Pining

So we have arrived in Cordoba. What a difference the sun makes, the clouds are covering the sky from horizon to horizon, and the Guadalquivir river is brown. So we are playing spoilt children and pining for sunny Seville.

My friend sets off to do some shopping, just a few things: bread and salad. But she returns nearly an hour later with nothing. We are pining for Lidl (supermarket chain) it was only three minutes up the road. My turn. I walk in the other direction, up the hill and everywhere there are tourists and hostels and hotels. And I am pining for our little apartment in a Spanish bario and where we were serenaded by a music student playing the piano in the next-door apartment. I find some things, but I have to go to the town and it is noisy and busy. I am pining for the quiet streets.

I set off home and to my left is a narrow street and I turn down it. And there are more narrow streets. There are only pedestrians and no cars. The old cobbles rise and fall in waves under your feet and the little balconies jut out overhead. And I feel at home, I am back in the past, the Spain that I have come to see. I am just a tourist after all.

Then the sun comes out and we stand on the roof and admire the view. The little swifts flit and dive through the air, catching their insect dinner. And we laugh. What a difference the sun makes.