BILBAO, SPAIN

Basque Region

This is Basque country. They want to separate from Spain.

At hostel, Roquefer, the first time I heard the church bell, we're neighbours, the church and the hostel, the sound just about felt as if it had come from within my head. But I have become quite accustomed to it ringing from about 7AM, I believe, until when I don't know. But, thank God, it doesn't ring during the night. It rings so loudly, and unexpectedly, that it always breaks your thoughts, whatever those thoughts may have been.

The sounds from the street were enormous yesterday, sounds of construction, sounds of voices, just about as loud as you ever heard outside a quarrel. But I loved it all. I love the sounds of the streets. I remember the sounds of Havana, where people will shout from the street to the third floor for friends. Also, in and outside Havana, the sounds of the street sellers. Always reminds me of Kingston in my youth: the coal man, the milk man, the bread man, the man or woman selling mangos or any number of edibles.

I don't want a funeral when I die, I just want a town crier walking around shouting at the top of his lungs: "The nigger's dead!"

Patrick Barry Barr