Issue 119, Summer 1991
La Consula was a big white house with Doric columns along the front. It sat in a park on the road between Churriana and Alhaurin de la Torre, near the Malaga airport. People spoke of La Consula as if it were the Villa America and we were all on the Riviera with Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, and Bill and Annie Davis were Gerald and Sarah Murphy.
Not only had Ernest Hemingway stayed at La Consula. So had Cyril Connolly, whom Bill Davis called “my brother-in-law,” though Annie Davis’s sister, Jean, was long dead; so had Sinbad Vail, Peggy Guggenheim’s son; and Caresse Crosby, who with her husband had run the Black Sun Press and published James Joyce. In the summer of ’62, I started to go there a lot.