La Muela, Andalusia

Last Saturday I came back from Italy, the children in the back seat were sleeping and Blanka I played a new and final album of David Bowie. You know, one of this short and quick flash transferred me a few years ago to a completely different place. – I do not know if there’s a form flash in me and the filmmakers have created or that everyone, including the filmmakers have just the same and they converted it into a movie. Anyway, it’s all over in a split second lightened and incredibly quickly ran a story that I almost forgot.

To the bar in La Muela in Spanish Andalusia we went because there was only that there were good whiskey glass for one Euro, and that there were not tourists. Like usually there was not much local. La Muela is not a large village. So – if you are in this Pepe’s bar with another six people, you can say that there was overcrowded.

Locals drink a wine mostly with poor taste, beat glasses on the bar top, watching the TV or watching us. Once we got to talking with a guy who sat alone at the table, he looked a little strange. He as usual did not say much, so he seemed that he is clear about. But Pepe couldn’t understand about what we are talking so long with this strage full. When we started to be louder, could not stand, he turned and began to wash big coarse glasses – those in which a local letting pour it their wine.

A stranger asking where we are. From Czech republic. He said, that he knows Czech. That there somehow drove, pulled from his pocket a leather wallet and it is based very old train ticket from Olomouc – Prague. One of those small, from hard paper, which I remembered from when I was still riding the high school in Frenštát – just prehistory. Within moments us this note to him completely, all chained. He told us different stories, and how finally arrived in La Muela and how he decided to live here. We listened to him, smiling and wondering what is the truth and what is it right here, in such in the middle of nothing impressed so much that he decided to live here the life.

And we continued to drink and talking stories, we laughed, and began to sing and straight Czech folk songs and pretty loud. We just pleasantly drunk and when Pepe began to sweep the floor, we have fallen out. The guy who name has sadly not remember saying she must go to him, we have to taste his homemade wine and that it simply must be. And so we went.

We went to the very end of the village to a small house irregular shapes. Once we tried to convince him that we stand tomorrow, we do not want to bother and need to wake his wife. Waved, opened a single door from the street inside the floor broke through a little light, pushed us back inside and slammed the door.

While we stood in the dark. We waited until clicked a switch and the light. We wanted to look around where we are. Then – but the sound was different than the click of a switch. It was like looking soon after the wall socket, pushed her end of the extension cord and slammed his fist into it. Was that extension cord was plugged in and the current began to flow. To a small lamp on the table and to the turntable, which is continuously spun from zero to thirty-three of their speed and thus also on the plate began to shuffle phonograph needle. To this day I can hear the start. I looked around and marveled.

I realized the plight of this guy left his house. He was home alone, he turned the old lamp with a large shade, sitting in an old leather chair, listening to old songs David Bowie. Smoking. Then, and it had to be pretty impulsive, stood up, the imprint of his ass is still not fast enough in his chair to straighten when he pulled an extension cord from the wall, then it popped, went out, and the sound is slowed before the board finished shooting and had no amplifier had juice, all was silent. After the memory took the door handle, he saw a light evening streets, closed, locked it and went to the bar.

It could have happened another way. I thought variants with women’s visit, with electricity failure, and I wanted to be a little paranoid when I wondered if it had happened to ready.

He did not. David Bowie sang: I took the cover of the album r, I wanted to know from which year it is. The guy brought a jar of pickles, apologizing that he usually didn’t have any visitors in his home. Well, it was no nice wine, but it was all very friendly. The space seemed interesting, I could not help it. I asked if I could look in the other room – here it looked like a small kitchen and dining room. He pushed the rest of the curtain, turned on the light and there showed me that I can. And he went back to wine.

I walked, I looked at the table, light kitchen. Eyes began to chase after the area and find connections. On walls and light were draped figures from the puppet theater. But strange theater. Crazy characters. I was looking for a common theme, like the production of hand artist topic. Question marks grew.

Then I turned completely to the left. And there it was waiting for me. The old, disassembled, but otherwise apparently in good shape, I guess year 1940 – Indian Scout. Legendary American motorcycle. Treasure for collectors, an excellent investment for owners, beautiful, as if accidentally forgotten in the dining room. Expensive as this house. As if the house was built just for her. But the puppets and their shadows on the walls, the music, lamp, phonograph, the streets and on the bar.

And here are my thoughts stopped. I just wanted to keep going, it was a lot. I’ve got more than what I asked for. Just enough. For a while I stared at the bike, I muttered something and went back for the others at the table. He sat down in a comfortable chair, I drank wine, rolled a cigarette and lit it. I know that’s how I was in La Muela reconciled with the fact that there are things that simply will not understand and which are all the more beautiful by waiting for us in places where we would definitely seek.

On the way home from Italy with David Bowie music, I knew that I wanted this autumn to go in Spain to look again, I ran over it so that it will be in a different location than the Algodonalez and I think it will turn something strangely interesting, off the wall and inspiring. So take your time and I look at you and our common experiences to enjoy the autumn expedition trips.

Enjoy every day

Dalibor

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