1. Everyone here has some sort of accent. Most people are foreign, European. Maybe we should start elongating our vowels.
2. A young woman (Italian?) thanks a man (not Italian?) twice her age for lunch, and they saunter off together. At another table near the sidewalk, a man and two women sit. Two of the three are a couple, though it’s hard to tell which.
3. A girl sits with her friend under a red umbrella. She has big frames. A sexagenarian sits across from us, his legs outstretched, his shirt sleeves rolled up, reading a book. He is wearing large, clear plastic frames.
4. Turns out the book he is reading is from the Bernie Gunther thriller series. Weimar Republic, anyone?
5. The ground rumbles below us. The Pamplona Fault is A Thing.
6. Friday: red umbrellas out, open, sunny, outdoor seating. Saturday: red umbrellas absent, sunny, outdoor seating. Sunday: red umbrellas back, tied up, cloudy, no outdoor seating. No clear trends.
7. A pensive man sits by himself. He clutches his knee and orders a salad. Unwinding from a long day? Crap, he sees us staring.
8. Sunday specials: ham, sundried tomato, provolone panini. Beef empanadas and a fruit frappe. We wonder if they eat this in the real Pamplona.
9. We also can’t help but wonder whether you can see inside Adams A when the sun hits the window panes just right.
10. Two members of the Hasty Pudding Theatricals sit, writing, sipping Arnold Palmers. They type out character names: Frankie Doodledandy, Pauly Pocketknife, Amelia Airhead. “Avery femme fatale kind of thing,” says the one wearing a fluorescent pink t-shirt.
11. A lisp marks the fast-paced Spanish of the woman sitting across from us. Her fingers are covered in rings that flash past her face as she gestures animatedly. According to urban legend, the “Castilian lisp” can be traced back to the loyal, lisping subjects of a lisping king.
12. A lanky blond enters the café, peers at the menu, then retreats up the stairs. The monogrammed letters on his violin case—“RZB”—blur as he continues up the street.
13. The tattoo on the waitress’s forearm becomes visible as she brings a couple their check. It’s a two-line poem in Latin by the Roman poet Catullus, she tells us.
14. Two women dressed in all black pick at their salads. One of them smiles and runs her fingers through hair that is slowly transitioning from salt-and-pepper to grey. How is she not melting, we wonder.
15. A student walks by in a white t-shirt and pink Bermuda shorts. His friends, sitting at one of the outdoor tables, call out: “Ethan!” “I have to run,” he hollers back, then smiles. “But not actually run.” “In those shorts?” asks his friend.