francisco told me he had been on television; i have located this video showing a clip from a local canarian tv programme which looks at the lives of people who have chosen a simple life in the country. it gives a nice portrayal of francisco, who made a considerable impression on me:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t3sxfvIAMko
seeing online his donkey perrico makes me want to share an anecdote, for its comic appeal: after eating a bowl of lentils, francisco told me that if i was returning to my cave i could accompany perrico out to a good grazing place, and that if, upon my return, i should see perrico further out, i should bring him back. it was a simple request, and a simple misunderstanding on my part. i assumed that francisco wanted me to bring his donkey all the way back with me. "of course," i told myself, "francisco is past sixty now, and is glad to have my helping hand - still strong and youthful - to bring his donkey back at the end of a day's grazing."
later it became clear to me that Francisco meant me to bring his donkey back "only if his grazing has taken him close to your cave." At the time I was convinced that Francisco wanted me to bring his donkey all the way back wherever his donkey was to be found. As I began chasing Perrico, I soon heard Francisco hollering and whistling to me from the other hillside with some insistence, and - so convinced as I was of the idea that he wanted me to bring his donkey back - I began to reproduce his hollers and whistles, assuming that he wanted to share with me the sounds that his donkey best responded to. What he actually wanted to communicate to me was: "no, leave the donkey alone, leave him where he is, stop stop stop!" however how was i to understand this only through his whistles? Francisco grew up on nearby island of la gomera where they have the fame of having developed a way of communication across hillsides by whistling, and all i could assume was that i was being privy to a bit of old time whistling savoir faire. Amid francisco's repeated hollers and whistles, I heard him at one point blowing on his conch shell, a stirring sound which reverberated around the hillside and which awakened noble feelings within me. I was already fatigued, but still determined to display some sort of (non-existent!) know-how with donkeys. I presumed that perrico probably didn't get to eat an apple very often, and thought that having given him one the other day might have made him well disposed towards me. nothing of the sort. instead of this, he ran away from me, and had me running doggedly after him through prickly plants which scratched my lower legs while i tried to reproduce the insistent whistles and calls which francisco was still sending me. it was ridiculous really. only, heaving a successful sigh of relief, upon somehow getting the donkey back to francisco's place, did i learn that that was not at all what was desired of me. "leave him grazing, if he is grazing peacefully! he needs to graze, everyday he needs to graze" francisco was royally put out. it took him about twenty minutes to regain his composure. I felt like a wolly. Francisco had invited me to eat meat grilled over a barbecue with him, and the meat had now gone cold through all his waylaid whistling and shell-blowing. "if you don´t understand, then ask!" he implored - generally a good tip as regards effective communication, but what happens when one person is convinced they have understood something one way when in reality something quite different was meant?
I felt like a right numpty. "ok, it was a misunderstanding. ok, perrico has returned a bit early from his daily grazing, but, come on, everyone is still more or less happy . . .?" i responded in a suggestive tone.
it didn´t take fransicso long to return to his habitual good humour, and to pull out his aforementioned timple and to strum it with careful understanding, while raising his raw, almost raucous - but emotionally convincing - singing voice. francisco had open a bottle of wine which his son had gifted to him and which he said had costed seventy euros. i kind of hoped that he might offer me a little tipple - just a little taste to taste how it tasted - but the last cup was sitting there on the table. over time two flies had drowned therein; after a while i flicked them out for him. Francisco caught sight of me and said "flies, ey?" and poured the whole lot down the sink.
now i think about it, i can't say that francisco showed much interest in the details of my life story. i don't think he ever learned in which country i had grown up in - not that it matters; he saw that i showed interest in what he had to say, and that allowed our encounter to drift through hours. i think he clearly liked me. in the evening he said: "you are going already? ah!" - it seemed to suddenly occur to him - "here i have a bottle of wine we can share" as he reached under his sink. "come back tomorrow morning and we will visit a neighbour who has a little shack near here by the sea", - a suggestion which, as things happen, did not come to pass. i recall francisco saying that he had befriended many wayfarers over the years and that sometimes he finds bottles of wine or what not left for him with a little note. i said to him "perhaps i will come back with a bottle of wine one day" and i still intend to do so. only now i am looking for cheap flights back to scotland, because mid-august my grandmother will complete ninety years and the close family will come together. after "ninety years" i almost want to put ninety exclamation marks, one for each year!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t3sxfvIAMko
seeing online his donkey perrico makes me want to share an anecdote, for its comic appeal: after eating a bowl of lentils, francisco told me that if i was returning to my cave i could accompany perrico out to a good grazing place, and that if, upon my return, i should see perrico further out, i should bring him back. it was a simple request, and a simple misunderstanding on my part. i assumed that francisco wanted me to bring his donkey all the way back with me. "of course," i told myself, "francisco is past sixty now, and is glad to have my helping hand - still strong and youthful - to bring his donkey back at the end of a day's grazing."
