waking up is already an event.
we need to vacate in an hour. packing it up for caravan haul.
kids, guitars, bags.
then the improvised plan of escape.
cab it to puerto de la santa maria, then the train to cordoba instead of madrid to spend the last night accordingly. joan sees us off.
and fernando is there to welcome us back in cordoba. the dream team.
dump the baggage at the hotel across the street and then walk the day away with fernanado and take in one last splendor of the city here i love. buy some school clothes for the kids. boots of spanish leather for my oldest daughter who couldn’t be with us. meet up with the singer that goes by “la negra”, amparine, back at ‘nando’s house.
then we head out for a last minute invite to a cajon performance and i get the history of the thing. its only been in here in flamenco land for about 30 years, delivered from its origins in peru. and handed over at first to paco de lucia, who then by destiny introduced in to all of spain.
in closing, a fellow gets up to introduce the new collapsible travel cajon he just invented and we wish thøger was here to see it.
then some dinner outdoors again. its gotten late. midnight, and we return to the hotel for the last night here.
and that’s about it.
th eend