You only used to get juiced in it

I probably could not get used to this. I would probably get bored and end up taking it out on my hair and my liver and my sex life. But for a weekend, my little casa rural in the little pueblo on a bluff overlooking the sea is pretty much perfect. It's peaceful and beautiful and it's two hilly kilometers from any restaurant, so if I want to eat I have to exercise a little. Sitting outside, when the wind blows the right way you can hear cowbells and mooing. But it doesn't smell like cows.

Basque pueblos are hilly and green and the little houses are usually white with red rooves and there are little gardens and sometimes sheep and cows. (The Basques are the only people between France and Portugal who can cook a steak.) The north coast of Spain is hilly and cliffy and rocky -- except for the beach at San Sebastián it's mostly little fishing villages. In the little fishing village two hilly kilometers away from my little hotel, it's a fiesta this weekend -- the town's patron saint's day -- so people are drinking in the streets and there's Basque music playing everywhere. See, it really is always a fiesta in the Basque Country. And on the hilly two kilometer walk to dinner, I passed an old man in a beret talking to/yelling at his cats in Basque.

...maybe I could get used to this.