later it became clear to me that Francisco meant me to bring his donkey back "only if his grazing has taken him close to your cave." At the time I was convinced that Francisco wanted me to bring his donkey all the way back wherever his donkey was to be found. As I began chasing Perrico, I soon heard Francisco hollering and whistling to me from the other hillside with some insistence, and - so convinced as I was of the idea that he wanted me to bring his donkey back - I began to reproduce his hollers and whistles, assuming that he wanted to share with me the sounds that his donkey best responded to. What he actually wanted to communicate to me was: "no, leave the donkey alone, leave him where he is, stop stop stop!" however how was i to understand this only through his whistles? Francisco grew up on nearby island of la gomera where they have the fame of having developed a way of communication across hillsides by whistling, and all i could assume was that i was being privy to a bit of old time whistling savoir faire. Amid francisco's repeated hollers and whistles, I heard him at one point blowing on his conch shell, a stirring sound which reverberated around the hillside and which awakened noble feelings within me. I was already fatigued, but still determined to display some sort of (non-existent!) know-how with donkeys. I presumed that perrico probably didn't get to eat an apple very often, and thought that having given him one the other day might have made him well disposed towards me. nothing of the sort. instead of this, he ran away from me, and had me running doggedly after him through prickly plants which scratched my lower legs while i tried to reproduce the insistent whistles and calls which francisco was still sending me. it was ridiculous really. only, heaving a successful sigh of relief, upon somehow getting the donkey back to francisco's place, did i learn that that was not at all what was desired of me. "leave him grazing, if he is grazing peacefully! he needs to graze, everyday he needs to graze" francisco was royally put out. it took him about twenty minutes to regain his composure. I felt like a wolly. Francisco had invited me to eat meat grilled over a barbecue with him, and the meat had now gone cold through all his waylaid whistling and shell-blowing. "if you don´t understand, then ask!" he implored - generally a good tip as regards effective communication, but what happens when one person is convinced they have understood something one way when in reality something quite different was meant?
I felt like a right numpty. "ok, it was a misunderstanding. ok, perrico has returned a bit early from his daily grazing, but, come on, everyone is still more or less happy . . .?" i responded in a suggestive tone.
it didn´t take fransicso long to return to his habitual good humour, and to pull out his aforementioned timple and to strum it with careful understanding, while raising his raw, almost raucous - but emotionally convincing - singing voice. francisco had open a bottle of wine which his son had gifted to him and which he said had costed seventy euros. i kind of hoped that he might offer me a little tipple - just a little taste to taste how it tasted - but the last cup was sitting there on the table. over time two flies had drowned therein; after a while i flicked them out for him. Francisco caught sight of me and said "flies, ey?" and poured the whole lot down the sink.
now i think about it, i can't say that francisco showed much interest in the details of my life story. i don't think he ever learned in which country i had grown up in - not that it matters; he saw that i showed interest in what he had to say, and that allowed our encounter to drift through hours. i think he clearly liked me. in the evening he said: "you are going already? ah!" - it seemed to suddenly occur to him - "here i have a bottle of wine we can share" as he reached under his sink. "come back tomorrow morning and we will visit a neighbour who has a little shack near here by the sea", - a suggestion which, as things happen, did not come to pass. i recall francisco saying that he had befriended many wayfarers over the years and that sometimes he finds bottles of wine or what not left for him with a little note. i said to him "perhaps i will come back with a bottle of wine one day" and i still intend to do so. only now i am looking for cheap flights back to scotland, because mid-august my grandmother will complete ninety years and the close family will come together. after "ninety years" i almost want to put ninety exclamation marks, one for each year!
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