there is a text from that blackman woman and it sweetens the chore of morning evolution. i had tried to show my impression of her show the night before via text, but who knows where that stuff goes. so now it has allowed me to properly congratulate her and yip about her performance. i fall short of blaming our luke warm set on her.

then we pile into cab and head back to gatwick. a lovely morning ride. big billowed puff clouds blot the blue sky to remind us how we used to view the heavens as children and in story books too. the weather is beyond perfectly chilled slightly. we gather in the airport and once again utilize our impressive art of saying goodbye to each other.

thøger and i fling to spain again. land in valencia. take in some of the city for the sake of it. am enamored by the tile work of the train station. find the down and dirty neighborhood to soak in a caña and tapas and then head back to the station for our final stop in castillon.

we pause at the square there to absorb the revolution mob. so far every night in spain has yielded growing numbers of young and old collecting themselves in revolutionary numbers to insist on changing the way things are set up governmentally. it resembles the mentality of the mid east without the chaos or disruption. it so peaceful that at a certain hour of the late evening, everyone stops cheering and clapping and instead simply wiggles there hands in the air quietly to show their applause. there’s something happening here. what it is ain’t exactly clear.

i thought this was my least favorite town in spain but it provides us with substantial dining flippity and then we walk for ages, as we did the night before in brighton, for a mysterious location we make a game of. we stumble upon the revolution there as well beyond midnight. so i was wrong. there is no such thing as a least favorite town here.

the end.

- — – -  – -

meanwhile in madrid, as in every town in spain, the revolution takes on new proportions

viva la acampada