The quietest moments, the simplest things, can be what stays with you. Yesterday a Spanish woman, Mite, showed us her home town. In the morning we walked the streets of Sanlúcar de Barrameda on the sea, we ate tapas in a crowded Sunday plaza and we walked more. We fanned ourselves through the palace of the last Duchess. We ate paella made by Mite’s mother-in-law on their patio at lunchtime and drank the famous Sanlúcar manzanilla. We lay on a mat in Mite’s garden in the afternoon, dozing and half listening to the conversation in Spanish through the window, as our American friends caught up with Mite and the family news. We later walked along the wide beach as families sat under bright-coloured umbrellas and dogs played in the choppy waves. We drank beer above the city on the roof terrace overlooking the Bodegas. We ate dinner together, trying the tiny flat fish of the area. It was quiet and languid. It was just a Spanish family day.