I am in Spain, on the northern coast, and the cooling effect of the Atlantic make its presence felt. The temperature is not too bad during the day but the nights cool down to just above zero Celsius which is enough to make you want to keep hitting the tapas bars (or pintxos, as they call them in this part of the world)
The city itself is beautiful, if a little on the small side. You could easily take it in with a 3-day trip and I’m including a pleasant stroll along the river bank which is relaxing after a day’s work. At this time of the year, it does tend to rain a lot but it’s not torrential rain; in fact it’s rather pleasant and what the Unexpected Brother and I would have taken advantage of for a long exploratory walk in the rain, as we used to do when we were kids, enjoying the empty streets, getting soaked and investigating if the valley had flooded yet or not.
There is even a special type of rain, according to the people I’m working with, for which the locals have a particular name which, translated, means, “rain that you can’t see but when you get home you realise you’re dripping wet anyway”.
I like that they have a word to describe this.
It does not take long for me to notice the locals obsession with the weather. At work, every morning, my colleagues give me a detailed account of what the weather report is like for the day. At first, I thought this might be general chit-chat but they do seem to take it seriously. I have also noticed that most large public clocks also have a temperature readout, in case there is a major change, temperature-wise, between one street and another.
I also note that the lift in my hotel has a separate temperature reading from the one in the lobby:
So you know whether to don your coat before or after entering the lobby …
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