The Little Things

Yo. 

I was walking to class the other day and a couple asked me for directions. They were Spanish and at the moment I was Spanish too. I told them where Calle Molinos was and which bars had the best tapas and continued on my way– two paths so marvelously calculated like the cobblestones below my feet. As I continued past them I realized how easily my Spanish laid path stones on the ground, I am a stone mason finally trained enough to cement rock to the ground even though I was merely tossing pebbles when I got here.

Vosotros.  

A birthday celebration. We decided to meet in the Albayzín with food and drinks we had bought on the way up. I had tomatoes, mozzarella, and a fresh baguette in my bag. The heat laid sticky fingers on my forehead and teased me with her inevitable but distant disappearance into evening. As I walked up the stairs and saw their smiling faces, food strewn about on the benches in the beautiful park, los gitanos and their puppies behind, the white walls of the old quarter surrounding us, I knew it was going to be a wonderful night of wonderful people.

Ustedes. 

It was one of our last classes for Lorca and our professor brought us to a place behind Plaza Nueva. We trailed each other like schools of fish into the small streets of the old Arabic quarter. Cafés are always tucked closely into corners you wouldn’t expect– small quaint signs above small quaint doors. Taberna del beso. But like most of the houses in the Albayzín, upon entering, the café opened up into a beautiful patio with various connecting rooms and apartments. When traveling, when living you must let yourself fall easily into astonishment. I couldn’t help but stumble into the patio and pull out a chair in front of a small table, un café y las galletas of different flavors, canela in the wood columns, reminding me of my time here. Four months have almost all gone by and I must relish the schedule-less time I have been gifted and smile at what it has shown me.