madrid and then to northwest Spain, to Santiago and Ferrol.  Our plan is to hike 65 miles of the Camino de Santiago, beginning in Ferrol and ending in Santiago.  This is the ancient pilgrimage, walked by pilgrims for a thousand years.   There are trails from everywhere in Europe, all leading to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela.  The trail that we will take is one of the shortest and runs due south from Ferrol.  Ironically, it's called "the English trail" because it's closest to England and is the one traditionally used by English pilgrims.  We will leave most of our stuff with Andrea in Madrid - and will be incommunicado for a week or so.  When we return to Madrid, it will be nearly time to hop a plane back to Maine on April 15.  Hopefully, we'll get out a post about the hike before that.  In the meantime, for a bit of a change in voice and perspective, Izik may write about our time together in Barcelona (which was great fun)!  



  

Spain with the Guys: Part One

Spain with the Guys:  Part One                      March 28, 2014

Matt & Izik in Malaga

This will be a quick post as we have a pretty tight touring schedule now that Matt and Izik are here in Spain :).   I'm probably the one who is pushing the agenda - but they've got only 8 days in all!!  They are now down to just one more!  It's been wonderful to have them here and to share some of what we've seen and to discover other new things right along with them.

Seven days ago they flew to Malaga, where we were waiting for them. Malaga is on the south coast of Spain, on the Mediterranean. Just as we had hoped, the weather was warm and sunny.  We all showed bare leg at times - and my sandals finally got a workout.

One of our early activities in Malaga was a visit to the Moorish palace and fortress.  Malaga had been the port for the city of Granada when the muslims ruled that city until the late 1400's.   This palace was small, by comparison with Seville and Granada, but gave a flavor of an alcazaba with its lovely reflecting pools, tile work, Arabic arches, intricate stuccowork, and quiet secluded gardens.  The Gibralfaro fortress, high on a hill overlooking the city and the sea, offered amazing views from its long, well-preserved stone wall.

arches and tiny bubbling fountain, giving the sound of moving water

We could see the bullring and harbor from the Gibralfaro fortress.

After a day of ancient history, the guys were ready for something a bit more 21st century: segways!  We rented them for an hour and toured the seaside promenade that stretches for a long way beside the harbor and beach.  I found the machines a bit difficult to maneuver.   I was nervous about knocking over a small child or an old lady and thus went quite slowly, having been positioned just behind the extremely patient young guide in the lead.  She finally took my handlebars and zoomed me along, saying, "Linda, your family is bored!"  Matt and Bruce, "the hares" of the foursome, were delighted to have a faster pace.  Izik and I were "the tortoises".   It turned out to be a really fun experience - and one that Bruce and I would never have done on our own!

                      All set for our segway experience!

We wanted the guys to see flamenco so made a reservation for a restaurant that had been recommended by one of our Alozaina friends.  Set in a beautiful, pink, belle epoque building, the food was not the highlight of the evening but the dancers, singer, and guitar player were fantastic!   The dancers were sisters, and they stomped their feet and twirled their bodies, expressing the fiery emotions that gypsies are known for.   The guitar player, a young man and a relative of the dancers, worked up a sweat as he poured his heart into frantic guitar strumming.  Presiding over them all was the father of the dancers, a smooth-talking, white-haired singer who appeared to be a polished professional.

                       one of the talented flamenco dancers

Tapas was our constant food choice those first few days, and we became very familiar with all the usual offerings:  fried sardines, Russian potato salad, green olives, small ham and cheese sandwiches.  By the time that we left Malaga, we were ready for pizza and pasta!

After four days in Malaga, we all took an early morning flight north to Barcelona.  Stay tuned for our Barcelona adventures.

Fiddle and Flamenco

Fiddle and Flamenco March 20, 2014

During our time  in Alozaina, we enjoyed the semi-regular “Flamenco Night” at Pepe Bravos, a community gathering spot.  The event is one of those sorts of spontaneous organic events that can happen - or not, depending upon whether or not the musicians show up.  The core is made up of two local fellows - Carlos, the guitar player, and Jose, a singer, and a smattering of some other local guys who might show up.  The contingent of expats may join in for the fun but mostly sit back and enjoy the music.  This is nothing formal - just a bunch of folks sitting around making music - what we might call a house party back home.

