Dawn

Dawn

Monday, August 10, 2009

Apologies for the absence of a post yesterday. The BBQ began with the arrival of the first guests at 1.15 and ended when I and the overnight guests went to bed at 2.20. To spend what was left of the night fighting off and swatting the mosquitoes that had taken advantage of the open doors.

So little time to even think of a post, let alone write one. Which was a shame as I wanted to relate aspects of an extraordinary bullfight on Saturday night. Perhaps tomorrow. Meanwhile, here are the promised paragraphs giving George Borrow’s observations on Spanish women. Or at least those of Sevilla:-

San Lucar was always noted for the thievish propensities of its inhabitants - the worst in all Andalusia. The roguish innkeeper in Don Quixote perfected his education at San Lucar. All these recollections crowded into my mind as we proceeded along the strand. We at last arrived nearly opposite to San Lucar. Here a lively spectacle presented itself to us: the shore was covered with a multitude of females either dressing or undressing themselves, while hundreds were in the water sporting and playing; some were close by the beach, stretched at their full length on the sand and pebbles, allowing the little billows to dash over their heads and bosoms; whilst others were swimming boldly out into the firth. There was a confused hubbub of female cries, thin shrieks and shrill laughter; couplets likewise were being sung, on what subject it is easy to guess, for we were in sunny Andalusia, and what can its black-eyed daughters think, speak, or sing of but amor, amor, which now sounded from the land and the waters. . . . . . I now revisited Mr. Phillipi, who introduced me to his family, his wife an English woman, and his daughter an amiable and beautiful girl of about eighteen years of age; three or four other ladies from Seville were likewise there on a visit, and for the purpose of sea-bathing. After a few words in English between the lady of the house and myself, we all commenced chatting in Spanish, which seemed to be the only language understood or cared for by the rest of the company; indeed, who would be so unreasonable as to expect Spanish females to speak any language but their own, which, flexible and harmonious as it is, (far more so I think than any other) seemed at times quite inadequate to express the wild sallies of their luxuriant imagination. Two hours fled rapidly away in discourse, interrupted occasionally by music and song, when I bade farewell to this delightful society, and strolled out to view the town.

After a long day spent in the company of several lovely Spanish ladies, it would be strange indeed if I were to find myself disagreeing with old George’s sentiments. Especially as they insisted on helping me clear up. Viva España!

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