One of my wittiest friends from Sri Lanka, equally one of the most committed Europeans I know, is a Spaniard. I was lucky to join bis 30th birthday party. It started with a visit to famous Madrileño bullfight arena. Later, in a famous night out, lots of churros were needed to assist the processing of the tremendous amount of alcohol we consumed. It was like Hemingway once predicted:  Nobody goes to bed in Madrid until they have killed the night. However, I admire Hemingway not just for his drinking insights but also for his “Death in the Afternoon”:

There might be a lot to ask about bullfighting but Hemingway’s portray about the ceremony and traditions is just great. In his book Hemingway also talks about the nature of fear and courage. Something which occupies me every time I head for more challenging places than Spain. From bloody bullfighting to bloody Ballermann, from the frenzy of the Feira in Sevilla to the craziness of Gaudi in Barcelona, from the enchanted Alhambra (for me with its Generalife gardens the most beautifully built ensemble in the world) to the church that became a mosque and  again became a church after the great empire of al-Andalus Chad come to its end. I am happy that I experienced, in span of almost thirty years, at least this bit. I could easily get used to the local lifestyle, with some work in the morning, some wine at lunch, followed by a long siesta in the afternoon , and some work thereafter, before going out and eating late.

I am still hungry for more, notably for pintxos of San Sebastian, for grilled fish and white wine in the Basque seaside village of Getaria, for red wine of Rioja and for the great bookshop town of Salamanca. Apart from Mexico, Spain, the land of Dali, is for me the most surreal country. It has a strange beauty in the unexpected and succeeds balancing rationalism with dreams.  One dream is daily reality in Spain: Tapas are free as long you keep drinking.