The Rain...

Writing in the local paper. Local Issues with a global take. I never translate literally and the editor trims at will to make it fit. Here's my version, then theirs.

The rain here in Caceres always reminds me of the words of fellow Mercedes Calles Premio de Periodismo winner, Juan Manuel de Prada, when he wrote that San Mateo ‘parecía desmigajarse, empapada por el agua’ (the church, watersoaked, began to crumble). His story sang true, the city undergoes a transformative change the few days a year when the rain indeed sets in for a full-day wetting. The warm ochre colors that I fell in love with when I first arrived begin to dim and fade, slowing returning to their natural colour of earth. The arab roof tiles designed to bake in the sun repel the water as best as they can while dark humidity stains spread along the walls. The birds that normally sing and soar above are nowhere to be seen or heard. The distant mountains that can normally be seen from up in the barrio San Antonio blend into a flat grey curtain that falls upon the steppe. I always wonder what the tourists think as they gather their first impressions while scurrying around the old town beneath their umbrellas, jumping over the rivulets that can turn into full-fledged streams running over the rough stone streets when it rains particularly hard. Tracing one of those streams the other day down la Calle Amargura I came across two tourists who were puzzling over one of the new signs that have gone up around the old city. Discreetly stuck to the reconstructed part of the tapia wall, the sign read “Torre de Caleros” but as they peeked from underneath their umbrella there was no tower to be seen. I pointed towards a house on the right side of the street but they didn’t believe me that the ruin they saw was indeed a twelfth century tower that had been converted into a house over the centuries. Seen from street level, it just looked like an abandoned old house. What they couldn’t see was the mostly caved in roof and the half-meter cactus growing next to the leaning chimney. Crossing under the Arco del Cristo and with a view from Caleros, they would have seen Juan’s words sadly come true as the tower and the city’s patrimony slowly crumbles away.