Sunday 14th of February. Seems so long ago to be writing about it now. Wet and turning light. Cold. Up at 5.30 am. Exciting. Dark. Showered and hair wash. Dress, finish packing. Large freshly squeezed orange and a weak cup of tea. Will be good to drink strong Yorkshire tea again. Left the flat at 6.30. Birds singing. Figures wandering home in fancy dress - revellers from the Cadiz festival.
Now here's something to be aware of: My ticket said the train left at 7.13 am (love how precise these times are) It was actually ready to pull away at 7.08. Moral: always be early.
I was in carriage 3, seat 3C. Massive seats, the biggest I've ever been in. Like mini-sofas. The only other people in the carriage were a father and daughter. He was spanish, worked as a pyschologist in Durham, his daughter (english mother) lives in Canterbury. Sarah was fifteen and had been staying with spanish relatives and attending the english school in Cordoba. He had been in England since he was twenty-nine years old. She hadn't been to Durham. What's the point? He loved Durham. We chatted the whole way, asking what I needed to know about Andalusians for my book, about the area.
We arrived in Malaga at 8.30am. Had a coffee at the bar in the shopping centre as I had when I arrived.
Has the trip been worthwhile? Yes. I've learnt so much. About Spain, the spanish, the Estevez family, about sherry, about Cordoba and Jerez. I like the people and the place very much indeed. I want to come back. I want to learn spanish, travel more. Travel is so breathtakingly good. I feel taller, more in me, more questions to ask, more experiences to embrace. The mind and spirit have grown a little bit more. X
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