I was a privileged university student. In my first year, having studied Spanish for six weeks, I was asked to play hostess to Flamenco guitarist Carlos Montoya who had been invited to give a recital at my university. The students who had organized the event were looking for a person who spoke Spanish and would greet Mr Montoya at the airport, take him to his hotel, pick him up the next morning, etc.
At the airport, we realized that we could communicate not only “linguistically” but also otherwise. It was as though we had always known one another. I am a musician. So I spent two days accompanying a very fine Flamenco guitarist: a master.
Before leaving, he invited me to spend the following summer with him and his wife, in New York. I accepted, but my parents refused. That is another story, a story I will not tell.