The champion coming home
Apr05

The champion coming home

Once my boss sent me to the welcoming ceremony of a real champion. Miguel Indurain, who just had wined the Tour de France, considered as the best cyclist of the world in his time (the early nineties). Miguel was a man of a few words. One of my editors told me before I left towards the village: – Try to get some exclusive statements from him. But – she added – be aware that he’s a little stupid and usually only...

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scary times

When I was very young, in Franco’s time, I was terrified about the street violence. The police forces loyal to the dictatorship frequently made raids in the old quarter searching for sympathizers of the Basque terrorist group ETA and separatists. That was their job, but the problem was the system how they worked, pretty violent. Everybody seem to be  a potential suspect if  young, long-haired, dressed in jeans and sneakers and...

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Gonzalo
Sep30

Gonzalo

He was always cheerful, making jokes about almost everything, although his life had not been easy. Easy going, at work he was a good team player. I was many times the target of his jokes at the newsroom. At the beginning I didn’t know how to take it. But soon I didn’t care. I answered with more jokes. We shared many laughs. We become good friends. He was married and he had a six month baby who was his treasure. He was proud of his boy...

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Goal!

When I was a student of journalism I began to work as an intern In a local newspaper. Nobody took me seriously. I was 17 and I was a woman. There were not so many women journalists working on the streets back then. I remember that when my boss sent me to make an interview or collect some info with a photographer, despite I was the one asking questions and taking notes, everybody talked to the photographer instead than with me....

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The way you wear your hat
Sep30

The way you wear your hat

The way he wore his hat, the way he spoke with a gentle irony when someone challenged him, the way he gazed with his blue eyes that had seen so much suffering in his young years, the way he moved, calmly, the way he smiled, made him one of the most elegant men I met in my life. And he was mine. My dad. I would like to say like the old song: The memory of all that No, no they can’t take that away from me No, they can’t take that away...

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