a little fish.

On this their fourth and final night in this magical place, they had plans to go back and eat at a restaurant they had already visited, which was generally against their rule to never visit the same place twice but a life affirming spanish tortilla and well poured vinho verde had weakened their resolve. The aforementioned tortilla was as they had come to find out, by reservation only, so early that afternoon she wandered the short distance from their hostel to the restaurant, rapped her knuckles against a small window set into the door and put their names down for two more coveted slices. On her way back a small sign caught her eye that said “Sardine Festival!” with a crudely drawn fish and arrow pointing towards the bay which was full of swimmers and sunbathers, sailboats bobbing in the distance like toys in a bath. She continued on back towards the hostel, the sun had finally burst through the clouds after a rare morning and early afternoon filled with rain, a morning that confined them to their room and included a few possibly ill advised rounds of kings cup with their fellow travelers. She made her way back up the stairs and found them all just as she had left them, hunched over a makeshift card table, deep in the throes of friendly competition and lively conversation, with the window thrown open to let in the breeze and the sounds of the street below.

A half hour and a few more rounds of cards later they heard it, the unmistakable sound of drums, and trumpets and guitars and raucousness… it was a parade and it was headed right their way. They sprang up and dashed to the window, the street below was lined with people already dancing and swaying along to the beat of the oncoming celebration. Once the procession turned the corner and came into sight color erupted everywhere and they craned their necks to take it all in, the costumes, the flags adorned with little fish and the infectious sound of the band, the sun glinting off their brass instruments, it was electric and full of life. They watched for a few more minutes as it passed underneath their window and then took a sharp turn towards the marina, the sound fading along with them. At this their roommates bade them farewell, heading out for their own evenings of adventure , he turned and said

“Ready for dinner?” Which as he knew was one of her favorite questions and one he almost certainly always knew the answer to.

They walked hand in hand across the cobbled stone streets of this city that somehow, inexplicably had come to feel like a place they had always known in just a matter of days, a place that they knew would remain with them long after they left.

“Hold on, where are we going? The restaurant is the other way…” he wondered aloud, a hint of suspicion unable to contain the grin that was spreading across his face.

“Change of plans, just trust me” she replied as she pulled him further in the opposite direction.

As they continued on past restaurants, bars and shops the air was full of the smell of pinxtos, the distinctive caramel scent of basque cheesecake, and the sounds of laughter and exploration, and she was filled to the brim with the anticipation of what was to come. You see, food was more than just their jobs, it was their shared passion, one of the great loves of their lives, something that connected them entirely to one another and this she knew, would be something special.

Finally they reached the bay and turned the corner and it was even more, even better, than she had anticipated and it momentarily took her breath away. Before them were rows and rows of grills lined up along the sea wall that jutted out into the water, coals glowing warmly underneath and the festivals star lay across them, center stage. Hundreds, if not thousands of sardines sat atop the grills, their scales glinting in the diminishing summer sun, each one a little treasure and the air was perfumed with the smell of salty, sweet roasting fish and smoke from the grills, summer in all of its glory.

“So what do you think?” she asked looking over at his awed face.

“I think we need to hurry up and get in line!” he replied, beaming.

The wonder in his eyes was even more than she could have hoped for and they hurried to join the growing line of locals and visitors alike. As they stood awaiting their turn they could see that just behind the grills, fishermen were hauling nets upon nets of sardines out of the sea, their small boats rocking back and forth with the shifting weight, water splashing across the stones, the nets undulating with little fish attempting to flee their fate mere feet away from where they were being grilled up for the waiting crowd. It was the very definition of fresh, local seafood and they had never seen anything like it… and doubted they ever would again.

Finally they made it to the front, the heat from the grills warming their already sun soaked skin, the sight of it was truly magnificent and her mouth was already watering. A kind elderly woman handed them two paper plates and they thrust them forward, like children waiting for a prize, and at long last these coveted little fish landed on their plates along with a few slices of bread, a pad of butter and a lemon wedge, simple and unadorned and perfect. They took their plates and headed for the stone pier that stretched out into the ocean beyond, like a friend reaching out and waving hello and sunshine sparkling off the surface as though a million diamonds lurked just below the surface. They found a spot and sat, their feet dangling over the edge as the waves knocked against the stones below, a calm and gentle soundtrack for this most anticipated moment. He turned and pulled a bottle of wine out of his backpack, a mischievous grin spread across his face.

“And how long have you had that in there?” she asked with a laugh.

“I snagged it from the hostel while you were out putting our names down for tortillas, it never hurts to be prepared! Although…you won’t be surprised but i forgot cups.” he smiled ruefully.

“Who needs them.” she said and twisted the cap off, taking a sip of the cool, crisp wine.

Finally the moment had come, they looked at their plates, looked at each other in a silent cheers and sank their forks into the delicate flesh of those perfect little fish. As she brought the fork to her mouth she was struck with the distinct sense that this bite of food would be one that would stay with her for the rest of her life, not just the food itself, but every other moment that encompassed it, a memory she would tuck away for safekeeping or to be brought out on a rainy day. The colors of the parade, the heartbeat of the band, strangers who had become friends, the joy of a collected shared experience… it was one of those moments that felt as though all of life was here, happening now, lasting forever, in this moment and in this tiny little fish. As she took her first bite she closed her eyes and the taste of smoke, of sea, of sweetness erupted over her taste buds, it couldn’t have been simpler, and it couldn’t have been better. It tasted like love, and hope, and the happiness of all they had experienced and the possibility of all that had yet to come. They sat in a kind of reverent silence as they gobbled them up, slicking sun softened butter over their slabs of bread, impromptu sandwiches simply adorned as they traded the bottle of wine back and forth, it’s clean minerality like a cool stone on a river bottom, a perfect counterpart to their fishy feast.

A while later she glanced to her left, his eyes too were closed, his face lit up with the same feeling she knew that she herself felt, this was a moment for all time, a moment that was all theirs. And that’s how they stayed as the sun sank into the horizon, splashing pinks, purples and oranges across the sky, the air was warm and the breeze was light and their lips tasted of smoke, of salt, of happiness.