Pepe Bravo's place

One night, Rod, our British friend from Devon, brought his fiddle and encouraged me (Bruce) to play while the flamenco guys were taking a  break.  I picked up the instrument and scratched out a couple of familiar tunes: Old Man Dillon,  Red Wing, and Liberty  - despite not having played since Christmas.   The fiddle, a ¾ size instrument, had been in Rod’s family for a very long time. It was built in Germany in 1742 and has a very mellow sound.   Rod took lessons as a child but preferred the piano and is now very accomplished on the keyboard.

Rod trusted me to take his precious family heirloom back to our home so that I could figure out a few more tunes for an upcoming birthday party for Sky Chapman - another Devon denizen.   It was great to have a fiddle in my hands again, but I was very conscious of its value and its meaning to Rod - I appreciated his trust in keeping it safe.  His wife, Alice, claims that he has never lent the fiddle to anyone else.  I was fearful of something happening to the instrument while in my care. One windy night I had a dream of it being flung across the room and smashed. However, I practiced for the next few days and on Tuesday night, we returned to Pepe Bravo’s for the party.

Nothing starts early in Spain so we arrived an hour after the announced start of 8 P.M. and again, realized that we were early. Gradually, the place started to fill up with expats and a few Spanish guests.  Lots of Spanish treats were available - tapas,  potato omelets,  salads, ham, olives, and gambas shrimp.

Spanish tapas

Eventually, Carlos and Jose arrived, along with several other musicians -  Jon Stein, John Ryan, Rod, and Alice who joined in singing John Denver tunes and folk songs from the 60s.   I got up and played 4 or 5 tunes that I had rehearsed earlier and was pleased that a bunch of folks got up and danced to some of the jigs and reels.  Rod and Jon both accompanied me on the keyboard and we were able to manage a sort of dance-able rhythm, despite not having practiced together.  

fiddling with accompaniment

The flamenco guys followed up with a number of great tunes with a mysterious rhythm and the loud mournful chant that is characteristic of this music.  The evening was a great time with lots of music, dancing, delicious food, and conversation among the expats gathered together.   We walked up the steep hill to the town square after midnight, underneath the sparkling stars and the distant lights of Malaga, far to the east.

the flamenco performers - Jose's son, Carlos, & Jose

After that evening, when I met Carlos and Jose in town, we greeted each other. Carlos asked me when I was going to play the violin again, making a bowing gesture with his hands.  Even though my Spanish is rudimentary, at best, the fiddle has given us a nice connection with some of the Spanish local residents. It has been a good opportunity to connect with another culture and share in the universal language of music.

Nerja (Nair-ha)

Nerja (Nair-ha)         March 19, 2014

                                                 Nerja Beach

Nerja is a beautiful, small, sunny city of 20,000, a few miles to the east of Malaga on the Costa del Sol.  Bruce had chosen this as our destination for a few days of a "vacation from our vacation".  We left our dear Alozaina on Saturday, the 15th, amid one last heartfelt hug and exchange of emails from our newest friend, Theresa Murphy.  She had made a point to get herself out to the edge of town to the bus stop early enough to catch up with us before we boarded the bus for Malaga.  It was one more sweet gesture and, combined with the lovely good-bye meals and hugs of the past few days, made our hearts a bit heavy as we pulled out of town on the big bus.  

By noon we were stepping into a new experience in this beachy, touristy city, full of light and warmth.  Our small, one-star hostal is surprisingly nice at only $35/night, and we have found ourselves surrounded by young travelers again, which is fun.  

                                 Hostal Bronce in Nerja

After checking in, we wound our way through the typically narrow streets lined with houses and shops.  Emerging onto a street near the central plaza, we could see the ocean through the restos lining the cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean.  We were hungry and fell for the first place that offered reasonably priced pizza.  The big attraction, though, was the balcony overlooking the sea and the beach, far below us.  We chose a table for two, next to the glass barrier, and gazed down at the nearly bare bodies, lined up on adjoining towels on the sand.  A couple of hardy kids frolicked in the water, which was a gorgeous turquoise color.  We pinched ourselves - but it was real!  

the scene from the balcony where we had our first lunch in Nerja


Since that first glorious moment a few days ago, we have explored the town and chatted with a few of the older English-speaking folks who visit here at this time of year, escaping their own version of winter.  We miss the intimacy of our little Alozaina, where we were sure to run into someone that we knew on any outing.  But we are loving the opportunities: to shed some outer layers of clothes, to see a movie, to indulge in more variety of foods, to see more "stuff" in stores, among other things.  Yesterday we had a fantastic meal of Indian food.  Since we were the only customers on St. Patrick's Day, the owner had plenty of time for a fascinating chat about his life in Spain.  We've just discovered a Lao-Thai resto, a Chinese, and a Turkish one, so our options for our last meal here are interesting.  

