Living in Spain

‘Could I have one like that, please,’ I said, pointing to the half bread roll on the plate beside me on the counter, ‘half, with olive oil and garlic?’
‘No,’ she snapped. ‘It has to be a half or a whole bread roll.’
‘That’s what I mean,’ I explained. ‘Half a whole bread roll, like the one on that plate just there.’
She glared at me and went into the kitchen, coming out a few minutes later with half a toasted bread roll and practically throwing it at me.
I had been there on a previous trip down to Andalucía, I then remembered, and had had to deal with the same unfriendly waitress. I had also sworn never to go back. But more and more these days, all roadside restaurants and cafeterias tend to look alike, and one tends to stop and eat on the way when one is hungry, wherever one happens to be. I ate the half bread roll quickly, gulped down my coffee, paid and left. I’ll never go back.
On the way out, I noticed there was a tiny village just beyond the restaurant and decided to investigate. There was nobody in the streets and hardly any cars to be seen. I drove to the main square – probably the only square – and found a shop open. I went in to ask if there was a bar, apart from the huge restaurant and service station complex I had just come from beside the main road, where I could have a decent cup of coffee the way I want it, which is in decent company. The shop owner escorted me outside to a small bar in the same square. Inside was a group of old men, all of whom stopped talking when I walked in. I greeted them, they greeted me, I ordered another coffee and we started chatting.
‘Beautiful little village,’ I said.
‘It is, isn’t it?’ one of them replied. ‘But there’s not much life here anymore. All the young people have left to work in the big cities.’
‘I hadn’t expected to find a place like this here in the middle of nowhere,’ I said. ‘I only stopped because of the restaurant complex on the main road.’
None of them made any comment. Perhaps they had nothing to say. Many small villages in Castilla y León have either been abandoned years ago or are in the process of losing residents, and the little life they had left in the recent past has been destroyed by the main road bypassing the village, as has happened all over the country for the benefit of motorists in a hurry.
We chatted some more. I wasn’t in a great hurry to leave.
I drove out of the magic little village onto the main road to continue my journey feeling much happier than when I had arrived. Despite the trend towards uniformity all over Europe’s highways, the main roads of Spain can still surprise the weary traveller.
I turned my head to read the name of the village on the sign I had missed on the way in. It was named Milagros, meaning ‘Miracles’.
That made me even happier. Miracles, even small ones, are always very welcome.

Filed under: General by Vivion O'Kelly