Narrow cobblestone streets flow between the endless buildings with old women hanging out their windows carrying on conversations with each other and those in the streets below. Andre says they are too old to take the stairs down all the time, so people bring things to them and the women lift them up in baskets and continue conversing with the others.
Most of the buildings are covered in white paint to keep the heat away in the summer, while some are covered in hand painted tiles from the sidewalks to the roofs. These are from the past, and to some a collector’s item. Planters hover under the open windows and fruit trees line the streets, while the sun casts its warmth over the town.
Cars seem to act as people, finding an opening and resting wherever there is space. I laugh as Andre pulls his small car between two others and leaves it on the sidewalk. He needs a haircut, he says. We walk under verandas and he soon knocks on a glass door. An older man answers and speaks with him, inviting him into the shop, Andre takes a seat and a woman starts to cut his hair. The shop is small, with barely room to get up and walk around, there is a bench along the wall where I take a seat. In the corner I notice a spiral staircase leading down to somewhere else, where I can only imagine as a small boy climbs up and appears from the opening.
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