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She had five children: Víctor, Margarita, Jose Luis, Fernando and Marichu. Víctor, my grandfather, dreamed of spending six months there and six in Barcelona. Later, my father and his ten siblings would take turns in the house, and with them, all my cousins and I. It became the meeting place of my father’s family.
My grandfather brought nylon fishing nets from Barcelona to the village — soon, all the local fishermen asked him for theirs. My grandmother, together with Maribí, taught us to clean the squid we had caught at dawn with the Campantes, lifelong fishermen and friends of my parents. Sons of a man nicknamed Campante — because, when asked how he was doing, he’d always reply “¡Tan campante y con Alegría!” — Alegría being his wife’s name.
To this day, my father still goes out to fish bonito with Luis Campante, and my mother bottles it following my aunts’ recipes. Afternoons are for meeting a cousin at El Marinero to begin the pintxos round in the streets of Ardigales and La Mar. Every summer there’s a new pintxo to try, a discovery passed on by my uncle el Fósil or my aunt Pizca, who live there year-round.
It was during those last days of farewell to a place so charged with family memory that I began my Rowse rituals.