Suddenly the serene beauty of Alhambra - the palace of a thousand garderns - comes back to mind.
Andalusia has introduced me to the art of flamenco.The music started: two guitarists beating out more Alboreás.The women took turns to dance in a frenzy, each trying to outdo the other.Webster, naïve and at times irritating, is an unlikely guide on this journey, and his world-eating attitude is typical of the colonial tourist. I mean, how does one go about stealing a car, really? WUnbelievable, and not just for the fraught, high-pitched, passive, square-ass writing. The only thing I didn't like about it was its style.I was shocked by his harsh account of the Gypsies he met, but he could not make me share his admirati Webster's account of his journey to Spain in search of spiritual nourishment and escape from the dreary, unhealthy life of academia treats of his painful struggle to become a flamenco guitarist, and his encounters with aficionados, Gypsies and Travellers. What do you gotta do, especially in this day and age of anti-theft mechanisms, which are referred to, sort of, but there's no real description on how one outsmarts them. It seemed to me that the author didn't really know what he had wanted to write: the history of his own life or rather an informative guide book.