Our only souvenir still in one piece from Amsterdam's best toy shop... holding out with the strength of one hidden rubber band.
I bought a creamy, cracked, antique bowl from a decrepit ceramic shop in Lucena, where the merchandise was piled to the ceiling beams. Crates of cracked and broken pieces, to be pounded down into dust and reused in clay, waited in the back room, where the crusty wheels were also parked, one still damp. "No olive oil in it!" warned the enormous, swollen old man, pointing his cane. Something not right in the firing means fruit and flowers only. I cannot wait to give it a real home.
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