As we walked along the street the aroma of fried dough wafted on the air. A solid round man stepped out of the fly-screened doorway clutching a large paper bag.
One of the two young dark men behind the counter rushed to rearrange the furniture and make a table big enough for us. While everyone else
piled backpacks in a corner and sat down I went to order. Eight chocolates (and a cafe solo for Uncle to mix his own mochacino with) and two churros per person please. “No hay churros”
“We’ve only got porres.”
No problem! We’ll take 16 of them thanks. It doesn’t matter to us whether the dough is straight or curly! (Not that I said all of that in Spanish!!)
Our table fell into silence as we savoured the sweetness. All around us voices babbled louder and louder, more and more men (and one lady) came in, took a seat or stood at the counter adding to the commotion, sipping, munching, laughing, chattering. We couldn’t have heard ourselves unless we were also shouting….but we were too busy eating anyway.Well nourished, we headed for the bus station where we found all the women of the town, equally noisy and without exception, smoking. They were all off to Caceres – for work or shopping, we presume. They chatted as noisily as the men in the churreria – everyone knew everyone else and they engaged us as well, a very inclusive friendly community.
In ten minutes the bus had covered the ground we walked yesterday!