                        Jaipur Indian Restaurant in Nerja


On the enthusiastic recommendation of Alice, one of our Alozaina friends, we made sure to get out to the Cuevas de Nerja yesterday. The caves were discovered by some boys who were out playing and exploring in 1959.  Coincidentally, on this day there were groups of fifth graders, out for a field trip.  Their teachers sounded just the same in their admonitions as teachers everywhere, no matter the language.   The caves are massive, amazing underground pavilions, with tall pillars of stone, created by dripping mineral water, some in fantasmagorical shapes.  Concerts are held there in the summer, and I can imagine how lovely it would be to gather in their coolness on a sultry summer evening, listening to classical music.  

                       one small part of the Caves of Nerja


We walked back to Nerja - only about 3 km - past crops of vegetables, sheltered under plastic greenhouses.  Spain's coast is broken up into costas (coasts) of various names; for example, Costa del Sol (the Sunshine Coast), Costa Brava (the Rugged Coast), and Costa de la Luz (Coast of Light).  The unofficial name for this area, where so much produce is grown under plastic, feeding all of Europe, is the Costa Plastica!  

                       plastic greenhouses along the coast

On Sunday, we checked out a huge flea market.  Beside the pure entertainment value, I was looking for a fleece jacket for our upcoming walk on the Camino de Santiago.  We joined a stream of folks, mostly ex-pats, it seemed, headed on foot for the outskirts of town, where the market is held.  When we arrived under a bright blue sky, hundreds of customers roamed among the open air tables, clustered in a space about the size of a football field, with a view of the sea.  Every kind of product imaginable was on offer, all used things.  I pawed through a few piles of second-hand clothes before coming upon a real find, a medium-size fleece, going for 50 cents.  

The whole crowd was a feast for people-watching.  Among my favorites were the vendor wearing a small sun umbrella attached to a headband - and a burly rastafarian guy wearing a skirt.  

                                        Umbrella man


Apparently the English-speaking population here is large enough to support an English-language movie theater.  Bruce has been feeling movie-deprived, so we attended a showing of Blue Jasmine.  It's a Woody Allen film with a sad story, but great performances by Cate Blanchett and Sally Hawkins.  Ironically, it describes a lifestyle that is the antithesis of what we've just enjoyed in Alozaina, where simplicity, community, and spirituality prevail. 

So, we've had a dose of summer here in Nerja, a place that feels like a very upscale Old Orchard Beach.  More like Bar Harbor, actually. Today we are traveling back to Malaga to settle in before Matt and Izik arrive on Friday morning.  Can't wait to see them!  

A Walk in the Campo

A Walk in the Campo                  March 13, 2014

One of the things that Bruce and I love to do is get outside and walk. Destination is less important than just exploring, seeing what there is to see.  Walking allows us to make little discoveries, easily overlooked in a motor vehicle (if we had one!).   Getting some exercise is another goal, a necessity with all of the good eating that we're doing!  We're also hoping to walk 60 miles of the Camino de Santiago in a couple of weeks, so getting in shape is one more impetus to get out the door. Plus, it's a great way to warm up!  It's often warmer outdoors in the sun than in our 16th century stone house.

I love the orderly rows of gray-green olive trees, so well cared for.  Zzzeeuumm.  A whirring chain saw tells us that an olive farmer is pruning his trees somewhere.  He puts the branches either into a whining chipper or onto a pile for burning, the gray smoke of hard-working farmers smudging the landscape.  The pile of discarded branch wood will fuel his stove at home.

From high look-out points around town, we can see white cement roads angling off in different directions, until they climb a hill and are lost to view on the other side.   In Alozaina, the demarcation between village and countryside is so clear and so close.  Down over the hill, clogged with white houses sitting cheek by jowl, and then suddenly you are out in the open, surrounded by olive groves stretching on for miles.

                 

        Looking out on the road to Coin, lined with olive groves.

Over the past few weeks, we've sampled a number of different routes.  In one direction, we go up onto Mount Prieta, which our bedroom looks out onto, choosing from among three different roads.  They all veer sharply upward, quickly producing pounding hearts and a rigorous work-out. Friends have suggested various strategies to lessen the discomfort, including walking backward up the road, as well as keeping our eyes focused down on the pavement!  Images of the town evolve as we move away from it.  Each time that we look back is a new scene.  The good news is that we are finding the climb less difficult.  The reward for our efforts are amazing views of the surrounding valley and its white villages, stretching all the way to the Mediterranean coast in the hazy distance.

