Sonseca is for Lovers. . .and old men.

I am thoroughly convinced that the best way for a foreigner to understand and to know a city is to walk and become lost in her several times. To this end I am making great strides, but found myself today at my intended destination, a large plaza in front of a church. There is an arch, wooden collonades covered in vines, a fountain with children taking pictures in front of it, and many old men talking animatedly.

Now I will tell you a bit about what I have observed in Sonseca, my city. It is a fully Spanish town of 11,000 people, relatively new and still growing. There are some houses here with windows surrounded by bullet-holes from the Civil War that saw limited stagin here, but there are many buildings new and expanding. Driving out of Madrid I counted fourteen cranes in less than 1/2 mile, busy in construction, and here there are perhaps four in the city.

The past thirty years have been good and prosperous for the city, especially in the areas of furniture and fabrics. Lately, though, many of these factories closed to outsource production to China, resulting in a rash of defaulted loans taken out in better times. The city is limping forward but makes no scene of its troubles, and indeed hides them behind a cheery optimism manifest in the many new construction projects.

There is a strong Muslim influence and several smaller operations have arabic writing on the windows. Perhaps a fourth of the city is Muslim, but I do not see much evidence of their great presence besides small touches in the architecture and some women in shrouds.

I have seen no fast food here, and the bars are plentiful. Watiting at one for an acquaintance last night, the bartender looked up at all with a heavy-lidded stare from a downturned face while crashing dishes before people, attempting no conversation. The customers were not overly concerned by this. The other businesses I pass seem opportunistic in their names; I have seen a "Conde de Orgaz" and an "El Greco," but they are both restaurants and not paintings.

The people are garrulous and much taken to passing time in idle chatter, and I hope to be more included in this someday. Or to join the old men walking bent-over with their hands folded behind their backs, or the old men smoking cigarettes and riding bicycles. Perhaps I will be included. For now, I remain a foreigner, and lost.