text by David Boulter

My first memory of Spain is a family trip to Benidorm in the late seventies, eating egg and chips in “British Pubs.” I think, even at fourteen, I knew something was wrong about flying across the sea, across a large country to eat egg and chips in a “British Pub.”

Tindersticks arrived in Spain about 15 years later. We enjoyed our first gigs, but then all places were new, and we enjoyed everywhere. The first “special” moment was playing the Palau de la Musica in Barcelona. Such a wonderful building, very much a part of what we wanted to do then, and a great honour to be able to. Going back later with strings has put the building and Barcelona in a special place for me. Driving to Ronda after a miserable gig in Malaga was also special. At the time, we were in the middle of touring our ‘Simple Pleasure’ record. It had been hard to make and was impossible to play. We’d been invited to see a studio in Ronda and decided to spend our only day off recording new songs. Not a good idea when you hate each other. But I still have good memories about it. The wonderful welcome we felt and the beautiful distraction of being there, although the massive drop into the ravine felt very tempting for a while. The most recent trip to Spain was being invited to play at Garcia Lorca’s house in Granada last summer. We met his family and saw his home. I don’t know if it’s the climate or the people or the egg and chips or for many other reasons Spain holds a special place for me.



text by Tom Barman

Andalucia is like springtime. It’s old men smoking Ducados and shouting at each other. It’s the walk uphill, puffing from the heat, just to go to that one bar that serves your favourite lechuga. It’s the sweet wine of Malaga.

It’s the way people throw everything on the floor of the restaurant, even the ashtrays.

It’s the colour of the sky, the colour of her eye, the velocity of speech, the humour you don’t get ‘cause you hardly understand it, but you laugh anyway.

‘Cause Andalucia is smiling at you, and if it seduces after ten o’clock, it kicks ass at one.

It’s the sea and the foreign newspapers, the sickening drives through the mountains, the intensity, if intensity is what you look for.

It’s the navajas, phallic delicacy, better than mussels, bigger than snails, only available on Tuesdays and Fridays, on the other side of town, maybe.

Andalucia is glamorous without stars, rich without money, warm-hearted, and welcoming. Andalucia smiles at you.



text by Kelvin Smits

Tarifa: one step further and you’re off the continent. Tarifa is not just a place; it’s an experience, and a full-blown one too… Either you love it or you hate it, but one thing’s for sure: You’ll never forget it.

I first came here on a whim 16 years ago, drifting through Europe, looking for the nastiest wind spots. And what I found in Tarifa changed the way I looked at life forever…

Picture the scenery from films like ‘Wild at Heart’ and ‘Baghdad Cafe,’ and mix in some music like ‘Blue Hotel’ (Chris Isaak) or ‘Tumble Weed’ (Cinerex), and you can start imagining what Tarifa is like. It’s the place Sergio Leone stayed at before filming the Dollar Trilogy, and you just know he found some inspiration for the movie by driving around the countryside here. (As a matter of fact, all of the so-called “spaghetti westerns” were made just a couple of hundred kilometres east of here, in a village called Tabernas, and the relics (villages, cemeteries) are still standing there and can be visited.)

Located on the southernmost point of Europe, Tarifa is a gateway between two continents. On clear days, you can get the impression that Africa is so close you could take a big leap and try to jump the distance. Tarifa is also the place where the Atlantic Ocean cascades into the Mediterranean, and this makes the sea a very treacherous place. (The Mediterranean is about 100 m lower than the Atlantic. This is caused by the immense evaporative effect of the sun on the Mediterranean, and the sea is only refreshed by the small Strait of Gibraltar running between Morocco and Tarifa.) It is this unique feature that has made this place so popular with surfers, and during the summer the Spanish continent warms rapidly and produces a local high pressure that is deflated by the cold Atlantic, producing the levante, a strong, hot, and dry wind blowing from the land towards the sea. This is also the reason that Tarifa is one of the best places for whale spotting in Europe. (There’s a special service that takes people out on a boat to actually go whale spotting: Calle Callao 6, tel. +34 956 682247.)

Apart from being a really cool surfing spot, Tarifa and the surrounding countryside have a special atmosphere that you often find in places in the Middle East or North Africa, but still with the conveniences you’d expect in Southern Europe. I suppose the reason for this strange atmosphere is that it was the first place to be conquered by the Moors, and it was the last place they left some 700 years later. Therefore, the old town of Tarifa is completely surrounded by thick walls to fend off attacks by the Arabs, and inside the compound, lots of houses have a distinct Arabian feel to their porches and patios.

