I think of that place and there is a twinge in my heart. I get weak in the knees when I think of its' Sea. I remember the cobble stone roads, los motos, the alley ways; the balconies and how people watched life in slow motion. It was peaceful there, it was intense in culture and hand gestures and besos. Eyes always eyes...they follow you and like Mexico, some of them never let go.
Here I am 12 years later. I am thousands of miles away from its' Sea, las plazas, the blind people that sold lottery tickets next to Zara and Mango, the little cafes and cafe machaos we drank every morning.
I think of this place and it all seems like a dream now. I still remember my first night. I think I went to a little pub below the residencia where I lived. I was with a red haired gal from Michigan. The pub was as big as my room. I think it was a Friday or Saturday. There was so much noise. Life was loud in that little town..people walking, lovers giggling, old men arguing about soccer, young kids actually living as young kids. This was not America....nothing of the kind. I sat there...I was quiet for a long time...I was never the same.