As most of my friends will verify, I am a naturally early riser. At the end of long evenings and late nights my eyes, lids swollen with sleep, become narrow slits and I involuntarily fade into incommunicative absent-mindedess. On the other hand, I naturally wake up relatively early and, incapable of lazy morning snoozes, am usually impatient to get going. Life as an early riser is a lot more difficult in a land where everyone else seems to run to a different time; it has made impromptu catnaps and general drowsiness a fact of life. On a recent weekend in Granada my particularly stubborn body clock and dubious sleeping arrangments ensured that, despite two boozy nights, I was able to explore the city in the tranquil solitude of the early morning (relatively speaking).
His figure was some consolation that even Spaniards succumb to sleep eventually.