Wednesday evening brought Roger Wolfe to Malaga. Wolfe, born in England but raised in Spain, writes in Spanish, though he has published some in English. His work has received a good amount of favorable critical attention. It was an enjoyable reading, but certainly not for someone who needs to feel his or her spirits lifted. He read several very brief poems for a small, but appreciative audience. It was tremendously windy as I was walking home after having some tapas with Teresa Garcia Galan and the students in her poetry class, so much so that I felt like I was being carried right through the tunnel underneath the Alcazaba.
Monday after Holy Week. One night of processions in Malaga was enough. Holy Week in Malaga is always strange, but this year was quite exceptional for me because it coincided with the Fallas. In Valencia the huge crowds in the streets were festive and purposeful. There was never any doubt about where people were headed--to the mascletá, to the bullring, to see la Virgen de flores, etc. In Malaga the crowds seemed to always be in a rush and not sure of where they were going.
Choyli. Those are the cheap high top sneakers I bought in Santiago de Compostela. They are really great looking and I've been joking with my friends and students that I paid some ridiculous amount for them because they are tomorrow. They actually cost me ten Euros. Well today I was walking down the street and I see a homeless guy on a bench drinking a litre of the tetra-brik wine. He was wearing Choylis. That man has great taste in shoes. Maybe he'll be able to sober up enough to improve his taste in wine.