Shafts of sunlight creep across my living room carpet as I sit in my pyjamas in front of a computer screen, cup of tea in hand. It's a day with nowhere particular to be; nothing particular to do. I'm working from home due to the global pandemic. The day yawns open with little structure; hour after hour pass by as I check my e-mails, answer WhatsApp messages and tap my fingers impatiently on the table until it's time to swap tea for beer.
This time last year I was sat awaiting a beer outside a bar admiring the view in the Plaza de Amboage with a similarly empty afternoon schedule. The Plaza is the westernmost formal square in the port town of Ferrol in north-western Spain. It was the Easter holidays and I was enjoying some time away from Teacher Training before the slog of the summer term, deciding to snatch a few days in what has become my sanctuary in Spain.
The waitress disappeared some time ago to fetch our drinks, and I spend my time translating between Spanish and English as my favourite ferrolanos, as my friends in Ferrol are known, meet my cousin Louise. Many iterations of this particular afternoon have come and gone since my first drink in the Amboage in the autumn of 2015 as a student on my year abroad.
You sit in two squares at once when you sit in the Amboage; cast your gaze southwards and vibrant flowerbeds border a neat row of palm trees and you can catch a glimpse of the glittering tidal estuary littered with gunmetal grey battleships. The north side - my favourite side - is heavily wooded with lofty pine trees that lend the square a mysterious air. At its centre is a bust of the Marqués de Amboage himself, at the base of which children play while their parents socialise with a coffee or a caña on the adjoining terraces.
Ferrol has been in decline for some time. Local newspapers often report a 'population haemorrhage' and the subsequent neglect on the fabric of the city is obvious. Yet for me, this town and its drab wonder is a second home. Not for its architectural merit, municipal planning and excellent amenities. Look for these in the centre of Ferrol and you will be disappointed.
I have, however, learned to overlook its amateurish graffiti and scaffolding-smothered buildings. The pull of Ferrol is built upon the happy memories made with people from all factions of my life. Whenever I sit in the Plaza de Amboage with two sugars in my very milky coffee (a vain attempt at being an honorary Spaniard), be I alone or in company, the sunlight always warms me, the trees always bow and curtsy in the breeze and - for a short time, at least - I'm just where I want to be.
This time last year I was sat awaiting a beer outside a bar admiring the view in the Plaza de Amboage with a similarly empty afternoon schedule. The Plaza is the westernmost formal square in the port town of Ferrol in north-western Spain. It was the Easter holidays and I was enjoying some time away from Teacher Training before the slog of the summer term, deciding to snatch a few days in what has become my sanctuary in Spain.
The waitress disappeared some time ago to fetch our drinks, and I spend my time translating between Spanish and English as my favourite ferrolanos, as my friends in Ferrol are known, meet my cousin Louise. Many iterations of this particular afternoon have come and gone since my first drink in the Amboage in the autumn of 2015 as a student on my year abroad.
You sit in two squares at once when you sit in the Amboage; cast your gaze southwards and vibrant flowerbeds border a neat row of palm trees and you can catch a glimpse of the glittering tidal estuary littered with gunmetal grey battleships. The north side - my favourite side - is heavily wooded with lofty pine trees that lend the square a mysterious air. At its centre is a bust of the Marqués de Amboage himself, at the base of which children play while their parents socialise with a coffee or a caña on the adjoining terraces.
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| Ferrol's heyday is long gone. Calle Real (pictured) is the town's main street. |
Ferrol has been in decline for some time. Local newspapers often report a 'population haemorrhage' and the subsequent neglect on the fabric of the city is obvious. Yet for me, this town and its drab wonder is a second home. Not for its architectural merit, municipal planning and excellent amenities. Look for these in the centre of Ferrol and you will be disappointed.
I have, however, learned to overlook its amateurish graffiti and scaffolding-smothered buildings. The pull of Ferrol is built upon the happy memories made with people from all factions of my life. Whenever I sit in the Plaza de Amboage with two sugars in my very milky coffee (a vain attempt at being an honorary Spaniard), be I alone or in company, the sunlight always warms me, the trees always bow and curtsy in the breeze and - for a short time, at least - I'm just where I want to be.
Love it Matt. Brought a tear to my eye :-) xxx
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