Ricardo's Cliff

click HERE for Ricardo's song...

Ricardo sits in the shade of a drinks machine, under the Riojan red cliff-face in Nàjera, and tells us in an Miami hispanic lilt that he has been asking himself a searching question all day.
"Like: why am I doing this walk anyways, and how come my pack is so goddam heavy?"

His olive complexion and raven hair reveal Mexican origins, and the whiteness of his teeth, along with botox-ed facial wrinkles tell of prolonged access to Floridan health care. He looks, and sounds, uncannily like Cliff Richard.

He smiles as he speaks, and although the botox restricts facial expression, we work out a strategy with him to reduce the weight in his pack. This involves a cardboard box from the Autoservicio on the Plaza Mayor, and some pleasant exchanges with locals as to the location and likely opening hours of the Correos.

Ricardo has a spring in his step as he sets off, away from the shadows, [Enough already. Ed] towards Santo Domingo.

(Click below the cliff for the pop song we hummed all the next day.)