I listened to the Waifs’ “Up All Night” album on my walk to work today. It is the album I listened to on the night bus from Seville to Lisbon, and just as it then made me despairingly homesick, it now makes me long for the freedom of travel.
Everything in Seville was beautiful, the food tasted amazing, and the people were fantastic. I remember the flamenco dresses… the ham hanging from the ceiling… the smell of spring in the perfect gardens… the little tiles for street names… the ornate architecture… the sweet sweet wine… the sangria…
I remember going out to dinner with Tal… wondering around the deserted streets in the middle of the night when the rest of Seville was preparing itself for the religious parade on Good Friday… going to his house where he took photographs of me with staged tears pretending to be a crying virgin…
I remember spending an amazing whirl-wind day with Luis watching the parades, and feeling like I’d known him since ever… the crazy religiousness of it all… the women singing from her balcony to the crucified Christ…
I remember not wanting to leave.
But I did. And as soon as all the giddiness and intoxication wore off, I found myself sitting alone on a night bus, longing to be in the company of all those back home who knew me well.
But now, I want to go back… Oh, how I want to go back.