It was not the same thing.
The grass was thousand feet below and we were watching it from the plane rather than our backs on it looking upwards comfortably to see the craft.
We were not talking about Isherwood and Auden.
We were talking about Eliot and his poems with an oriental theme, the journey of the Magi and one other with a very long title which he had read and I not. We complained about Lonely Planet and impressed each other with our educated questions. So what are the Mosarabs? what is the difference between the Sunnis and Shiites? do you celebrate the Reconquista? what do you say on your rosary?
and then he told me where he came from they did not celebrate the Reconquista but the battle of Lepanto, where Cervantes had lost a hand and then I had to recommend White Castle. But they did play Moors and Spaniards alright, each family having chosen their side quite some time ago and sticking to it no matter what.
The strange sensation of speaking once again.
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