TE19 Iberian Adventure

John Hartley

TVNews behind a screendoor. Balconies crowded over the square where kiosks sold cigarettes, magazines, and cheap sunglasses.

Only the faded grandeur of the Art Deco Cinema, lost in the small town, and the handsomeedificeof the Churchof Sao Bartolomeu, offer much in the way of culture. The unassuming beauty of the 16th century sandstone church, marbled through centuries of uneven erosion, is matched only by the serenity of the courtyard, shaded by ancient olive trees. Inside the magnificent Rococo altarpiece and marble columns, like the towns, are understated.

“Bomboarderos – firemen” or “frango - chicken.” Grandad practiced his vocabulary, “It gets harder to learn with age.”

His efforts endeared him to the locals, a spluttering engine, haphazardly stitching nouns together. Yet he genuinely believed that he would eventually master their language. He was on first name terms with the grocery store attendant and the bank clerk. “Thepound is terribleat themoment.” Grandadcursed, pocketing the detestable Euro notes.

In the covered market Judy picked out tomatoes and peppers, pineapples, and peaches.

“Bom dia!” the natives nod from behind gallons of olive oil and piles of figs.

“Obrigado” the sellers reply, weighing fistfuls of fruit.

Snapping away on an old Konica Minolta, pausing to capture anything and everything at a time when photography, like 180