Córdoba | November 2016
It may be because my feet hurt or because I’ve been eating too many tapas and chai lattes, but spending handfuls of money on traveling always ends up being a good idea. Uphill walkings and hostel’s dirty sheets included. Because at the end of it – that melancholic moment you sit on a cheap plane surrounded by screaming kids deafened by sky pressure and human beings of all sorts of shapes and colors and sounds – you don’t really remember the times you got lost, the loud roommates and the discussable food you’ve been ingesting for the past days. You recall those random corners you bumped into when you couldn’t find the right place, the good smelling teas and the gorgeous faces walking past, those you never see in your country of course and most often will never see ever again. You find people like you, with your awkwardness, lack of sentimental balance and weird taste when it comes to breakfast and music to listen to while sweating at the gym trying to burn all those churros you indulged on.
It all comes down to this, casual walks in unknown streets, names you’ll soon forget and the liberty to talk about your secret ambitions and fucked-up past.
My tea is getting cold, have a nice day or night or whatever time of the day it is. Recycle please.