Printmaking Courses in Spain

The Thrill of a Trip; Paco Was Pleasant

In the summer of 1985 Mike and I did a six-week trip from our home in Granada to Belgrade and back, visiting a few hundred hotels in Greece, Austria and Yugoslavia along the way. Mike was European editor of a hotel guide in those days. We had a new car, which was also an incentive for the trip. This was one of the few times that we rented our house while we were traveling. Paco, the Granada jeweler and his family who rented it seemed competent and pleasant people.

Everything seemed in order. Nevertheless, every single day on that trip I expressed my concern about our canary. Would those nice people feed it and water it regularly? Would they hang the cage in the shade, out of the reach of the cats? It was my constant concern and Mike got frankly bored with me mentioning it every day.

Happy Homecoming… Almost

The trip came off without a hitch. We got the work done and had the pleasure of discovering the Dalmatian coast of what was then Yugoslavia with it’s magical places like Dubrovnik and Sveti Stefan. When we crossed the Spanish border Mike phoned home and told Paco that we would be arriving the evening of the next day. He forgot, however, to ask about the canary.

We left Gerona at daybreak and arrived home around seven. I dashed ahead down the steps to check on the canary. There it was, sitting perkily in its cage which was hanging from the grapevine outside the kitchen door. What a relief! But that wasn’t all. Paco and his wife, Mari, had prepared a supper for us of potato 0mlette, green salad, a  selection of Spanish ham and sausages, and that wonderful tomato salad they make with loads of crushed garlic and virgin olive oil. She served it out on the picnic table on the terrace.

Secure in the Shade of the Grapevine

Arriving home after six weeks of trudging in foreign lands is an emotional event, and Mari’s supper made it even more magical. We could not have hoped for a more cordial and reassuring reception. The house looked great, the garden was well watered and there was the canary in his cage, hanging in the shade of the grapevine.

We had progressed to the coffee and those sticky sweet little pionono pastries that the Granadinos like to serve for desert when a clattering from the grapevine turned all our heads abruptly. Ginger, our old red mother cat, had jumped from the window sill, hit the canary cage and knocked it onto the tiled floor of the terrace. The impact threw open the cage door, and out hopped the canary, straight into the mouth of Ginger’s son Bruno who was sitting patiently there below.

I hardly ever make lino cuts, but at the time this seemed to be the proper medium to commemorate that bittersweet event. I think the print gained something for being printed on that great textured Paperki handmade paper.