Just a moment ago, while reading some Tom Robbins and having a cup of
tea at 11:30pm (still very early to those of us in Spain), I was shaken
from my spot on the couch by a marching band. I, along with most of my
neighbors on the street, hung off my balcony to see from whence the
noise did come. And, not so surprisingly, it was just some people in
normal clothes marching around with their instruments playing amazingly
good Spanish scores -- drums, cymbals, trumpets, the whole lot. Everyone
here on Calle Chamizo, the very young to the very old alike, hung from
their balconies clapping and dancing and singing along until the band
marched on. No one minded being rustled from whatever it was they were
doing at 11:30 to, what some in America might call noise pollution or
the disturbance of their tranquil serenity. In fact, they seemed to be
overjoyed.
Impromptu concerts in the street. At any time night or day. On any day of the week. Just one more reason I love Spain. [Preceded by free tapas with euro glasses of red wine, botellons, and siestas in the afternoon & followed by churros con chocolate, retreats to the countryside or beach, and dinner at 10pm to prolong full bellies late into the night, i.e. a country of night-walkers]
And the music begins
again... Ole!