Although Tarifa can hardly be called a big town (15,000 inhabitants), you definitely need to take your time and slow down to the beat of this place in order to take in all of the elements that make it so special.

I could tell you about the locos del viento that howl on nights before the strong levante starts or about the fisherman with the 3000 Jesus statues. I could also tell you about spending the night in prison, charged with nothing by corrupt policemen demanding my watch before letting me go. I could describe the steel-blue skies while being swept away in gale force winds cutting through giant waves, but I guess everyone just has to go there and find out themselves what makes this place so special for him or her.

Further down, I have made a selection of all the best and most special things I remember from my stays in Tarifa. I hope it can guide you and that it makes your stay more interesting when you decide to come down to “the wind capital of Europe.”

Café Central Calle Sancho IV el Bravo

As the name spells out already, this is the bar/cafe situated in the centre of the old town. People go there for breakfast, a fast dinner or supper, or just to get together and drink a bit. Most people meet up there to start the night! Some nice special coffees and tapas to have here!

Chiringuito Las Dunas

Located on the beach at Las Dunas, this is the typical hang-loose beach bar where everyone gets together during the day between noon and midnight. Good salads, fair prices, and lots of bikinis and surf dudes.

I must stress the fact that it isn’t easy to find. (Driving away from Tarifa to Cadiz, about 12 km from Tarifa, you should see the big white dunes of Las Dunas. Near a pasteleria on the left side of the road, turn left, and trade the asphalt for a dirt road, leading to the sea-shore. You should see the Chiringuito on your left. During the summer months, the Chiringuito organises beach parties. Ask for the flyers at the bar!

La Ruina Calle Trinidad

A great bar with open roof and balcony looking out over the old town. During the summer holidays, this is the main place to meet up. Good music and atmosphere.

El Balneario

A big open-air discotheque situated near the seashore. During the summer months, there’s a special party every weekend of the full moon. Located at the beach near the beginning of the island, where the military reside near the port.

Bar Pépe’s Calle Castelar 4, tel. +34 619 853807

New place to be in the centre of the old town.

Copas and music to start off the night.

Pizza No.1 Huertas Del Rey

Definitely the best pizza I’ve ever eaten. The owner came down from Naples in the mid-eighties with his family and started a shop with all kinds of Italian products. Mama started making pizza on l.liu aide Ton years on, you can still see that the restaurant once was a shop, but it sure isn’t the main activity anymore. Watch out for the owner though: He can sometimes be from another planet. He once chased me with a butcher’s knife because he had the impression I didn’t want to pay while I was walking up to the counter with money! Weird guy, but… you should risk it, because the pizza is the best.

Souk Calle Huerta del Rey 11, tel. +34 956 627065,


Traditional Moroccan food in an authentic Moroccan setting.

La Estrella de Tarifa Calle San Rosendo 4,

tel. +34 956 681985 +34 670 739723, email

One of the first places I stayed at in Tarifa was an old 13th century rundown Roman-style house bought by a few Belgian guys for next to nothing in the mid-eighties. It has been totally redone now, and you can stay here in what has become a Moroccan-style luxury house. Best to reserve long before your stay, because it’s becoming quite popular, and it’s not that big.

100% Fun Playa del Valdevacqueros

A small Polynesian-style hotel beautifully situated near one of Tarifa’s nicest beach spots, Las Dunas. Different freestanding condos in a garden setting with a nice wind-free pool. Ideal for surfers or romantics.

Hotel Dos Mares tel. +34 956 684035, fax +34 956 681078

You can’t get a hotel situated closer to the beach than this one. It was built on the beach years ago and has been renovated recently. Nice facilities (swimming pool, bar, fitness room, etc.) plus the possibility of storing your surfing gear inside the hotel compound.

These are my special spots around Tarifa:

Las Dunas. Beautiful dunes that are some of the highest in Europe (65 m). If you’re looking for some private sunbathing, this will do the job. Also, you can find a unique type of woodland behind these dunes. Because of the high winds that blow here during most of the year, genetic selection has forced the pine trees to grow no higher than three metres. Therefore, you have this beautiful fluffy low-growth forest. Watch out though, as there is a military base situated here, so if you want to go further, you’ll have to go by the beach.

