Saturday afternoon, after the siesta.

I walk outside my hostel, past the Convento de San Esteban where people take pictures and look up as a stork perched up along the naves flaps its wings in a jerking rhythm, just as I watched him do yesterday, and I walk outside the walls of the city, crossing the river Tormes upon which two girls reverse their paddle boat away from the dock, and several benches that overlook the rio are taken by a series of old men in infinite conversation gazing at each other and the water below, as still further down in the grass along the water a couple in matching black bathing suits sunbathes, and I keep walking south of the river and come to a four-lane running track upon which a woman jogs one lap, takes a brief sip from a water bottle she leaves on a bench, and begins to run again, and I continue along a green bike lane as in the opposite direction a father pedals a bicycle with his son in a car seat mounted on the back and he points out features of the landscape to the boy who looks out from under an oversized bicycle helmet and trailing the two at full gallop is a massive grey and white dog who bounds along joyfully with his tongue like a baby's arm streaming out of his mouth, and I turn my head and watch the three continue on their stroll, unable to contain my smile, and after recrossing the river I walk back toward the town, passing two middle-aged men who sit shirtless, wearing trucker hats and tattoos, their sagging bodies the sign of lives lived fully, and past them is a small skate park where a group of teenage boys sits looking at their friend who skateboards along, effortlessly kicks away another board that has rolled up to him without losing momentum, and performs an ollie, and past the skate park people stroll across a centuries-old bridge with a stone statue of an animal worn away by time and with now only the generic stump of a faceless head, and by a small church a couple sets a digital camera on a pedestal, the girl setting the timer before joining her boyfriend for the picture, and then I enter the walls of the city and walk up a small street I've already walked up several times in just over a day, and for the first time notice a stenciled sticker of a Japanese girl on the back of a street sign, while a car slowly rolls past me and the older woman in its passenger seat is about to finish her cone of helado and as I approach the Plaza Mayor a bachelor party is dressed as lifeguards, with the groom-to-be wearing an inflatable Spongebob Squarepants attached to his lap, and his groomsmen wear Dora the Explorer waterwings, and inside the massive Plaza a group of American college students walk by with grocery bags hanging from their arms and a large party of people sit at a series of tables on a restaurant's terrace and a waiter counts their raised hands to know how many glasses of sangria to bring, and in the middle of the Plaza two women in fascinator hats and pastel evening dresses stand reading a text message, and another woman pretends to be a matador with a children's sword and cape and as she swings her arm in an artistic flourish the sword's sheath goes flying and slides along the stones of the square into the feet of the Japanese girls seated beside me on a cement bench, and the woman utters an embarrassed apology as a second bachelor party tries to get the attention of a passing bachelorette party but they strut past unimpressed and their walk takes them past a vendor holding fortysome mylar balloons, more Doras, more Spongebobs and some Patricks for good measure, and I duck into a carneceria for a jamon bocadillo and while the woman prepares it I look around at the large hanging shanks of pig's flesh with the hooves still attached, and as I am finishing my sandwich a wedding party is gathered outside of a church where two of their friends have just become husband and wife and more than anything everyone seems happy in the city of Salamanca. Saturday afternoon, after the siesta.