We spent Sunday site-seeing in the centre of Valencia. I have surpised to see English newspapers for sale and anEenglish bagel shop, the menu in English. I guess nobody has told these people that bagels are an American construct and in England we eat TOAST. I few years ago I attended a beach paty, in which I was the only English person. One of the guys, a pretty nasty bloke even by Spanish standards, nudged me on the shoulder and rattled off the words. Toro, toro, paella, paella, Sangria, Sangria - that is Spain for you, yes
At the end, I considered all the nasty things I could do to this bloke to cause him a life time of pain. But after I spending the morning in the centre of Valencia. I can see that this image is not created by brits arriving back with stories of beach life and party life, but by Spanish. I lost count of the number of shops that sold post cards of bulls, t-shits with bulls on, cups with bulls on, plates with bulls on, bull magnets, bull caps, and fridge magent shaped Paella. The Airport they do it with taste, but these people are selling the Spanish down the river, look at us, somehow we can't quite leave this tacky American habit of sticking a magnet on crap and calling it at souvenir, the image is in instilled and created by this people. A different type of Spain almost as far removed as those ex-pats that spend their days asleep by their pool in Denia or Murica, slowly pickling their liver with English bought Gin.
Anyway
We stopped for coffee and watched a man working with wire, he spends his days making little wire sulptures, selling them for three euros each. Seconds before we sat down, a man has passed him whispering something into his ear which caused him great stress. Sitting on the street surounded by all these people, he began to cry. Never are we so alone then when we are surounded by people. I suggested that we buy something from him, in order to cheer him up and as your see, his work is great. He started to make something, must of took him a few seconds to wrap the wire. He moved down the rows of table, removing a napkin, in which he wrapped the wire sculpture, to steps later he had placed the 'present' onto the table in front of me. Telling me that I needed to give it to Monica, which I did. After he had sat back down, I handed him three euros, he shook my hand, his hands rough from working with the wire and a life on the streets.
I don't care what he does with the 3 euros, he showed a type of kindness that is only displayed among friends. And he worked for his money, unlike the buggers outside the church or supermaket who just beg. He has a skill and is tyring. I've included a picture, if you see the guy,go and give him a euro and say hello. He's as a mad as a hatter, but thats okay.
