Regular readers (Hi K) aren’t going to believe this but on taking a stroll through the old town this past Saturday night I find myself confronted with what appears to be some kind of (have you guessed yet?) procession. A procession! I mean, come on! There is such a thing as overdoing things, you know.
I have a laptop with me and a photo to post so I just bypass the whole thing and make for my usual wifi enabled bar. At this stage I’m like, whatever, about these things.
I set myself up and when the waiter comes over with my beer (you should see this guy’s hair – he’s like Sly And The Family Stone in Spanish) I ask him what this one is in aid of. He shakes his head (something to see); it isn’t a procession, it’s a queue. The Virgen, who it turns out is still in town, will be returning to her shrine in the countryside tomorrow and it transpires that on her last night in town it is traditional for the townspeople to file past her manta – or robe – for a blessing. I don’t mean some of the townspeople – I mean the townspeople. When you can mistake a queue for a procession then it’s a pretty long queue. It looks like all Tarifeños, without exception, are lining up. So my little anti-procession outburst back there. That was premature, right?
Wrong. There will be one in the morning to accompany the good lady back to her shrine. For heaven’s sake. It’s at eight on a Sunday morning so I immediately add it to my to-do list – for next year. Hasta luego, Señora.
So that was Saturday gone. I must be going native because this Friday coming I am arranging a little procession of my own. Our things arrive from Ireland via Madrid on two pallets and since the apartment is in the casco historico – the old part of town with its narrow, winding, sloped and cobbled streets – we have been offered no guarantee that the pallets can be left anywhere near it.
And that raises the spectre of a procession of English teachers trudging through said narrow streets transporting the contents of the pallets, box by box, to Casa Alotofwind.
Yes, I have secured the assistance of two, possibly three English teachers for the day. Not renowned for their lifting and handling capabilities I grant you, but it’s a lot better than a clearly enunciated and correctly spelt kick in the teeth. I’m dreading the day but desperately looking forward to the following one when I can begin to unpack and populate the blank canvas I’m living in with our things in preparation for K’s arrival. It’s been tough, I will admit; this six weeks without her. Not a circumstance I wish to replicate any time soon and justifiable only on the basis of our vision and of necessity. Here’s to you, Vision.