• Pamplona

    I am sitting in Pamplona overlooking Cathedral de Santa Maria la Real:

    I am deep in Hemingway country.  My sentences are becoming short and terse.  Setting a mood.  With possible hidden meanings.  Or maybe it is just my Spanish, the meaning of which appears to be hidden from many.  I am writing in my Silvine exercise book and I am hoping that the camareras will think I am the next Hemingway.  They do not seem impressed though – am I trying too hard?  Is it the cigar?  I will get rid of it.  That’s better.  Actually, I am losing my Spanish – every time I walk into a bar or cafe, the people start to speak to me in English.  What is it about me that makes people think I am English?  Can´t understand it.

2 Responsesso far.

  1. Clare Wenham says:

    Can’t think why anyone would think you are English, Pat; muy misterioso…. Roncesvalles, we drove over the pass on the way to the Basque country from southern France with the girls just before Jo went to uni, out last family holiday. Did the Chanson de Roland at uni, medieval battle poem about Roland saving the day at the pass, I seem to vaguely remember. Enough reminiscence! Glad all is well, quite envious actually, hope the weather holds out, love from us both, Clare

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