Playa Los Lances. Walking away from Tarifa, you can take the beach and walk all the way to Las Dunas. To get there though, you will have to cross the Rio Jara, and then you’ll be walking on the los Lances beach. It is here where Bjorn Dunkerbeck set the world record for speed surfing (over 85 km/h) in the mid-nineties. It’s a unique, white sandy beach which goes on and on for miles.

Bologna Drive. About 16 km on the road Tarifa-Cadiz, on the left side of the road, you should encounter a run-down sign for Tio Pepe. Just before, there’s a small road that leads up a mountain. Follow this all across the mountain ridge, which is named “the Devil’s back” for its peculiar shape, and drive down the other side.

The village down near the beach is Bologna, and it is situated near an old Roman villa, which looks out over the most beautiful beach you can imagine. Totally secluded and inaccessible from all other sides, this is a very quiet and heavenly spot for those searching for a day of total bliss! There’s a nice little fish restaurant on the beach, which is not very pricey.

Must-see In the neighbourhood:

Canos de Mecca, Zahara de los Atunes, Barbate, tour of the pueblos blancos.


text by los wawas

Night has already fallen when we enter Cordoba in our touring van. On the other side of the river, in the far distance, we spot an enormous bundle of light… Coming closer, we see a huge fair, bathing in light and sound. A spontaneous party vibe overflows the van in less than a minute. In between the typical fair attractions, hundreds of different tents are crammed with people drinking, eating, and dancing. We are told this is the annual Cordoba fair, and the whole town doesn’t have to work for five days. We enter one of these tents while a classic by Boney M is booming out of the speakers. All wearing the same yellow band shirt, we are soon spotted by our fellow Spanish partygoers. Approximating the centre of the dance floor, we have the impression they all dance around us. Get some beers… We will show these guys how to party! We shake our bodies, we jump, we laugh, we dance… more drinks… fuck, what a glorious feeling of pure happiness and unspoiled joy. Then, at once, at the peak of our party control, the DJ puts on a classic sevillana. All hands go up… and here they go, all natural, rhythmically sliding their bodies next to each other, with measured foot passes and gently controlled arm gestures. Open-mouthed, we stand there in the middle of the dance floor, like a bunch of stupid tourists, all dressed up in their holiday outfit. As discrete as possible, we wisely head for the bar, concluding we’re not yet capable to tame the Spanish “fury”…

But, hey: There was plenty of beer left…

E viva Espana!!!!



text by Simon Lenski

Spain has always welcomed us at the right moment, somewhere between madness and insanity.

Voices echo through narrow patios, the smell of fleshy lunches, drying laundry, an old lady with walking stick, Fortuna fags.

Twaddle and laughter after too much night, too much of everything. The old Spain always keeps on going, day and night, looking for something new. Iberia crosses from north to south, mysterious rituals fuse gently into day-to-day life, only distinguishable by northern eyes.

Views of sunny, greenish-brown hills where poverty suddenly turns into wealth, the scent of green olives, horseshit, and seaweed on the same day.

Let go, enchanting people, the odour of oranges on a bronze, hairy, salty skin. Fitful shadows, lustful but with an intense Catholic consciousness of guilt. Te quiero!



text by Dennis Dellaert

If there is one country that combines a rich culture, sun, southern temperament, siesta, and music with all of the conveniences of a European welfare state, it is definitely Spain. Who doesn’t daydream of escaping their stressful, hectic, northern day-to-day life and exchanging it for the southern downtempo rhythm?

Is there anything better than waking up to Radio Ole, with its gypsy-Moorish music, sipping the best cafe con leche in the world, while looking forward to the upcoming siesta. Unfortunately, I’m not the only one and certainly not the first one to understand what richness Spain has to offer. Generations of wealthy Germans, Brits, and others have constructed massive, ugly marble blocks with their own pools, activities, and other forms of timesharing horrors. The bungalow parks where you can order, without a raised eyebrow, a knackwurst and chutney in your own language spoil the authentic atmosphere in lots of these little cities on the coast. Not to speak of those brown-baked pensioners who, ten years down the road, can’t say much more than “hola” in Spanish to their gardener.

On one occasion, I was sitting at a terrace when, much to my surprise, I heard some old- fashioned hooligans say: “Spain would be great without the Spanish.” I could only imagine that the only reason for them to migrate was the climate, and all the rest had to be as similar as possible to their home country… sad people.

