Valladolid

You arrive in the town of Valladolid just in time for breakfast ( el desayun o ).

You leave the train station ( la estación de trenes ) and head into the centre of the town ( la ciuda d ), across the Pisuerga river. The sky is bright blue (azul ). That deep, deep turquoise blue that seems to go on, uninterrupted forever. Your footsteps echo on the shiny bricks, smoothed and made round by centuries of footsteps.

You don't know where to eat breakfast so you decide to sit on a marble stone bench while you get your bearings. Even though it's early, everyone seems to be on their way to somewhere. You see an old man coming out of a nearby street ( calle ) with what looks like a sandwich ( un bocadillo ) wrapped in brown paper. A few of the locals seem to be heading that way too so you decide to follow to see where it takes you. The old flats (apartamentos ) on either side of the street tower above, blotting out any chance of the new sunlight reaching you. The shutters on the windows (las ventanas ) above are cracked and peeling, their green (verde ) paint from long ago reminding you of the copper roofs of majestic buildings. The mix of the aged shutters, the quaint iron balconies and the waterfall of fragrant flowers (flores ) flowing from mismatching terracotta pots give the old buildings a homely feel.