​Excerpt from personal travel journal​

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Echoes of Spain​



It was dusk at Portal del Angel when the band started strumming away with their cracked guitars and dusty shakers, voices tainted with old age. People began to dance as they always did, it seems, on a sun-drenched afternoon when hurrying home was less a necessity. A hip shaking here, a hand touching there. Little smiles hidden on jacket lapels of the ones they’re holding onto. A fleeting community of dancers and movers, even the ones standing solo couldn’t resist tapping feet to the beat. It was a normal scene, witnessed in every town and every city in every afternoon on this continent, but it doesn’t diminish at all the sweetness of it, the brief taste of happiness, the idea of standing next to someone, eyes closed and travelling.