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Last Sunday, I decided to visit the “Rastro” of Valencia that I hadn’t done before. Following the suggestion of a friend, I visited it in the midday, when the bazar has finished and there are some leftovers on the roads and people seeking those treasures that have been left behind. If the willing passengers won’t buy them on time, the sellers leave them on the street till they will be picked up from the municipal’s cleaning workers around 3 o’clock. I had a destination, an unfamiliar one and an hour walk on it.
On the way to the Rastro, I had my alien antennas wide open. Though, there was one thing stucking me back: I understand so little Spanish that I felt really uncomfortable starting speaking to a stranger. Suddenly, a passing woman got me out of this confuse. She started walking with me while she was showing with her finger up in the sky commenting on something. I didn’t feel that she was folowing me, instead I felt that we were walking together, in a common rhythm like if and we have been together since the beginning. When she finished talking with a face waiting for a response, I apologized but I hadn’t understood a word. She didn’t get disappointed at all, besides she asked me where I come from. – She had just come out of an exhibition that had enthusiasmed her a lot, her eyes and her movements had a lot of energy and excitement- When I answered Greece – there was one right response in the form of a question «Do you know Sapho?» She said a poem of Sapho in Spanish, with a distinct theatrical way. She described her poetry as “profunda”, she helped me understand the meaning by showing deep in the ground with her hands, while we kept walking. Then, it was my turn. Where did she come from. “Toledo” she asnwered dancing. The “pueblo” of Don Quichote. She informed me that “Don Quixote” was wirtten in the spoken language of her home village, an ancient form of “Castellano”. We had an almost common destination, her home was very close to the Rastro and walked me on it. We said goodbye like if and we will meet again.
Finally in a square of land next to the “Mestalla” stadium of Valencia. People were very focused, all of them looking on the ground, breaking and selecting their treasure. The cleaners had already started from the one side, and there was an exciting time of really being in the certain moment and place.
Rastro was unfolding its treasures.
A little further, there was a box of photographs all of them cut in the middle by hand. In some of them I could find the lost pair, in some others I improvised for a possible one. Most of the photographs captured either special moments or religious ones.
Meanwhile, the last Sunday was the one following a big night for Valencia. The Valencian football team has won – after several years – allowing passionated football lovers and generally “proud” valencians to spread on the road celebrating, accustomed with the flag, and sounding like a buzzer. The celebration kept the following days.
I was informed by a young boy that the team was about to return from time to time to the stadium fo Valencia to continue celebrating their win. Many people, families, young boys, children and young ladies, were waiting in rows to enter the stadium, right next to the Rastro. Others,