If I turned left ...

If I turned left I could see the glassy surface of the Elbe in the distance, its waters flowing as calm they seemed motionless. Further up a dramatic sunset silhouetted the dome of the imposing Frauenkirche. If I didn't turn left I faced Renzo, a good-humoured talkative Italian. My attention split between the river and the city rooftops and Renzo's running soliloquy. An easy-going mate, an enjoyable dinner.

Renzo loves Spain as much as he finds its female citizens beautiful. He once had a Spanish girlfriend, years ago, when they both shared apartment space up there in Cambridge. Renzo is now married to an Italian and is a happy father. He lives in Italy, somewhat fighting his fondness for the country with the irritation of its distinctive sloppiness.

I marvelled at the beauty of the sunset as I listened to his wistful longing for the old days. Renzo reminisced about his Spanish girlfriend at length, a truthful grin in his face all along. He does not dare set foot on Spain. Renzo fears it would evoke memories he would rather had lain dormant. His wife would not approve, either.

And that's how the dinner went on, smoothly, agreeable, as Renzo indulged himself in his lengthy recollection of his days with María, lovely María Navarrete, placing an amusing stress on the sound of the double r in the lady's surname.