“Every morning, when I get up, I open the window: before me is Solnegre, a liberal and rough town, formerly a traveller, and now clinging to its sea and its land. The town hall clock has a bell and hammer, and below is the town’s coat of arms: a sun made from black stone.
The houses sit in the centre of the plain. An extensive and dry plain, with cultivated ground and almond trees, which when in flower seem like a sad dream, because Solnegre should be bright green or the colour of the sun and the earth. The beans from the plain are large and cook well, like almost all of Solnegre’s legumes. Barley and wheat also grow there, but not many vegetables, which do not grow well or taste good.”