So my proposition for the Spanish leaders is as follows: Neglect the Kyoto Agreement by encouraging the use of all kinds of ozone-unfriendly sprays, and subsidise all industry that stimulates the heating of the earth. If you do so, we won’t have to travel anymore to enjoy a warm climate once we’re pensioners, and the Spanish people will be freed of these cultural barbarians… Do we have a deal here?



text by David Bouvee

As I consider our band to be a ballroom orchestra, we can only go back home happy when our audience has been dancing along. For us, the Spanish audiences have confirmed their fame as party people all the way. As soon as the first musical note is launched, they start moving, they stir each other, and incite the musicians passionately. Before you realise it, you’ve played the whole set, and of course they want more, by shouting “otra, otra, otra.” As we sing in Flemish, you might think this could be a handicap, but no: Open-mouthed they sing along in our dialect, not having a clue what it all could mean.

On the way to our next gig, I buy a CD by Camaron de la Isla in a petrol station, and, in spite of the 40 degrees outside, cold shivers crawl all over my sweating body. Absolutely amazing how this flamenco music fuses extreme happiness with the deepest sorrow, just like life itself.

This tour, we play on our wooden truck, ‘Barkas,’ and today we gig at a festival on a soccer field. Having only just arrived, people gather around our vehicle, and we decide to drive around the soccer field while playing. Soon the whole crowd is tribal dancing around us, and to our surprise, they start climbing on the moving truck, followed by a dive onto their semi-hysterical compatriots… It’s the day truck stagediving was invented and a truly unforgettable party, again, all night long.

To get back to my senses the morning after, I’m advised to drink a few ‘Red Bull andalus,’ called gazpacho, and I must say it works. On our last day, we have a concert at the club of Los Hermanos (the brothers of Los Caireles), and after a splendid night, I learn another thing: Never mix tinto de verano with Jerez wine.

In the morning, on our way back to the cold north, I make a promise to the passing Serrania landscape: We’ll be back, hopefully as soon as possible.



text by Jochen Wentz

When Maria approached me for the first time after a concert in Brussels years ago, she told me: “To me, your music is somehow like jamon serrano. You must come to Spain. I know that my people will love you!”

Honoured and inspired by the tasty comparison, we had the opportunity to test the effects of our music in the south of Spain. And truly: The crowds went berserk. Something about Mardi music seemed to appeal to the people.

Was it the funky rhythms, some dramatic aspects, the specific sense of humour, the air of romanticism, or the sheer variability of all these things, almost like an assortment of tapas, small teasers of the senses, each of them different and strong in taste? Inspired by the movies of Saura and Almodovar, as well as by the reflection on modern Spanish architecture and some “satanic” Moorish influences in the melodic lines, Mardi finally comes “home” to Spain.

When I recently met Maria again, she perplexed me with another idea: “That last song you played tonight: To me, it was truly like queso manchego semicurado!”



text by Manolo Charry (reporter Charry TV)

Millionaire came down to the south of Spain around 1999. Tim, Dave, and engineer Bernardo gave their absolute best, almost not leaving the studio, and after an intense ten-day session, a brilliant demo saw daylight. Without a record company interested, it was their own management, Musickness, who invested in these recordings, something the band will not easily forget. Thanks to this demo, they were able to find a record company, and from then on the Millionaire rocket was launched, with gigs all over the globe as a result.

In 2002, they visited Spain again during one of their tours, and it has to be said that the Spanish audiences here in the south felt a bit “uncomfortable.” Not used to seeing live rock bands such as Jon Spencer Blues Explosion and Queens of the Stone Age, you could say that the public – in Ronda for example – was slightly “afraid” of Tim van Haemel’s wild stage performance, and they thought he had taken too much of something.

The audience literally stood back, away from the stage, eyes wide open, and ready to counter any attack from Planet Rock.

On the Web site of En Frente Arte, you can see part of this gig.



text by Dimitri de Beuckelaer

Old Sancti-Petri (Cadiz)

There was a time the people of Sancti-Petri (Cadiz) had nothing: nothing to talk about but football, bullfighting, and, of course, their work. They gathered in the only bar the village had to watch the fights with El Cordobes, one of Spain’s most famous toreros.

They were all fishermen (tuna) on this isolated peninsula in the south of the province of Cadiz that once was the property of los Canizares, who sold their land to the Consorcio Nacional Almadrabero in 1929. Soon the people who worked here started to build shacks and tried to live their lives here. Each year, from the second half of March, people from all over Andalucia, especially from Cadiz and Huelva, came to Sancti-Petri to work for only five months in the almadraba (tuna fishery). In this small factory, they selected, cleaned, and packed the fish, and soon some people could be given work throughout the year. More and more, the shacks became houses, and, at the end of the forties, Sancti-Petri became a “village.” There was a church, a cinema, a bar, and a fish shop. One teacher stopped by two times a week for the children of the fishermen.

