Basilica of St. Michael, Bordeaux, France, built between the end of 14th century and the 16th century The thing with dreams for those with hyperactive minds like mine is that once they become reality the brain will likely wrestle with the blooming of sameness. Halfway through my trip, around day 35, I felt a mash up of boredom and melancholy building up in my chest. It made absolutely no sense. I was now in France, for heaven's sake! I was living THE life, one stunning location after another, each new meal more exquisite than the last, each ancient wall filled with cracks and gargoyles that sparked my wildest medieval fairy tale fantasies. The freedom to choose where to go, what to do, who to talk to, when to sleep and wake up. For the past five weeks my decisions evolved around whether I would pour myself a glass of red, white, rosé or sparkling; whether I'd see the flow of life at a charming café or relax in solitude in my rental to the tunes of newly found local music. So wh
As soon as I got off the plane from Porto and landed in Valencia, the mind fog from waking up at 4am to catch my flight was gone. I was startlingly at ease in my new surroundings and ditched the taxi ride for the subway. The energy was different from Portugal, an extra hint of palpable liveliness in the air, or perhaps just my brain associating this part of the world with fire, passion and saffron. People spoke something that sounded both familiar and completely brand new, and that’s how I learned that Valencians speak Valencian, a dialect of Catalan. I got off at the Xàtiva station and in a literal bang the city flourished in front of my eyes: there was music coming from all corners, churro stands, hordes of people and nonstop thundering sounds of fireworks. The imposing Plaça de Bous, the bullring built in 1850 in the molds of the Roman Colosseum, stood fierce across the street. I was in Spain alright and had arrived for the five main days of Las Fallas, a massive festival dating bac