It feels like only a short time ago, but already since 1994 I have been making yearly visits of a few weeks to a small village in the mountains of Galicia, in the northwest of Spain. It's called Gorgoloza and is situated some 30 km (19 m) south of Ourense (for those who still haven't got a clue: Ourense is about 60 km southeast of Santiago de Compostela). My parents-in-law own a house there in which they spend some three months every summer (for the rest of the year they live in Barcelona). Every time I enjoy going there very much.
I remember my first visit vividly. We left for a six week stay in this village in the middle of nowhere, a village I had never even heard of. I stuffed my suitcase with books, fearing endless dullness and boredom.

In the end I didn't read a single page! From the start the village stole my heart and I wasn't bored for a moment. Chopping wood, taking walks in the forest on the mountain above us, playing badminton tournaments with the kids, making trips to a lake with a small beach nearby or simply walking to the Pipa, the water source of the village from which lovely cool water flows 24 hours a day.
From far and wide people come to collect water from the Pipa, since healing qualities have been attributed to it. Whether this is true — and if so: to what extent? —  I don't know but I always feel excellent in Gorgoloza, so who cares? It tastes great and is very pure.
Especially during the first few years the game of Tute (pronounce: 'Tootay') at about five in the afternoon was a recurrent ritual. The men of the village gathered at the 'bar' (the old village school), tables were dragged out and the traditional card game got under way.
Time and again my father-in-law introduced me as 'the world champion at bridge, a very difficult card game' (mind you, I have never succeeded in becoming even a Dutch champion ....). The old men looked at me with watery eyes, drank another sip of wine and were ready to teach el rubio (the fair-haired one) a lesson.

Our house in Gorgoloza 

My efforts to make an impression by way of my smart and swift dealing of the cards also caused a wave of protests. I dealt the wrong way around, that really was unacceptable (and so was the fact that I started dealing to my left hand neighbour, wrong, wrong wrong!). In the end I found myself clumsily dealing counter clockwise. I could hear the other players thinking: 'So that's a world champion?'

The players pulled out all the stops to defeat me. Going into a huddle before playing one's singleton was presented as a form of art and if you did so convincingly, you rose in their estimation: 'Great trick eh?'; 'Well done!' Especially in the loud post mortem they laid it on thickly if you had fallen for it: 'You thought I had one left, didn't you?'
After I had sheepishly admitted so, they collectively made fun of me.

Anything that went wrong was always blamed on partner and the resulting discussions could be fierce. In view of my inadequate Spanish in those days I wasn't able to contribute much to these post mortems (and there was no need for me to, since my father-in-law defended me through thick and thin) but I was thoroughly enjoying myself.
Compared with the sterile bridge surroundings in which I usually found myself as an international in the Netherlands the difference was striking. After arriving home I always had great difficulty in getting back in the routine. Back to bidding and playing with table screens in serene silence. It always took me some time before that felt like normal again.

Of course, during that first week back home in the Netherlands it regularly happened that I was quietly waiting for Louk (Verhees, my partner) to bid. Sometimes this could take quite some time until I heard Louk say: 'You're on, Ed...'