My father Fermin Lombarte, best known to Angelet and then Angel, name of his father and evidently my grandfather, opened the Bar in 1963, himself built the bar and tables and all the carpentry because he was a carpenter and abanist, work he combined with bartender's for a few years. These were times of strong emigration and the tavern in the Sales was closed so he saw the time to start this business that complemented that of the Posada.

In the photo we are all behind the bar if it is not the day of the opening will be some day of the holidays. My father, my mother and Aunt Desi, handsome as always my little sister Maite, Uncle Torrosillano with the tray and the brat that I am. Only Uncle Manolo de Sentelles is distinguished from customers, an endearing photo that's still hanging in the bar.

The cell or license issued by the provincial hospitality union that was always in a marquito hanging from the wall and which went from crude to yellow and brown by the action of cigarette smoke and cigars.

I remember that Damm beers were served in fifths, Martini and Cinzano in individual formats, Mirinda, Pepsi and everything came in beautiful wooden boxes. Countless liquors packaged in ticks, Brandy aged, Ron Viejo, Anise, Anisette, Bridal kiss, Pipermint, Punch… I remember when I was a kid my father stored a lot of these in the fake one and also that one day with my cousin Alberto, playing and testing we get a little care.

The items of express wink that workers threw out of the mountain store, every workday at two on point were a ritual, the same couples, the same tables, the same “tomadillas” of each and every day at the same time that I knew by heart, coffee cup and faria or when not a rosli or a lady and the carajillos, there was no milk in the bar, just condensed and water without gas either, the variety of brandy bottles was huge, and one or two bottles of countless spirits, you have to see how customs have changed.

Starting at three, in less haste, the second shift came, the self-employed, farmers, ranchers and civil servants. They were quite a ritual., customs and customs, the games of tight cards, commented and discussed and the wonderful jargon of the bar, put a tomadilla, put another start, this round I pay me, chist don't charge this guy I'm in charge of here., put another one that I don't leave! Uh! who's in charge here?… the bar was a field planted with bluffs.

Institution number one was Ramón Saura, an endearing character from head to toe, Ready, Smart, good talker, Guitarist, Accordionist, excellent card player, heavy lighter of any cigar with gasoline lighter and drinker at celebrations, the bad news is that they invited almost all of them. In addition to this he was good friends with everyone and blind. When he played cards, he had to have a secretary who sang to his ear the ones that went up, he ordered them and knew the ones he had and where he had them, the ones that had come out, the ones that were missing and if you neglect you knew even yours.

Great memories of the guateques of my sister's crew in a summer for the 70 with a kolster turntables just like that, nights of endless and insurmountable talks on guitar nights, tempering the voice with soothing to sing rancheras, Boleros, popular pieces and a lot of protest song.

There are many years many memories and many anecdotes of endearing characters, Neighbors, serrería workers, so many officials who passed, Drivers, Travelers, Traffickers, Vacationers, customers and friends.