38: Getting rid of the guitar

I asked a few passersby if they wanted a guitar, and they declined -- probably finding this just a little too weird. I thought that perhaps the best option would be to donate the guitar to a local church. I went to tourist information and asked what churches there were in Ondarroa. Obviously, there were several Catholic ones, but I had the feeling that they wouldn't have as much use for a guitar. I asked if there were any Evangelical churches in Ondarroa, and got a somewhat blank stare. She looked in her files and said that there was a Jehovah's Witness temple, is that what I mean? Oh, and there's also a lot of African sailors, and they have some spiritual get-together of some sort every so often.

Africans, I thought, and I asked where I could find them. She pointed me to a call center nearby.

After getting lost in the narrow streets a few times, I found the call center. The place was packed with dozens of African men and women placing calls to their families back in Ghana or Senegal or wherever.

I sat down with one of the men and asked him if he wanted a guitar. He seemed half-interested and half-suspicious, and I broke the guitar out of its case and sang a Bob Marley song. People gathered around and sang along.

When I was finished, I held up the guitar and said, "See? She's still pretty good. It's just that she's too heavy for me to continue carrying on this pilgrimage. If anyone gives me ten Euros, you can have this guitar."

One man gave me twelve Euros for it, and I walked out of Ondarroa feeling ten pounds lighter.