Ok fine. I thought it would never happen, but I miss Kraków! Village-like, love-like, cloudy, crabby Cracow. Small streets full of people, tears mixed with laughter; the harsh, honest Polish language and the HeyNow! trumpet sound from the cathedral’s tower. And the memories that will never return and that will never go away either.
This is an ode to the “moon lady” who hangs around my boyfriend’s favorite restaurant here in Valencia. She is wrinkled like a fig and has huge, silver-plate eyes. Her dress wafts a bit due to the light breeze. Now, it seems that the lady’s biggest mission is to remind people of the moon. Every time we dine there and she approaches us in the courtyard and humbly points her long finger up, up at the sky. “La luna es más grande que nunca” she says as we nod in reply. This is a hymn to that lady who seems to live only to remind others of what’s there - the beauty of the silver night sky we tend to take for granted. I am thankful to the bottom of my soul for such madness; I am glad that she does not recall having pointed to the moon like that the night before and still before. Because it is we who are insane and unconscious and who need to be reminded: of the moon, of the flowers, of loved ones who are by our side.
I am officially in Spain. My eyes open like flamenco fans, wide with wonder. Lemons fall from branches and roll on the ground under my feet. I am getting used to the sight of palm trees with their huge hands of leaves and their delicate trunks. I look up at the white wine sky and breathe in the sultry air. There is a way that heat gets one drunk, the way that fata morgana turns a stroll into a sort of a siesta. My eyes close against my own will, but I want to see more of the city. The castles that smell of history and the skyscrapers that are moored in modernity. The sea of people, the wildcats that run round lonely alleys. On the beach I buy a sombrero, in a bar I buy a cerveza; my tongue rolls wave-like in a different musical fashion than before.Who would have known that the moment the door of the plane opened and a Spanish landscape spread in front of me like a red carpet, a door inside my heart would also open, letting love in?
About travel and instability: Can’t you see that as we walk, the map is moving? The lights are changing, our souls are shuffling and are being shuffled like cards in a reckless game of poker. Nothing is sure. Each step placed on the burning ground is a victory. Let’s keep walking through time, though we are blindfolded. Let’s keep walking, even though we don’t know where we’re going.