This post is a follow up to my last newsletter.

Barcelona is dead quiet in the early morning darkness. Back home, the pre-dawn hours are noisy. Metal doors clang and clatter as delivery trucks travel the urban grid. Buses slide by, their engines thrumming, hydraulics hissing at every stop. Spain has a different rhythm. Cafe owners roll up their metal security doors sometime between nine and eleven in the morning. It seems every restaurant serves the same morning menu: strong cafe con leche, per...