Boldly Go Solo

I've been reading lately about a trend called "slow travel." The gist of it is that instead of the "If It's Tuesday This Must Be Belgium" style of frenetic travel, people are encouraged to slow down. Spend a week in one place. Live like a local, instead
of a tourist. Don't try to see absolutely every monument and museum. Relax.

At first, I didn't think this would be a great idea for a solo traveler. It seemed as though living in a rental house alone for too long could get lonely. I'm changing my mind.

Say you're in a small village and go to the same cafe for breakfast every morning, or restaurant for dinner. Soon you're friendly with a shopkeeper or barista. Maybe you get invited to someone's home. Locals see you around long enough, they get curious, right?

When I was Barco de Avila, Spain, for a week, it didn't take long to get to know the bartender/Internet-meister in one establishment, and to nearly get fixed up with the proprietor of another.

That week, I was at Vaughantown, an English-language program for Spaniards, just outside the village. I ambled into town to use the Internet, but in strolling around, I didn't spot any Internet cafes, surprise, surprise. So I walked into a bar/cafe and asked. Someone told me to go farther up the street.

I found the bar they described. Once inside, I walked past the standard Iberico jamon. The black pig's leg was resting on the counter, ready to be sliced up some more for tapas.

When I asked about using a computer, the bartender motioned me to the back of the room, and pulled out
an ancient computer from under a desk. Must have been from the 1800's, at least. (Isn't that when people used 386's?)

He plugged it in, set it up and pushed a chair over for me. I counted the minutes while it booted up. Then I logged on. Cost per minute? Nada. I guess they don't get many
requests from out of towners. The point is, if I were living near the village on my own for a week, this could have been a bar I returned to over and over, possibly getting to know the regulars. 

A few days later, all of us in the language
program went to town together. I wandered off, into una tienda de
judías. A bean store. Yes, the area around Barco de Avila is known for its garbanzos, lentils and other beans. Large and small, white and brown, speckled and plain.

After the nice man behind the counter asked, in
Spanish, if he could help me with something, I tried out my so-so Spanish. He was
charmed, it seems. An American taking a stab at the local language!

An older man was listening in, and told me I needed to stay
longer. Because Juan, the store owner, wasn't married. Juan stood there blushing
and looking like he could strangle the old guy.

But who knows? If I were living there "slow" for a
week, maybe Juan and I might have had a cup of coffee one day. I coulda, maybe, mighta gotten free beans for the rest of the week. Look what I missed by rushing out of Dodge.

Photos: Ellen Perlman

1. Window in Barco de Avila residence.

2. Juan Coronado García, shop owner.