It is 2.30 am.
I can hear the live band playing at the beach.
It’s not that loud, but it is noticeable.
I could easily sleep through it, the music is not the problem.
Neither was the rubbish truck that came by at midnight, loudly lifting the rubbish platform and emptying the skip bins one by one. I did manage to get the photo as the truck roared past my open window:
That’s not what’s keeping me awake . . . any longer.
It is boom . . . boom . . . boom.
The sound of fire crackers and poppers as all the boys in town run through the streets exploding them.
Did you hear it?
That one was so close it could have been in our living room. I can smell the sulfur from the burst of powder.
The boys will stop soon, when they run out of fire crackers. Last night it was about this time.
boom . . .boom . . . boom
Did I mention the bandstand at the beach is 2 km away. I can’t imagine how loud it is at the beach. For four nights the bands play from 11pm to 5am. It is night two of the major festival in Palamos, the town we are living in at the moment.
Truth, we love it here.
We just need to get used to the lifestyle.
We are starting to understand the need for siesta.
Do you hear that?
Listen . . .
No more boom.
I want to sleep.
We are in the forth month of our 250 day overseas adventure, and have just started living in a 17th century stone house in Spain as part of a home exchange. If you don’t want to miss any of our adventure you can:
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