Thousands on the streets, children playing late while parents chat ... in a back street bar it's quieter. .. empty actually, perfect for a beer and maybe a pincho of tortilla, though that's not forthcoming from the rather morose owner, his mood maybe only attracting similar miserabilists. ...
Tonight's boat comes in and discharges its cargo of cars, campers and lorries ... economy of carrying goods so far at such cost a question, though of a philosophical nature rather than economic ...
Other questions arise .... what's really going on, when the President of the Benighted States plays the role of buffoon and draws derision from millions and admiration from millions too ... while the teenage hero Greta somehow gains access to the highest levels of power in the mundane world and lectures them about the need for action on climate change ... inspiring a related non-violent direct action movement, the Extinction Rebellion, currently disrupting cities ... if all the world is indeed a stage and humans merely players on it, to participate or to abstain, that is the question ... or one of them anyway ... maybe choose a role which resonates as if real, whilst remembering its illusory nature and retreating to review from time to time ... rather like the between lives review described by ancient philosophical systems ...
Meanwhile, Easter Sunday in Santander dawns fine, with light cloud, perfect for a walk around the peninsulas ... the Magdalena Park and Palace, a beautiful resource for the city folks and tourists, though captive sea lions and penguins mar the experience for this sensitive soul ... speaking of which, first coffee overlooking the bay brings out shifty soul seller, avoiding eye contact as he asks €1.30 for the small coffee, previous native Spanish speaker having been asked €1.20 .. 10 cents rather cheap for a fragment of your soul ... next coffee along the coast, young waiter smiles, mentions €1.50, as smile is returned, handful of change offered, price swiftly amended to €1.30, the difference left on the plate ... the outside table a good place to rest and write before resuming tour ... on to Cabo Mayor ... coast path shared with walkers and runners ... 12.30 a little early for lunch, olives offered with the shandy ... a little more resting and writing ... resurrection procession scheduled for 1pm, though Nature preferred ... each to their own, the old story, deeply embedded, embodied, no longer serving, though never strongly held this time round ... older stories more persuasive ... though stories all the same ... is authentic experience without a narrative possible? Why not? Since stories starting as pointers to the Truth seem so often to be mistaken for it, with dire consequences ...
Along the ridge, off the tourist trail, through suburbs with glimpses of the sea on one side, city on the other ... a restaurant without television, Spanish music instead of Britpop, an early and filling lunch while locals linger on pre-meal drinks ... English not spoken, but somehow a mixed salad plus patatas bravas appear anyway ...
Returning over the hill, procession still going on, drums a little lighter today ... interesting to observe ... Spanish 4 day holiday comes to an end, British one continues another day ... to be spent by this Brit afloat on the Bay of Biscay ...
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