long live the
In the time it takes to write a paragraph the sun has gone. The ash-gray clouds float down but the horizon is the color of cream on the surface of boiled milk. Let it rain from above and quell this heat. Pebbles of rain against the window as we sleep at night. Another kind of silence.
Siesta is an old tradition in Spain. Despite the invention of air
Now many employers simply don’t offer a horario partido, a split schedule, which would allow the worker to go home for a long lunch, sleep a quick nap, before returning to the office. A shame. I never felt there was any laziness in this custom because these folks usually worked long into the evening.
In the golden days of agriculture, the siesta was essential to the field worker who wanted to avoid heat-stroke. It is still essential to the ambitious traveler who wants to avoid skin cancer. At 1 o’clock in Granada, it is simply impossible to keep walking around. It’s time to find a place for lunch and then draw a shortcut to the hotel. Take a shower and fall into your fresh bed linens.
When I was traveling in in the southern province of Andalucia this summer, I woke up early with the sun and retreated from its glare after lunch until late afternoon, sometimes until 6 pm.
That seems late to my Americanized psyche but the truth is that 6 pm is not quite evening for the sun does not finish its work until 10.30 pm, when the youth crawl out in swarms for la marcha, the march, as the natives call the custom of going out a night for drinks, clubbing, and if you’re really having a good time, an early breakfast at 5 am…
Long live the day!