I wake up stretched out on the ground in the sun. My first nights sleep in the open. I was too tired to put up my tent when I found my campsite at 3:00am it was a warm night, and I could still hear the singing and music of the fiesta I had left. I had a good time once I met some friendly chicas also from out of town, who let me tage along in their gang of pink shirts. But I suffered too , from being the only foreigner, and my poor spanish. Everyone was excited when I arrived, but soon the novelty wore off and I was left to wander the concert by myself. I drink a little and try to enjoy the pop rock band that starts at about 12:30.
So I am up not that early and cycling. 40km to Salamance apsses in two hours. And when I arrive its to work, in libraries, in parks, and in bars, to make the artwork for album of Folk Soul Brother. It takes till 6. I stay in Salamanca tonight.
Alphonso Mucha exhibition that Caroline should have seen, in the palace of Art Nouveau. Final night of the festival of Artes, and a beautiful performance in the plaza Mayor. Shrouded aliens expand and inflate, to become round baloon people, lit from within that parade and dance though the square. Weird Pollution toroises fire a fine silever tape into the air that floats and tanges in the winde, like shining cigarette smoke.
Now in the only bar on the street with a spanish soundtrack and small mountains of dripped candlewax. Bicycles in the corner.
The Albergue is filled with assholes, though the attendant sense my differnece ( my age) and gives me a dorm to myself.
Throw away thermals and a singlet, and give Steinbeck to that same attendant, to read and pass along. Getting lighter.
