For some reason dogs seem to like me. This is not exactly reciprocated, as I don’t particularly like keeping pets, and especially indoor dogs, but I don’t mind dogs as long as they aren’t noisy and boistrous. Anyway, the dog at my Spanish school really seems to like me, but in a rather sweet way so I don’t mind. When I arrive he comes and barks loudly until I take my seat. Then he stops barking, comes and sits beside me and holds out his head to be patted. Ritual over, he dashes off and is quiet for the rest of the morning.
Today was my last class, so I shan’t see the dog again, nor the teachers unless I arrange online lessons with them. After spending 10 hours a week one-on-one with someone, it’s strange to know that that is it, though a common enough experience when travelling, of course.
Another person I shan’t ever see again (in addition to almost everyone I’ve ever laid eyes on in my life, of course) – the one-legged man who sits on a corner I often pass on my way back from my Spanish lessons. I don’t always, because I try to vary my route, but this was probably my favourite and so most familiar way. He is always at that corner, so I took to nodding at him and saying a quiet buenas. At first he looked surprised, then started nodding, then started saying buenas back and, as of the last week or so, grins broadly back. Then of course my own misanthropy kicked in and for a few days I took a different route specifically so I wouldn’t pass him. Well, I never shall again.
Others: the woman at the greengrocers, a firm, delightful woman who often put in a little extra, a piece of fruit for us to try. The mother and daughter at our preferred lunch spot, the Bird House, who welcomes us, is anxious to find out if we enjoy our meals, and has excellent taste in music – or at least virtually identical to my own, as there are few songs the cafe plays that are not on my own playlists in almost the same order.
Tomorrow morning we leave Colombia.