A Farewell to Summer

After a brief summer hiatus, the Camino a Ítaca is back with a goodbye. Today there are storm warnings and the temperatures have dropped. Click over to the adíos in El HOY or read the English translation below. (PDF en castellano abajo)

It was starting to get late. The waitresses had begun stacking up the tables that were left empty and were hovering closer and closer to those that were still occupied. Their attentiveness wasn’t necessarily focused on taking new orders, but more centered on somehow telegraphing their will so that their customers would settle up their bills, signaling that their evening could finally begin.

But it was a Friday night...and it was summer.

A woman was singing with a guitar player, accompanied by someone on the cajon. Their repertoire ranged from Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black to No Puedo Vivir Sin Ti by Coque Malla and occasionally one of their songs would strike up a singalong that would float from table to table. No one seemed to be in the rush that the waitresses were hoping for. Last call in the summer is at 2.30 and it was still a ways off.

The Plaza de la Concepcion, or La Conce as it is known, is a microcosm of Caceres. It’s near enough the old town to feel its weight and presence, yet far enough off the tourist trail to be 98% local.

It draws on people from all over the city. There are locals who live nearby and others finishing their strolls through the old town who know that having a drink on the Main Square means paying more money than it’s worth. The broad clientele runs from those who feel it’s a place to let their dogs roam free under the tables to smarter set funcionarios and families whose children play in the minuscule park adjacent to the larger terraces.

A roar of one of the motorcycles that also use the square tore through the air when suddenly I was hit by something on the chest. I looked down to see if I had been ‘luckily’ chosen as a target by one of the birds in the palm trees above but couldn’t see anything. The sky above the tower of the Palacio de Galarza was sallow and indistinct, marred by the haphazard lighting that kills the night skies above the city.

Then, I was hit by another…and yet one more. I looked around and saw others with equally surprised looks on their faces. They too were being hit.

A silence took over the square and then something that could only happen here in Spain took place… Everyone started to clap. It was August and it was raining. The mirage didn’t last long however, not even long enough for the drops to pattern the ground, but it was a sign. The long hot summer was coming to a finale.

There are those who can’t wait for the sweltering summers to end, for an end to short sleeves, flip flops, sweaty brows, gazpacho, and torrid nights.

I’m not one of them.

September means a return to shorter days, early mornings, flavorless tomatoes, traffic jams at 9am and a return to routine. In short, a return to school.

The end of summer brings with it a sense of loss and a sense of grief. Even if the warmth continues till October, its essence is gone. Pero que nos quita el bailao (literally, let them take away what we have already danced) it was great while it was here.