I grew up in a small town in Ohio. In my junior year of college, I came to Spain to study Spanish and discovered what seemed to me a lost world—a lost paradise. After more studies, mostly language and literature, in the U.S. and Switzerland, I came back here for good. That was many years ago now.
I want to tell you in these posts some of the many fascinating things about Spain. I can’t see how any country can compare with her. I don’t know why more novelists haven’t gotten hold of her great stories. She is an archaeologist’s heaven and a historian’s laboratory. Ruins from all the great European and Arabic cultures are here and help you believe in and imagine the old times. A short trip takes you by famous old cities, castles, buried Roman towns, Carthaginian campsites, Arab towers. From my house I used to watch the sun set on a thirteenth-century castle. I stored my wine in a cave dug by the Moors a thousand years ago and I hung my lantern on a French bayonet from the wars with Napoleon. Some goatherd had found and driven it into the wall, where, like the Excalibur, it could no longer be pulled out. On walks in the country I chat with shepherds while their sheep graze around trenches and concrete bunkers from Spain’s last Civil War. And I pick up stone knives and other neolithic and old Iberian artifacts that I keep on my computer tabletop here as I write.