What, in reality, is this obscure object of desire, the traveler wonders when, driven by hunger, he arrives at the dining room of the centrally located inn where he's staying and sees it's packed with diners and knows he'll have to eat at the bar?
The desire, without a doubt —he answers himself—that courts those fickle, independent, and irrepressibly subjective traitors that are the eyes, through which the stomach grows strong and becomes the worst of tyrants.
No matter, since this isn't the first time during his travels that he's overly rushed his time and has to settle for a sandwich, which, in addition to assuaging his hunger, usually always tastes heavenly.
He remembers, as he devours the pork loin and cheese sandwich, seasoned with tomato and peppers and accompanied by an unexpected bean appetizer, that here, in Sos del Rey Católico, one of the greatest Spanish films of all time was filmed, set during that calamitous period of the Civil War: "The heifer."
Fortunately, now the blues and reds walk freely, carefree, along with the numerous tourists who are beginning to discover this incredible heritage site that is the Five Villages of Zaragoza, a detail that makes him more foresighted for dinner, though no more cautious.
When it arrives, it is precisely two English tourists who politely ask permission to sit at the table, as the hotel's dining terrace is packed. The traveler agrees, since politeness and solidarity on the road are golden rules that he always strives to adhere to.
The English, therefore, enjoy their mugs of beer in the shade of the arcades, while the traveler, to overcome the disappointment of the meal, decides to indulge himself and begins his dinner with some delicious anchovies, which, as the waiter swears, are from Santoña, which means they are of quality, a detail that, nevertheless, he knows will increase the bill.
Never mind, the traveler shrugs, thinking that it's just a day and besides, as they used to say, 'you can't get enough of it if you like it', but perhaps the memory of the fragrances of the Cantabrian Sea stings, and he makes the mistake of accompanying the anchovies with a cuttlefish of his own, which makes his capricious stomach, more swollen than usual, grumble, not from a lack of food but from too much.
The coffee and orujo cream that have always worked as a digestive aren't doing so this time, and alone in the room, he feels an experience most similar to that "descent into hell," so often preached by medieval mystics.
This feeling is especially heightened at four in the morning, when the traveler, snuggled up in sheets that aren't giving him all the rest he needs, hears a thunderous explosion outside and fears that, in a matter of minutes, the rain will jeopardize the interesting route he's planned to take in a few hours.
Fortunately, it was only a warning, and although the morning dawns gray, like the supernatural scenes in El Greco's paintings, the rain seems to be holding off, and the traveler feels optimistic after his first cup of coffee: despite everything, the adventure continues.
Moral: excesses come at a price, and sometimes it's wiser to leave for tomorrow, regardless of the influence of desire, what can overwhelm you today.
NOTICE: Both the text and the accompanying photographs are my exclusive intellectual property and are therefore subject to my copyright.
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