I have a very short, but still nice friend who is moving to Huesca. They want her to fill a gynaecologist vacancy. Well, it’s not that they contacted her out of the blue. She academically fought all Spain for it. I spoke really well about the town to her; sorry, city. I’m sure she’ll make friends soon, they’ll take care of her and she’ll enjoy herself.
And the question is: How am I related to Huesca? What do I have there? Well, that’s two questions. In order to answer them, I must go back to summer 2006. I shall be very brief. That summer I went to London. I was supposed to go there alone and ended up with three companions: a boy who invited himself, a girl he also invited, and a girl the other girl invited. Simply great.
That force up above (should the reader choose which) wanted me to get on well with the last invited girl, who lives in Huesca. Therefore, the town — sorry, city — was not just a spot in the map anymore, but a recurrent visiting spot. Now I try to spend a weekend there every three or four months. The truth is that Huesca is a living party. People there are very outgoing and you can feel a home environment. In fact, I like it because it is a big small town. Yes, according to the number of inhabitants it is a city; but the way people treat you and the look of the streets turn it into a small town. That’s why I like it so much.
Some of my favourite happenings in Huesca are to have breakfast at someone’s place after a party night (and having your friend on the phone telling you to come back at lunchtime), the way people talk to you and integrate you in their group (which leads you to other people’s places) and to arouse extra interest for being the new or sporadic outsider guy (which can also lead you to someone’s place). Going there once every three or four months keep me holding the sporadic outsider status.
So, to sum up; if some day I get lost with no money, no love and an aimless existence, I’ll go to Huesca, where they sure will take me in because that town rules — city.