Segovia

We went to Segovia. Segovia has: our old friend Ana María Matute

(she's in focus this time, but a little more deaf: she asked my name and signed the book unerringly:
);
a series of wildly hubristic posters displayed all round the city (if you click on the lower image, you'll see just how ridiculous the thing is);


a ruined house;

a concert by Russian Red, who sounds as good close up

as far away;

the house of Maurice Fromkes,

who painted pictures like this;

a dream;

hanging gardens;

chatty nuns;

a mighty cathedral;

a mighty alcázar;

a mighty aqueduct;

tourists brought to the mighty monuments like ants to cake;

suckling pig which, once roasted, you can cut with a spoon;

shiny armrests on the seats at the railway station,

and the station itself, our last view before heading for home.