But life in Sancti-Petri was different, was hard. For several years, people were given only one bucket of water each day; they had to pay for their food (fish) with allowances. At that time the salary was 35 pts. (60 pts. in the sixties), but they didn’t have to pay for electricity or their houses. The postman brought letters and bread, and for a lot of people he was the only connection with what happened outside of Sancti-Petri and in the rest of the world. The city barrier cut off all access, and the closest village, Chiclana, where they had to go to buy clothes, etc., was seven or eight kilometres away. (Sancti-Petri has always been part of Chiclana.) A lot of people had no choice and had to walk to Chiclana. By foot from Sancti-Petri to Chiclana: Check out ‘La Venta el Molino’ on the crossroads de la Barrosa and de Sancti-Petri. Sancti-Petri has also been the setting for a lot of movies. The most famous film is probably ‘La Nina de la Venta’ with Lola Flores and Manolo Caracol (both famous flamenco stars), in which you can clearly see how life was over here, the houses, how people worked, the pier…

Check out Bar Bocaccio on the beach of Sancti-Petri, where, in the sea, you can also see the Castillo de Sancti-Petri.



Straight from the heart

You will find Jesus’ comments in the second section of this book. He runs one of the establishments in Malaga that participates in this guide.



text by Els Pynoo

A Feast of Horses

It’s a quiet summer morning in Ronda. When I wake up, the sunrays shine through the wooden shutters. It makes me think of those paintings where you see clear rays lighting up the heavy clouds, as if God “watches” over you. The streets are calm, and my man Danny and all of the other hotel guests are still asleep.

As we’re only staying here for a couple of days, I decide to act the full-time tourist. I take a fresh dive into the pool, squeeze some juicy oranges, and lay myself down in the almost burning sun. An hour later, our tour manager Eric asks me if I want to come along to some kind of “horse feast.” They can’t make me a better proposition on a day like this. Ben, our bass player, is also up for the idea, and the three of us hit the road.

This annual festivity (romeria) takes place in a valley facing the famous bridge Puente Nuevo in Ronda. A huge statue of the Virgin Mary is installed on a beautifully decorated hooded cart, drawn by enormous oxen. Accompanied by hundreds of dressed-up locals, the statue is brought from Ronda to a chapel carved out of the rocks. On this route, people pray, sing, and shout “guapa” (beauty) to the Holy Virgin. I notice that we’re the only tourists, and soon a real “pilgrim” feel surrounds us. Fascinated, I can hardly believe my eyes… the men with their high, tailored pants, whiter than white shirts, the gorgeous black leather boots, and the classical hats. The women wear these typical flamenco dresses made out of colourful patterns. It has been a long time since I have seen so many beautiful people gathered together. But, most of all, I’m stunned that they all bring their magnificent horses. From granddaughter to granddad, they all come to show off their Andalusians. The horses seem to represent the pride of the family. The Andalusians’ most characteristic colour is grey, and with its honesty, elegance, and intelligence, it’s a perfect horse for dressage.

Now I start understanding what Eric meant by “horse feast,” because throughout the day, different contests are organized, where families can win important prizes. On the main, improvised, rural square, local food is served with fresh beer. In this authentic atmosphere, we are soon joining the culinary offer… Everybody really feels happy here, eating, drinking, and dancing. After the lovely cutlets, we head down for the cave where the Virgin is set up. We are intrigued by the fact that down here everything is extremely serene, while just 50 metres up the hill the noise of the party is all over. I say a short prayer myself while the locals probably pray for the trophy their horse might win at the end of the day. When we arrive back up the hill, the locals are fully occupied with the splendid horse parades. The air is filled with all kinds of primitive shouts and screams, people encourage each other; some try to be the best, others just try to impress the young girls. The whole scene reminds me of the Jacques Tati movie ‘Jour de Fete,’ but with a gypsy flavour this time. After more beers and food, we are a bit tired on our way back. At once, we see a horse, all alone, just grazing- at the side of the road. Immediately I realise this is my moment of glory on this special day, and I jump on the horse. Ben takes a picture of it, the picture becomes my personal trophy of the day. When I arrive back at the hotel, my man, Danny Cool Rocket is just awake… I describe my experience to him in full detail, and by doing so I relive that same magic day yet again…



text by Dirk Swartenbroeckx

It must be around ten times now that we’ve come down to tour Andalucia.

