Life in Culebrón

Years and years and years ago I got off a train in Almeria as twilight became evening. The train station was a long way from the town centre  and it was a very warm, very sweaty evening. The thing I noticed, as I walked, rather than my dampening clothing, was people sitting out in the street. Generally they were on dining room chairs and deckchairs but some had stately armchairs. It was whole families and the neighbours. Often the telly was on the windowsill facing out.  Nowadays of course only old people watch the telly - well in the traditional broadcast telly way - so nobody would drag their telly into the street. Most likely they'll do without telly all together but I suppose the coerced youngsters can always play with their phones. It was always the relative coolness, the chatting, and maybe a few snacks and a drink, that were important anyway.  I did wonder if it still went on. I mean we've all got aircon nowadays. I've seen people outside in Pinoso but Pinoso is ...

There's a strangeness about being home and yet being a foreigner. Last week I asked the lad who served me coffee how his birthday celebrations had gone. He'd told me his plans the last time I was in. I got the full story. Later, in the same bar and in the same session a different, and new to me, waiter asked me if I wanted another coffee. He asked in broken English - to him I was just another foreigner. There were a lot of political meetings running up to the local elections. I went to one of them and the prospective, now elected, candidates were lined up against the wall in a show of solidarity at a political rally. A couple of them greeted me by name. We knew each other because I'd taught them a bit of English. I'd actually worked alongside another of them several years ago. Alfredo, the barber, nods through the window - he cuts my hair and I didn't get his daughter through her B1 English exam. And so it goes on and on with example after example of knowing...