Summary

Four Months Afoot in Spain

The next afternoon found me in Vitoria, in the land of the Basque; yet another kind of Spain. Vitoria is a city of to-day, clean, bustling, almost American in her streets and architecture and the wide-awake air of the Vascongado. The boína--round cap without visor and the end of a string for tassel--had all at once become universal, worn, like the fez in Damascus, by every age and grade of man from bootblack to mayor. So pleasing was this prosaic city that even though her prices were high I loitered in her shade until the next afternoon before seeking out the highway to Bilbáo.
Source: Gutenberg

Four Months Afoot in Spain

The Spanish summer resembles an intermittent fever; with nightfall comes an inner assurance that the worst is over, and infallibly with the new day the blazing sun sends down its rays seemingly more fiercely than before. The reflection of how agreeable would be a respite from its fury was weaving itself into my thoughts when I swooped suddenly down upon a railway at a hamlet named Gobantes. I had no hope of covering all Spain afoot. Away among the hills to the north the whistle of a locomotive that moment sounded. I turned aside to the station and bought a ticket to Málaga.
Source: Gutenberg

Four Months Afoot in Spain

In the slender calle Rosario itself the stillness was never supreme, but tempered always by the droning of a passing ajero with his necklace of garlic, an itinerant baker, or a blind crone hobbling by with the fifth or the tenth of a lottery ticket, crooning in mournful voice, "La lotería! El numero trienta seis mil quinientos cincuenta y cinco-o-o. Who will win a fortune in the lotería-a-a?" Then above all else the soft, quarter-hourly booming of the cathedral bells to mark the passing of the day, like mile-stones on a wandering highway.
Source: Gutenberg

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