Each time, the sunny En Frente Arte hotel was our base from which we explored the southern nightlife. I have to say that a lot of the experienced impressions are shaken up all throughout my head, the ever-present alcohol probably in it for something. A magazine that once travelled with us on one of these nocturnal trips decided to give its article the following headline: “Appealing Band Who Sometimes Play in between Drinking.” They forgot to write that, after the great Granada gig in Planta Baja, their photographer almost broke his leg because he was even drunker than we were.

Then I do remember clearly that gig we played in Los Caireles, in Arriate, near Ronda. The packed room with about 200 locals, young and old, went absolutely out of their heads. I really thought the old roof was coming down, and it felt as if we were playing on the main stage of a big festival. On top of that, an exoticlooking woman spontaneously jumps on the stage, kneels down, and starts belly dancing between us, inciting the steaming audience even more. It was one of those rare moments when magic and hilarity fuse gently into each other.

Another great night was the one at the CC Theatre in Malaga. We had a few doubts about playing at 9pm on a Tuesday with a seated audience. Surprisingly, an hour later, the whole audience was energetically dancing around us on the large stage, and we ended up somewhere in the sun on Wednesday, late in the morning. Once we also played an outside gig at two in the morning at the gigantic feria in Malaga and had a great experience giving our best in a truly beautiful old dancehall called La Paloma in Barcelona.

Looking back, I remember more than I first thought I would, probably because these trips have become part of my system.



text by Tom Kertsens

I have visited Spain and Andalucia a couple of times, and they’ve always been good to me. Not only do they deliver sun and excellent food, but also a certain vibe.

Although you work your ass off in the studio, you will not stress out. No stress, no worries: I guess that is the Andalucian way. We recorded for more than two weeks, seven days a week in El Choque. Picture a bunch of white, young lunatics sitting in front of monitors, pushing buttons, hitting (sometimes wrong) notes on guitars and keyboards. But while working indoors, we overlooked the terrace outside the studio: a very chilled-out vibe on a sundrenched terrace. You’re working hard, but pleasure is always within reach. After all of the craziness we’d drive home. Our van would smoothly glide past the Ronda Mountains, and, later at night, we’d swim and, of course, get drunk on Spanish red wine.

You suddenly find yourself in the midst of a postcard picture… That’s when Ronda is at its best.

Next thing you do is check out the (night) life and meet the good people in the small but charming city centre. There are bars and clubs, and everyone seems to know everybody else. Ronda rocks, and it begins to feel like home!

And El Choqueldeal? Well, they provide you with the essentials like tapas, cocktails, and, most of all: LOVE. If you need a hug or a laugh, the El Choqueians are always there for you. The place was so inspiring that I simply wrote a song about it: ‘Negative Vibrations.’ The feeling that I had when recording is put into the song. Hope you enjoy it… It’s all about the vibe.



text by Soundsurfer

Andalucia… It didn’t really ring a bell when we were invited for recording sessions in Ronda. Well, obviously we knew it was in the south of Spain, but more specific knowledge? Thank God for Google! To be honest, we really did use those search engines to learn more about the area. Then we just jumped into the van, for a hell of a ride…

Four hours and 14 cans of beer later, I’m getting in the mood for Spain.

Spain… I’ve been in Barcelona and Madrid, metropolitan cities with many seductions: the food, the wine, la sangria, the beautiful ladies, museums, arts, and the siesta. It’s probably the best habit in Latin-based cultures: the little nap in the afternoon. It more or less symbolises a moment of conscience in the crazy fast lane we’re living in, without really understanding what’s happening. I know that we will also have an overloaded schedule, in order to get our new album recorded in just a few days, but I also would like to find some peace of mind, some time to consider, some time to enjoy, some time to escape… I see myself at the pool, a vino bianco in the cooler, the sun on our bodies, a senorita next to me…

I wake up with a start. I must have been dreaming…

A week later, we pack our things and leave, away from this place. We spent over a week in the fata morgana of a music recording studio, the delightful tapas and wines, the creamy sun, and open-minded people. It’s our journey up north that will bring us back to our senses. Days will be similar again, until we notice that we failed to adjust our lifestyles to Spanish habits. Our memories about Ronda will grow to an all-encompassing desire, shadowing the day-to-day life in the lowlands.

One day, we will be back in this area, just to enjoy our memories.