I’ve only been in Spain five years but in that short time I have seen how aspects of the old culture are dying off. It makes me sad.
Like the knife sharpener.
He putts around town on his motorbike, seeking customers. When he finds some poor sap with a dull knife he pulls over and detaches the chain to run his sharpening stone.
I don’t know what he charges, but I suspect it isn’t an easy way to make a living.
This guy isn’t the only game in town either. His route is downtown. But we have a neighbourhood knife sharpener who rides through our streets playing a flute. The women in need of a sharp blade yell out the window for him to stop and then run down with their knives.
Our neighbourhood sharpener not only has a unique, musical advertising angle, but has diversified his product base. Knife sharpening and mobile flute concerts. Hedging his bets with the crisis you could say.
I love when I hear the flute drifting in on the breeze. It is an abstract, mournful song he plays. Part dying swan, part lame duck. Like he knows his days are numbered.
I doubt his kids plan to take over the family business. Even they probably buy their utensils at Ikea.