      That tiny white bit at the foot of the mountain is Alozaina.

In another direction, we go down past a goat farm to the Coin Road and follow a much less demanding route on a quiet road with little, if any, traffic. Although the scenery is not as dramatic, the small surprises are no less delightful.  We feel very lucky if we arrive at the moment when one of the several goat herds around town is being led out to pasture, filling the road with the hollow clanking sound of their bells.  "Yip, yip", from the goatherder signals his flock to follow obediently behind him.  The herds are beautiful, an array of soft shades of brown with the occasional black or white, their udders bobbing side to side, a baby or two nestling against a mother.  The herder, carrying a stick and sometimes accompanied by a dog, is always with them, guiding and watching over them paternally.   In a demonstration of old-time, sensible sustainability and cooperation, the goats often feed on the grass under the olive trees, fertilizing them in the natural way.

Sometimes we encounter the benevolent old fellow who likes to slowly lead his horse along the road, letting him stop to nibble grass along the way.  Not all of the sights are so ancient.  One day a mom had chosen this lightly traveled road to teach her daughter how to roller blade!  And not all of the encounters are so benign.  Every home in the campo, it seems, has a watch dog.  These friends of man strike fear into our hearts with their fierce barking and lunging, stopping us abruptly until we're sure that they are restrained somehow. Memories of our 2010 census work come flooding back!  Roads with unrestrained dogs have been crossed off our list.

Historical remnants of Roman civilization pop up everywhere.  We often look up to see the ragged snippets of terracing in a field, 2000 years old, or fat, gnarled olive trees, said to be a thousand years old. It's pretty mind-boggling to see and touch the everyday work of people so long ago.

               Bruce looks up at the remnants of Roman terracing.

                          ancient olive tree, still doing its work

When we first arrived in Alozaina, the world was pretty gray and chilly.  During the past six weeks, we've seen the steady arrival of spring, first with almond blossoms dotting the hills in clouds of frothy pale pink, so delicate and lovely.  Then tiny yellow marguerite-like flowers sprouted under the olive trees, like bright gold dust.  Now the roadsides are sporting all kinds of pretty little wild flowers.  The almond blossoms have progressed to small fuzzy nuts, and the fig trees are slowly coming back to life with hints of green leaves on their thick gray branches.  Pretty blue blossoms have unfolded on the wild rosemary.

                almond blossoms against the blue Andalusian sky

                             and the burgeoning almond nuts

                           wild rosemary in bloom

We'll be leaving Alozaina this weekend, going down to the coast for a few days before Matt & Izik arrive in Malaga next week.  I may get one or two more posts written about this very special place that we have enjoyed so much - unless we're out walking instead!

El Dia del Andalucia

El Dia del Andalucia                March 8, 2014

"Un poco mas vino?" I love hearing those words!  Of course, the answer was "Si, por favor!"  Two young waiters mingled among the crowd at Andalucia Day, generously offering tiny cups of free Malaga wine - on behalf of the mayor, we had heard.  He has my vote :)!

February 28 is the date on which, in 1980, Andalucians voted to become a semi-autonomous region of Spain, leading to the celebration of El Dia del Andalucia:  Andalucia Day.   "Semi-autonomous" is a gentle status, from what we could see, still very much part of Spain but with some independence.  We didn't know what to expect for Andalucia Day, having been a bit underwhelmed by Alozaina's Carnavale.  The main events were scheduled to take place in the same big white tent that had been plunked in the middle of the main street for over a week.  The hours were more to our liking - in the middle of the day!

It was a bright, sunny, windy day for the opening ceremonies, speeches and flag-raising, near the town arch, in front of the currently-defunct tourist office (no funds to pay employees).   Flags of the European Union and of Spain were already flapping in the wind when we arrived. The Andalucian flag and the flag of Alozaina were being raised slowly to the sounds of the national anthem, played by the town band.  The idea of a town band is such a quaint notion.  Its members were a nice mix of old and young musicians, male and female, all outfitted in formal-looking navy blue uniforms.  Among the crowd, the older women were all holding vibrantly colored potted primroses, more gifts from the mayor - we heard.

                                   Alozaina town band

As the crowd broke up, we drifted over to the white tent.  There, a bevy of young volunteer chefs were dressed identically in black & white checked pants and burgundy shirts and hats.  They were preparing soup, putting bread in the bowls, ready to spoon hot tomato/garlic/onion soup on top of the bread, finishing them off with two grilled sardines laid gently across the bowl.  This was, apparently, a typical dish - and it was delicious!

