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Chrissie Bentley has been interviewed! Click here to read interview.

I could see the battered, red bus coming from the top of the hill, rounding the last bend in the road before it turned into the cobbled marketplace. I paused for a moment, hoping that he'd actually caught it; even Peter's mother complained that his itinerary was vague, although he'd been adamant that this was his next halt... if only so he could pick up the money he'd called to ask her to wire, and hang out at the festival that took place that day.

He was true to his word. The mid-morning crowds were already surging back and forth, but I recognized him the moment he stepped off the bus, and into the moist heat that had long since reduced my silk dress to translucence; looking around as he adjusted his hat, he reminded me of a shady sidekick in some old black-and-white Bogart movie, up to no good in a small foreign town that itself could barely have changed in 50 years - I'd been here a day and, if it wasn't for the satellite dishes on a handful of roof tops, I'd swear they turned back time at the city limits.

I started to move towards him, pushing through the revelers. He hadn't seen me - in fact, even if he did look this way, I doubted he'd spot me with the sun in his eyes. A little ahead of me, however, a couple of teenagers did see me, glancing up and whistling loudly. "Hey, Senorita!" The state of my dress, the sun at my back - they could probably see right through it. I smiled at them, but kept moving; dodged around a vast woman armed with a basket of onions; then came to ...

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