Mom, I’m hungry! The coolness of the evening Sea of garlic It aroused the children’s desire for the classic tour through the ‘centre’ (if the term is appropriate) of the city. But we were many, and my mother tried to delay fulfilling this request so that the family expenses would not escalate too much.
My ability to persist was very similar to what I developed years later in my journalism career, so I decided to change my goal: Dad, I’m hungry! I tried to see if I had better luck. After three attempts (they could have been more, sorry for the inaccuracy due to the time that had passed) and several tugs on the hem of his jacket, my father turned his head towards us and said with obvious hurt: “Let’s see, Andres, go home and get a roll of bread for your brother, he’s hungry.” My face, a mixture of smile and disappointment, was in sync with my claim: “But I’m hungry for alfajores!”.
I can remember my parents and siblings laughing at the youngest event as if it were today.just like the smell of chocolate wafting from El Cafetal, an old establishment that sells coffee, chocolate and of course the most delicious alfajores in the city, run by a wonderful Basque couple (like my parents) who have already become family friends, after many years of summers in the same place. While his wife was taking care of the shop, Don Peña was busy making little things by weaving wire with his four-fingered hands, which added mystery to my childish wonder. That, and the inevitable cigar, which never seemed to end between his lips.
I don’t know if this happens to them, but Often my sense of smell reacts to the stimuli of certain scents that transport me directly to somewhat distant places and times.This makes me feel right there. Especially, of course, when it comes to pleasant sensations or memories. Chocolate, or more precisely alfajores with this taste, is one of them. Look how it was the day I was diagnosed with diabetes (don’t ask how long ago), after coming out of the crisis, the first thing I thought of, as I struggled, was that I couldn’t eat any more Alfajores!
Every time I go to a beach in Buenos Aires when the weather gets warmer, there is a fragrance in the grasses growing in the sand, mixed with the heat, that takes me back to those places, those years. And the sea, of course. Could it be rock salt, iodine, or traces of a hunter’s prey? I don’t know, but I felt the same thing again over the long weekend Blue sea.
This is not the only thing. Five months ago we moved to DC, after nearly 30 years in Martinez. After the typical strains of these seismic movements, The smell of some trees brought me back to the neighborhood. Also in Belgrano, lemon trees brighten our lives in the spring.
I was thinking about those mysterious feelings that make us feel nostalgic and the desire to relive those moments and at the same time frustration with the impossible, when the news shook me.
I was thinking about those mysterious feelings that make us feel nostalgic and the desire to relive those moments and at the same time frustration with the impossible. When the news shook me: Joaquín Sabina, the eternal rebel, the most well-born Andalusian in Madrid, felt that the time had come to retire from the stage.. Who left Úbeda, Gian, when he was very young to settle in the capital and wrote, first, that if death came to him, do not wake him because in Madrid “there is no place for anyone,” and then he corrected himself and cried out, in the same verses, “Here I have lived, here I want to stay.”
And who claims this in Comala, the unreal city where the protagonist of the novel is located “Pedro Paramo”The wonderful novel he wrote Juan RulfoHe goes back looking for his father and finds a ghost town, he gets that “You shouldn’t try to go back to the place where you were happy.”. An unambiguous indication that it is better to stay with the illusion and not try to return to a place that no longer exists. because We, who at that time, were no longer what we were.