Writing on the World Around Us.
Plaza de las Angustias may not be the most beautiful plaza of Jerez, although it could compete if it weren’t for the occasional cars that circle the raise gardens and fountain that make up this plaza; with its tall palms, enormous agaves, and huge bell shaped flowers that droop down from the bushes this plaza has a tropical style, made for sweltering hot summers. Continue reading “Scenes from Jerez #8: Plaza de las Angustias”
An old man, frail and hunched, shuffles on into a railway café – one of those charming little places with a stainless steel bar reflecting the poker machine lights that compete with the beaming TV for your bleary-eyed attention Continue reading “Scenes from Jerez #7: The Old Man and the Sea Inside”
Sunday night at the Guitarron is always a daydream. A glass of cream sherry warms you up after strolling through the air-tunnel alleyways, and a saludo from the team of veteran barwomen welcomes you while the slow strum of a guitar greets you Continue reading “Scenes from Jerez #6: Day of Rest”
Jerez on New Years’ Eve is a sight: thousands of the city’s young and restless pour into Plaza Arenal to ring in the new year by holding the biggest ‘big bottle’, or botellón, of the year. In a botellón – the logical nocturnal progression of Spain’s al-fresco street culture – the young come together to drink, laugh, flirt and (occasionally) fight their way through the night. Continue reading “Scenes From Jerez #3: Fiesta”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a scene as peaceful as this: an ageing couple seated in a café next to a window – outside the rain pouring down, inside the chatter pouring all round them – both of them nodding off and occasionally returning to consciousness to note the rain or reposition their bobbing heads; never really awake but never really asleep. Continue reading “Scenes from Jerez #1: The autumn of life”
Why is it that on Sundays life feels a little more lived? What is it about the day that makes the heart more open, the eyes more searching, speech slower? Is there something inherent in it that makes the sight of a pretty girl lovelier and of a homeless man harder? Or are these heightened feelings just the biological, mechanical results of the brain’s recovery from long nights of too little sleep and too many drinks, just like in Johnny Cash’s Sunday Morning Come-Down? Continue reading “Sunday Times”
