Ode To My Ponche

I had it all planned out. I would begin with a visit to ‘El Alcázar’, that mediaeval marvel with its pink hue and towering turrets, so much a fantasy that it couldn’t look more like a fairytale castle than if Walt Disney had designed it himself. I would walk across the path where a drawbridge once lay over a deep endless trench, the moat long since a dried up and faded memory, until I arrived at the entrance. I would pay the 8 euros to walk through the cold stone halls, which dripped in elegance and decadence, stand next to ancient weapons of mass destruction, and view thrones where royalty once sat. I would stand and stare in awe at ‘El Acueducto’, the ingenuity and craftsmanship of the Romans on full display for all to see. No amount of snapshots taken could ever do it justice. Yes, I envisioned exactly how my day would transpire, where I would go and what I would do. But all too often when one is sure of their path in life, fate intervenes. You see, what I did not expect to find as I meandered through the narrow yet charming cobblestone streets of old Segovia, was you.

I first heard of your existence at Casares, after enjoying a light meal of ‘sopa castellana’ and ‘bacalao con salsa de ciruelas’. Your name so intrigued me that I had to meet you in person. When I finally did, at first glance, I was disappointed. You did not live up to your description I thought. However, looks, as they say, may be deceiving. It was when you touched my lips, that everything changed. I instantly knew I wanted more. Alas, before I could fully enjoy the experience, all too quickly you disappeared! I had to have you again. But how? I was told by a man wearing a black suit and crisp white shirt that you could be found in a little bakery on a corner and for 22 euros I could take you home. But hurry! You might not be there for long. You may attract the attention of another and leave with them. Run now, lest you miss your chance. At his advice I hurried through the old town, over crooked and uneven stone, past vendors and street musicians alike, the Segovian sun beating down, casting shadow and light on us all. I arrived, sweat dripping from my brow, just in time to see the shop owner closing for the evening. I caught sight of you through the window and quickly entered. Success! I was excited to tell my friends about my new love. Knowing mere lip service would not do you justice, I brought you with me to introduce you to them. Again, you did not disappoint. They too, fell under your spell, seduced by your sweetness, enticed by your aroma of liquor. Delighting them as you have delighted others for decades.

Upon returning home to Catalunya, our dalliance did not last long. Since your disappearance, I have searched for you everywhere but to no avail. Of course, I have heard the rumours that you can be spotted throughout the rest of Spain, bringing the same joy to strangers that you brought to me, but I have yet to catch you in the act. Until we meet again, (and we will meet again) I have no choice but to be satisfied with your photos and my memories. I will continue to carry a torch. But I do not mind. For after all, as Thomas Haynes Bayly said, does not absence make the heart grow fonder?