Basques to hell. One day a friend from Barcelona came to Vitoria with her mother. My 90-year-old grandmother was charming and very sympathetic. I was happy to show them the corners of the city and the province, but when I was driving the car my grandmother threw it at me: “You will all go to hell.” I was shocked, terrified. Then my grandmother continued looking at our landscapes: “You know paradise.” The

sweets. We are around a table, eating, calmly, people from different countries gathered together under the pretext of a congress. On my left is a Catalan and on my right is a Galician. Right in front of us is a Muslim woman who covers her hair with a handkerchief and rejects the wine on the table and asks for orange juice. He’s talking to a Basque and at the end of the meal he’s smiling and he pulls a box from under the table and offers us all goodies. He's happy that Ramadan is over last night and he wants to celebrate with us. “They are very generous, they always have some detail with others” I hear next to me.

The burka... the burka. Burka is banned in many places. When will those who hurt their backs in processions be banned from beating them? When will the crosses be removed from our mountaintops? When will the nuns be told to show their hair? We constantly see the characteristics of the religion of others but the Christian religion is invisible to us, natural.

In the face of death. Collected in Chile during the earthquake of the beginning of last year. There's a big gang in a hotel. They come from different countries and ages. At four o'clock in the morning the earth moves and the building moves like grass on a windy day. You have to go down, get out of the hotel, because there's a danger.

There are those who fear death... there are some who go down in their underpants –with a small towel–, two women who are quite elegant –they have also put on their pajamas, a robe and a scarf on their necklace “it’s cold at this time”–, there is also one whose pajamas are irresistible, but they are all shocked to see a woman, get up, take a shower in the next room – “mine was full of debris” – and she goes down after putting on her clothes. They tell him how calm he has been, his answer is different: “Don’t think about it, I came down without drying

my hair.” Is there life? It speaks of heaven and hell, of life after death, which we will suffer or suffer there. Hindus often suffer from this fact of being better in the next life, so that Christians gain heaven, as was mentioned in the song of Mikel Laboa, but in this context here is the curious painting found on the wall of a Galician village: “Is there life before death?”