“Les sanglots long des violons de l’autumne blesse mon coeur…” Thanks, Paul, but here it’s guitars all day and all night. As if every third Andalusian child is born with a tiny instrument in his/her hands, can execute a passable rasguedo strum at eighteen months, and by five can flamenco their asses off. But just try to buy or rent one in Granada and it’s “no paseran, senor.” Three weeks and I haven’t even seen a music shop anywhere. Maybe in the next life I will be reborn Spanish and guitar ready. [here imagine me striking an E minor chord]
jundanu 