Malaga on the Flipside

My Personal Paco de Lucia.

It was an incredibly bazaar set of circumstances that led me to the small mountain village in the contraviesa.
A liberating quest of discovery in 1980's Spain; 
The warnings of mad mountain men and murderous gipsies from a brash arrogant estate agent.
A drive through a rapturous landscape surrealistically backdropped buy a snowcapped Sierra Nevada...... and that huge sky!
The steaming hissing radiator that forced me to coast down hill, around torturous bends that led me to a dark foreboding bar, the bosom of a village and my destiny.
And Paco was there, in the bar, serenading that first encounter, filling the gloom with his strains of pure emotion. 
Paco de Lucia laid tangable bridges between myself and the warm friends that I lived amongst. We would pass chill winter evenings sharing the feelings that he gave us as he effortlessly bathed us with the sounds of his soul, he led us on a journey threw the ebbs and flows, the sharp and the soft, the complexions that make a life. In turn we would stand, wail our own contributions, and in doing so, reveal a soul of our own.
The love that these simple folk had for the man was as evident as the volume he was played at and even passing a doorway that was exuding his tones would be met with a stamp, a pose, and rhythmic clapping.
Paco de Lucia was omnipresent in the life of the village and taught me so much of the character of the people I had chosen to share time on this planet with. The depths of raw emotion that smoulder in a Spanish heart can be disconcerting to people of colder climes  but Paco felt it, lived it and expressed it.
This world has lost one of its true gems but Paco will live on wherever there is pain, love sorrow or joy.
 Hasta siempre! Amigo de mi corazon.