The evocative soul-searing romance of Latin America was enduring. By chance whilst relaxing in a cantina I had made eye contact with a stunning senorita.

The watering hole’s ambience was so Spanish the saloon looked like a movie set. Soon after the preliminaries, we amorous pair disappeared up the stairways for a little how is your father to be followed by a good night’s sleep.

That gentle night the silhouetted palms and sub-tropical aromas blessed the night air with their fragrances. Above our heads, a star-emblazoned cupola could only be described as biblical.

That sweet as nectar evening as this handsome carefree 23-year-old was venturing across another planet otherwise known as Venus. In truth, the maiden’s mound of Venus was uppermost in my mind.

Poetic words can never adequately describe my thoughts and my mood on that occasion. Whilst afterwards stretched out beside my auburn-haired temptress I musingly gazed across the moonlit room towards the open slatted window. The night’s aroma-filled air was tropical and I hoped eternal for I was surely in paradise.

Sleepily, I imagined I could hear the most melancholic guitar string melodies imaginable. On hearing the elegiac tunes drifting up towards our window from the courtyard below my spirits were raised to the galaxies.

The poignancy of the airs and strains being unbearable I immediately felt the urge to find their source. Surely paradise lured me as a siren lures the seafarers to the depths of the seven seas?

Not even my half-naked senorita could prevent me from slipping away and padding over to the window with one thought in mind. I wanted much more than to breathe in the aromatic night air.

On reaching the opening and gazing down to the cantina’s courtyard I witnessed – or rather my senses embraced a heart-stopping scene.

Spellbound, I silently contemplated the palms and flowers surrounding the courtyard below. Balanced on a bar stool in a world of his own I could see a jeans-clad young Spaniard playing the guitar resting on his knees.

Perhaps his girlfriend behind the bar was cleaning and placing on shelves the glasses of the night. As the gaucho played his mournful melodies my heart bled over my haunted soul.

This vignette that could have lasted no more than several minutes occurred nearly 60 years ago. Yet the memory has lasted far better than the sailing ship tattoo on my arm but unlike the faded tattoo the recollection of this scene and ballad are forever vibrant. 

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