|T O P I C R E V I E W
||Posted - 04/04/2008 : 21:17:22
It was some 20 minutes into our bus journey through acres of flat farmland punctuated by wind-ravaged windmills (we'll address the wind in a future instalment) when our jaws dropped as somewhere near 20 teenagers squeezed themselves onto the remaining 10 seats.
We didn't speak. We just raised one eyebrow, then another. Then smiled. These must be the singers and dancers we thought as we inspected the white lacey socks, big, baggy white shorts and shirts and satin waistcoasts spanning a colour spectrum from green to magenta and back to cobalt blue.
We stretched our limbs and sloped off at Murcia bus station along with the colourful band of teenagers and set foot out into the unknown. For me it was odd because usually when I arrive in a new city I've done some research and am armed with a map. This time though there had been a distinct lack of information available from my usually 100% reliable worldwide web. I wonder why? Consequently I had no idea in which direction I should be walking.
We walked this way and that trying to find a central point and soon realised that everyone else was doing the same thing. Crossing road after road and back again, we finally found a large open tree-lined square. We were still trying to seek out some traditional dancing and singing and our stomachs were making desperate 'where's the open air cooking display' noises, and we expected to find evidence here.
What we did find was a hot dog stand surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of intoxicated individuals, all dressed in the white socked/coloured waistcoat regalia, tripping over their own feet trying desperately not to spill their coca cola cocktails down their persil white shirts and shorts.
There we go, outdoor cooking and flowing drink. Not sure where the drink was flowing from at this point, but it certainly was flowing.
We decided to try to find the cathedral as this is generally the focal point of any city and once you find it, you can find everything else on your to see list. So which way was it? No idea. We'd seen it on the way in on the bus, but now it was nowhere to be found. I know, let's get a taxi.
The conversation with the cabbie, all in Spanish, went something like this:
Can you take us to the cathedral please?
I can't get near the cathedral.
Is it because of the fiesta?
Because I can only get you to the town hall.
Is the town hall near the cathedral?
So can you take us to the town hall then?
Thank you. Shall we go then?
Good heavens. We got there. Hundreds more people. We were the ONLY ones NOT dressed in this costume that we had now decided was similar to that of a Morris dancer. Very conspicuous we were. And hungry and thirsty. What to do?
|4 L A T E S T R E P L I E S (Newest First)
||Posted - 10/04/2008 : 10:33:47
Still waiting to hear what you did on Wednesday1
||Posted - 05/04/2008 : 19:22:20
Oh yes. But they were all full. Every single one of them. So crammed with Morris dancers that people were literally hanging out of windows.
We were the only people in the whole city not dressed in the regional costume and boy did we stick out like sore thumbs. From babies in buggies to senior citizens on mobility scooters, the world and his Murcian wife were sporting this regalia.
Odd then that on no less than three occasions we were approached and asked directions. My Spanish teacher said it was more than likely due to the fact that we were the only normal - and sobre - looking people around. Sobre! It wasn't for the want of trying not to be, but we couldn't get into a bar for love nor money.
Lucky then that we found a little kiosk serving paella and beer. Elbows at right angles, we waded in, shouted alot, then ate very, very quickly, perhaps like an animal having to guzzle down it's catch before another predator moved in.
We boarded the bus home shortly after this, after a quick tour of the cathedral.
So what shall we do on Wednesday?
||Posted - 05/04/2008 : 14:16:49
What, no tapas bars or fish restaurants?
||Posted - 05/04/2008 : 10:42:09