Cordoba, Spain - a precious gem.

You know how names or aromas can muster memories of childhood...or BOTH! Cordoba has done that for me. As a very small child my family moved to Cordova, Tennessee. It was a town, not a city, unblemished in any way, and lost in time. It boasted a tiny, timber General Store and a wooden, even smaller post office. I remember these dark, interesting places where adults gathered and sourced the latest news and gossip. Pipe and cigar smoke always wafted through the air. If my Mom or Dad asked me to go with them, I was eager, but I never spoke with anyone - only observed. (Interuption: As I am typing this morning and THE only guest in restaurant...a very kind, young, Spanish gentleman made a lovely Americano coffeee for me and helped me to get Wi-Fi set up, too. No English...we spoke with smiles. IN ANY EVENT, he is setting tables for a large gathering and turned on the music and is now SINGING at the top of his lungs,...