Spring in Madrid

I am seated on my aunt`s red couch after a lovely day of visiting Miguel Cervantes` town of birth, Alcalá de Henares. My aunt and uncle and I had a great tour guide who was full of intellectual anecdotes and details from the 16th century. Among other places, we toured the University of Alcalá, where the defence of a doctoral dissertation could take two days and involved standing in a room filled with professors and peers to question you.  If you did well, they cheered.  If you did poorly, they jeered.  And if you passed, you had to provide everyone with dinner and organize a bullrun in the town,  which was heralded by all the university and church bells of the area. 

I´m seeing family here for a few days, before I head up north to visit a friend and walk a few days on the Camino de Santiago.  It brings back memories of the walk Sonja and I did in 2009, but nothing along the same scale, as a few days is all I can give.  But the idea of walking through mountainous Asturias with great company is compelling.

Three years have passed since I was last here.  The garden at my grandfather´s house has flourished and he has a satisfactory sauna installed in the patio. My cousin has moved out and lives nearby, and age is a creeping vine that has not left me untouched either. Some things don´t change though--the Spaniards love of food and their own history, and the unexpected itineraries of daily life hereabouts.