Personal high: at the Meson de la Guitarra, the guys (that are always there as far as I know, locals who play music in the back room) were sitting around in the middle, one guitar, one singer and clapper (palmas), another guy occasionally clapping or hitting the table. I joined in with some clapping, and afterwards they complimented me (either "ole" or "vale," I can't remember, but two of them smiled and nodded). I was so happy! I was there, I was able to do it, I crossed the cultural divide, I was able to participate in music that I find so beautiful that it flattens me, and yet, when I've seen it performed live, it's always felt impossible for me to ever be a part of it. And Friday, I was a part, maybe for the only time ever. It was great.
I have brought home some 6 bottles of Asturian cider, port, sherry, Cuban rum, and some honey rum. This is in addition to jamon iberico, olives, and boxes of marzipan sweets for the office. (To be clear: they are only getting the marzipan, the rest is for us.) Oh, drool! And yet, with all of this food, all I can think of right now is finishing my Charlain Harris novel. Once Brideshead Revisited was done, I lunged into this one and in less than 24 hours it is almost completed. Back to the Proust tomorrow ... and work. Ah well! One can't be on vacation forever, at least, not until you retire, and I need to get this travelling bug out of me while my knees can still handle all of the walking.