Knives and Panpies

Spain is the noisiest country I have ever lived in. Without a doubt, Valencia is its loudest city. The din of traffic, sirens, car horns, and work crews tearing up pavements is the ambient racket of urban life everywhere. But Valencia adds its own sonic touch: the explosions of firecrackers and rockets, at random, day and night. Was that thunder we heard? No, it was 10-minute volley of explosions celebrating the victory of the city’s football team. Valencia’s patron saint is the Virgin of the Forsaken. I call her the Virgin of Gunpowder.

Not long ago on a quiet street in Havana, a lovely sound I had not heard in many years reminded me of Valencia. It was the gentle trill of a panpipe. A knife-sharpener was near! And there he was, right around the next corner at the back door of a restaurant. Why sharpeners announced their presence with panpipes, I don’t know, but that sound, and the sight of a man with grinding wheels connected to the back wheel of his bicycle, and clusters of women with kitchen knives has been in my memory for nearly 40 years. Back then, the pipes were made of wood. This Cuban’s pipes were made of green plastic, but their sounds still touched my heart.

Panpipe music has all but disappeared in Spain. But not sharpeners. During the months of my last stay in Valencia, I met Álvaro, El Master Filo, whose shop sits across the street from the Ruzafa Market. I included my two favorite knives in the sketch. I’ll take them to him in a couple of weeks. He’ll laugh when I ask him if he plays panpipes.