Spanish views from a small town

Today is a regional holiday, and on my morning walk it was most evident in the lack of cars. It almost seemed like during the lockdown, when people were first allowed to exercise outside. Though, towards the end of the walk, there were cars passing back and forth. What there were plenty of, were cyclists. First, I will say that there are cyclists that are well aware that the bicycle does not offer the protection of a car, and do not try to emulate one. There are aficionados of the bicycle that are attentive, polite, and eager to move out of the way to allow the fluid flow of traffic. Then there are the ones that give all the rest a bad name. The ones that act like they are kings of the road, and that absolutely everyone else has to give them the right of way. The first day I went walking, when it was allowed, one cyclist passed me, giving me a wide berth, since no cars were coming. The second one huffed past me, on the very edge of the road, not ceding one centimeter to maintain a ...

One of the sights of Boston in the spring, apart from the reappearance of the swan boats in the Public Gardens, or the blooming of the ancient trees on the Common, is the recurrent potholes. The truth is, though, they never really go away. So, you will find potholes of all sizes in all weathers and seasons. Or, at least, in the Boston I remember of almost thirty years ago. It is also a permanent state of being of roads here in Galicia. Whether you drive a national road, or a local lane, or a highway that cuts across wide swathes of country, you will inevitably find the pothole.  There are all kinds. There's the troublesome where the upper layer of special asphalt to prevent skids has worn off, and jars the car enough to make you look for a different spot to lay your wheels. Then there's the little hole that is unnoticeable at first, but after a few rain showers, the hole grows ever so slightly bigger, until it's big enough to swallow a tire. And then there's the meg...

There are news stories that will always stay with you. Then there are things you have witnessed that cling to you, as well. They aren't always bad, though some are. The funny thing is, you always remember them when you pass by the scene where they happened. Otherwise, you don't think of them at all. Every time we take our daughter up to Santiago, we try to avoid the tollway and go by the crowded road. Just after Padrón is Iria Flavia. I remember that Camilo José Cela is buried in the churchyard there. He won the Nobel Prize back in the 80's for The Family of Pascual Duarte . It's a very dark book that should be read on a bright sunny day. It's also the only thing he ever wrote that's worthwhile. In his latter years he was under a cloud of accused plagiarism, and I wouldn't be surprised if he turned out not to be the legitimate author of the book. His Foundation and Library are also there, in front of the church, right on the road. I remember that his young...

If the streets of old Boston are rumored to have been laid out by cows, then our roads here were laid out by oxen. Thanks to the hilliness of the area, a road here never goes in a straight line for more than a kilometer. The road which goes around the peninsula of the Barbanza in western Galicia hugs the coast. The coast is an accidental coast worse than a granola bar; you don't know what you're going to bite into next, just like you don't know where the sea will bite into land next. Therefore there are curves where you end up thinking you've just changed directions and are going back where you came from. That is most noticeable on a sunny day when, from having the sun at your back, it's suddenly blinding you. At a crossing near Rianxo. The tarmac road that goes from Padron to Ribeira was originally laid out in the middle of the nineteenth century. Though it took its own sweet time, like most civil constructions around here. They began in 1864 in Padron and en...