I spend time in the small quiet city of
Madrid, clap for the man who keeps the keys to let me in to my
new lodging, then wander round the Prado museum with its
crumbling walls and leaking roof.
In Andalusia I take part in my Saint's day fiesta with the
rest of the village under the date palms, and later spend the
night in a cave home in Baza with my new friends. While back
in Galicia a church service is disrupted by a game of golf.
Finally, in a mountain village where only I and the village
priest can read, I become the people's eyes and read the
newspapers every evening to the assembled village. I am
probably the last person in Europe to act as a window on the
world to a whole community before television will make me
obsolete.
I am not aware of anyone else having told this story of a long
gone Spain.