                                              Yum!

Next to them was a massive paella pan.  When we first saw it, shellfish covered the bottom.   A bit later, it was filled with classic saffron-colored rice, embedded with pieces of chicken.   While we watched, cooks placed shrimp and bright red slivers of sweet red peppers around the top and then artfully arranged mussels, in the shell, standing them up like little choreographed dancers.  The last detail was lemon slices around the rim of the pan.  It was a gorgeous creation, its bright colors mirroring those of Andalucia - yellow, red, black, and orange.  It tasted as good as it looked!

                                    Paella perfection!

 We found chairs near some acquaintances and settled in for the rest of the celebrations, which included musician/dancers on stage, playing popular music - none of which we recognized.  But they were songs with a beat and fun to listen to.  Young girls, kindergarten age by my estimation, in matching long flouncy dresses, ran around giggling and playing, waiting for their turn to show off their budding flamenco moves.  One little toddler boy, dressed in Sunday best, wandered out to the middle of the space and kept his small body moving in time with the music.  All eyes were on him, though he seemed to be totally and delightfully oblivious.

                            Keeping the glasses refilled.

                                 Keep that music going!

The girls finally got a chance to take the stage, doing a bit of stomping of their dance shoes and lots of whirling and swishing, giving those twirly dresses a good work-out!  Bigger girls, more skilled and practiced, also danced, looking much more like typical flamenco dancers, but the little ones really got my attention.  They were having such fun with the whole process, whether on the stage or off!

            Such fun to hang out with friends in pretty dresses!

Fun for us, too, to experience what a friend described as a holiday "like your Fourth of July".  No fireworks - and paella had replaced hotdogs, but it was a day in which a sense of community, in this small town of 2000, could be strongly felt!

Night Music

Night Music              March 3, 2014

"West Virginia, mountain momma, take me home...."  The words seemed so out of place here in a tapas bar in a pueblo blanco in the south of Spain.  Yet, there was no mistaking the lyrics being sung by two Irish guys and a Brit, playing guitars and a ukele, crooning with John Denver accents, on this windy Friday evening.  As we quietly slipped into chairs close to the musicians, it felt wonderful to hear a tune so familiar that I could softly sing along.

We have been so very lucky to have been taken in by the Alozaina ex-pat community.    We are grateful for the folks who invite us to community events, buss us on both cheeks when they greet us, meet with us in writing support groups, and share their knowledge of the town.  One of the regular happenings that we've been meaning to attend and hadn't - until last Friday evening - is a local flamenco gathering.  It's small and casual and doesn't even necessarily happen every Friday evening - and can include American folks songs performed by non-Spaniards!  In that way, it's a bit organic - like so many other things in the ex-pat community here.  We had heard the buzz that a few friends had definite plans to be there this Friday, so, with our time in Alozaina winding down, we decided that we'd be there, too.

Along about 8:30 pm, we climbed the 100 steps to the town plaza, just behind us, and then picked our way through the labyrinth of passageways, down the 89 steps on the other side of the central ridge, to Pepe Bravo's bar.  The streets were dark and empty, and the fierce wind whipped around, blowing us along, as we unraveled the route.  A gray-haired, pony-tailed fellow with open shirt, standing just outside the door, smiled at us as we entered Pepe Bravo's.  As it turns out, he was the singer who would share some traditional flamenco songs that evening, accompanied by a couple of skilled flamenco guitarists and, to pass the tradition along, his grown son.  These fellows were gracious performers, beginning only after the ex-pat's had had their turn singing favorites from the 1960's.  Then they pulled their chairs in closer, beginning what appeared to be an unrehearsed unfolding of tunes, the singer leading the way, drawing on deep inner resources, while the guitarists deftly danced their fingers over the strings.

Before too long, Rod arrived with his beautiful old family violin from Britain and his huge accordion.  Midway through the evening, he joined the flamenco artists, spontaneously blending the sounds of the fiddle and later the accordion, with this most Spanish of traditions. As he did so, the eight year old son of one of the guitarists looked up in fascinated awe at this strange new instrument.

Yielding to pressure, Bruce even got into the act, playing a couple of fiddle tunes.  The audience of 15 or so was relaxed, chatting, sipping beer and wine, coming and going for a smoke outside, listening, appreciating.  The evening was one more little gem of a memory to tuck away - and share with you.