I had no proprietary interest in the hogleg Stefan was twisting up. For all reefer’s fame as a groovy way to kick back and take it easy, the stuff tends to launch me into meta-spheres of self-consciousness, over-analysis, and general anxiety, all of which I can experience simply by sitting down to write an essay on language. What interested me was the concentration Stefan devoted to the work, the precision with which he approached it. I’d known stoners who took their pastime seriously, who made a discipline of all things reefer, but I’d never seen anything like this.  The man might have been crafting an engine part.

It should be noted that Stefan was not especially precise in other ways. His hair was ratty, he wore board-shorts and a ragged Zildjan Cymbals T-shirt, no shoes. Insomuch as he was wearing a shirt at all, he might be considered overdressed for the Bahian lunch shack I met him in. It was the Zildjan T-shirt that had got us talking. A sometime drummer, I’d taken a neighboring barstool and soon enough learned that he was, too. His name was Stefan, he came from Germany, and he played a four-piece Gretsch.

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When they say renewing the papers is less complicated than obtaining the original papers, they are not saying much. Orbiting the earth may be less complicated than obtaining the original papers. Even so, when you hear that renewing the papers is less complicated than obtaining the original papers, you may take heart. In fact you should take heart. In the process of renewing the papers, you will need it.

The first step in renewing the papers involves submitting various papers. These papers include a certificate of good health. The health certificate is purchased at your local tobacconist for a modest fee. After purchasing the certificate — and a carton of Camels, if you like — you will need to visit an authorized physician to have your good health certified. It’s possible you are expecting an actual physical examination, which maybe you could use and even, at such a reasonable price, afford. It’s possible you are thinking the reasonably priced physical is a strong argument in favor of the local health-care system. It is not. For the reasonable price an authorized physician will sign, then stamp, the official certificate of good health. If your name is not easy to spell across languages, you may have some sort of verbal interaction with the physician. Otherwise, probably not.

At this point, with your certificate of good health signed and stamped, you will feel, if not a sense of physical well being, then at least a sense of accomplishment. You are advised to enjoy this sensation for as long as you can. Soon enough, it will be bled out of you, and replaced by something much less agreeable. In fact it is a good idea to have the required ID photo taken at this point in the process, while you are feeling a sense of accomplishment, rather than later in the process, when any photo of you will present a seriously disturbed individual.

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Let’s talk fruit and veggies. I get mine just up the street at Frutería Miryan, where a week’s worth of produce — about half a kilo each of bananas, tangerines, pears and onions, a few avocados, some lettuce and garlic and eggs — normally costs me a little under ten Euros. That’s kind of amazing, especially since most of the goods are brought in fresh from regional farms. I think of the little flecks of chicken poop on the eggs (a hen’s parting shot, as it were) as my freshness guarantee. It occurs to me that the proprietor of Frutería Miryan, a stout, matter-of-fact young woman named Miryan, would probably be puzzled by the “eat local” movement back home in the States. That locally grown produce frequently costs more than produce shipped across oceans and continents, and is often only available one day a week, at a specially staged “farmer’s market,” would no doubt confound her. It certainly confounds me. Back home in South Carolina, shrimp pulled from local waters by local shrimpers tends to be more expensive, by a long shot, than shrimp imported from places like Thailand. I’m guessing this has something to do with economies of scale, all that, but it still seems backasswards.

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Lately much has been made of the “Mediterranean diet”: the olive oil, the fresh fish, the fruits and salads that, when combined with a penchant for walking instead of driving, keep most Mediterranean folk healthier than, say, most American folk. Here at Noted Abroad we feel compelled to mention a lesser known, particularly Andalusian element of the celebrated Mediterranean regimen. In addition to seafood paella, homemade gazpacho, and fresh-squeezed orange juice, Andalusians just love to eat, well, terminal consonants. Around here, adios is not pronounced “ah-dee-OSE”, but “ah-dee-OH.” An autobus is not an “au-toe-BOOS”; it’s an “au-toe-BOO.” Ayer is not “ah-YAIR”, but “ah-YAY.” Por favor is not “por fah-VORE”; it’s “po fah-VO.” Seems that when you’re hungry, you’re hungry, and with so many consonants available, why stop with food? Really it’s kind of amazing that obesity isn’t a major problem in Andalucía. Must be the olive oil.

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Today Noted Abroad begins to run in monthly installments, rather than weekly. We’re thinking that such an arrangement will provide your correspondent a breather as he goes about learning how to be married. Great idea, except that a writer never really takes a breather. However indolent he or she may appear, however shiftless, your typical writer is constantly observing, scrutinizing, and documenting life’s curiosities. Day after day we go about filling notebooks with assorted notes and observations, with overheard dialogue, story notions, and character sketches. This obsessive documenting of life and concocting of realities, often unsolicited and unpaid, can look a lot like a mental disorder. Obsessive-Documenting Disorder, we might call it. ODD. Certainly more than a few writers have found medication attractive, the only question being whether to administer the medicine to oneself or seek the help of a trained professional, e.g. a bartender.

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