AntiguaI was sweaty and sticky and my face burned hot despite the scarf and sunglasses. And I was as excited as a child anticipating cake. I saw Antigua up ahead. Paco made a left at the road leading to the town hall. I followed. The café was on the right, just past the police station.
The area around the plaza benefited from a dense planting of stout Canary palms. We both managed to find a park in some shade and entered the café together, Paco choosing a table in the corner by the window.
Spanish pop music played in the background. A young couple in shorts and T-shirts came in, gave the café a quick scan and, seeing the interior empty save for us and the local men and families at the back tables, walked straight back out again having evidently changed their minds or not seen who they we
