When it rains in Spain & 5 hours in Madrid.
The underground club was dimly lit; my glass of sangria was almost indistinguishable in front of me. Silver was clinking on plates, and hushed conversation murmured between tables. A spotlight flickered on and appreciatory applause broke out, as musicians and dancers took to the makeshift stage. They took their time, not rushing the moment. Performance would begin only when they lassoed the emotion in themselves. Rhythm cracked the silence, and a hum of energy filled every open nook and cranny. The reverb of dancers shoes hitting the floor powerfully, was felt deep in the cavity of my chest. Looking over at Kyle, I saw tears mirroring my own eyes. He felt this, too. Without a word, we both knew what we were silently saying to one another: we made it.
In this moment, a thought occurred to me: this is the happiest I have ever been in my life. This personal legend, as Paulo Coelho calls it in “The Alchemist” (or destiny, calling, whatever you choose) was manifesting in our lives. Holding back tears, I marveled at the artistry of the dancers. Recognizing their passion and intensity: a language I had become quite acquainted with.
My thoughts were lost in the music, and I considered the past decade and a half. How much had I bargained, begged and pleaded with life. Remembering the days were I couldn’t get out of bed. Recalling how I walked around haunted by the feeling I wasn't living the life I was supposed to be living. This isn’t it, this isn’t it. Every cell in my body rebelled and wouldn’t allow me to rest. It was as if a deal had been struck: fight for the life you are here for, or you’ll be forever restless.
Fight, I did, everyday. With a stubborn persistence to see the dreams I had fabricate before me. Now, in this moment I could feel the gratitude coming in heavy waves; like grief laced with unspeakable joy. Life and gratitude were blooming in my chest; a wild dance happening in the marrow of my bones. To be so awake, after years of being asleep. Feeling dreams, like blood, rush to fingertips, leaving behind the tingling sensation of life awakening: this is just the beginning. Ease and excitement have become my companions.
Sitting in this little underground club in Madrid, I realized I was living the life that was written across my chest, and had been since I was a little girl: traveling the world, documenting and writing about it.
Fourteen years of marriage, we were celebrating on this sticky, humid night in Madrid. We weren’t even supposed to be here; this wasn't the plan. Or maybe, life had been kind to us, and sent storms over the mountains of where we were staying in the remote village of Trevejo, requiring an alternative plan. Maybe the second plan was always the one we were supposed to take.
It had been earlier this particular morning, coffee still hot in the mug I was holding, as we were considering how to salvage our rained out plans. Walking through the Spanish mountainside seemed to be the most idealistic way of celebrating our anniversary. But nature had a different agenda, as she often does. Ruefully gazing at the dark clouds dumping buckets over the mountains, I turned to Kyle and said on a spontaneous whim: Let’s drive three hours to Madrid.
Allow me to regress.
Kyle and I have had this ongoing joke for well over a decade. Without fail, our anniversary involves bad weather, a child vomiting all over us, or canceled plans. We’ve come to understand, celebrating our anniversary is something of a comic disaster, and the antithesis of romantic. Maybe it’s the time of year when we were married; when the earth decides to open up the heavens and weep, or when children contract the latest bug going around. Whatever kind of cosmic joke we are the butt of, we almost always get a shake down on our wedding anniversary. Of course, the world doesn’t spin on its axis around us. But, you understand what I am saying when I say this: it would be nice to have an anniversary which doesn’t involve vomit or taking shelter from tornadoes.
Yet, Kyle and I have been married long enough to have formed two important mantras, which apply to most every situation, significant or insignificant, in our lives:
When life throws us a wrench, we make our own stubborn luck.
Say yes and leap (even if it is impractical).
Discarding our coffee now cold and bitter, we loaded into our rental car and put Madrid into our GPS. We figured we had about five hours total in Madrid before we’d need to make the journey back. So, we had to hit the ground running.
To be honest, I didn’t have any expectations of Madrid, as I didn’t have much knowledge about the city. Yet, as soon as we drove in, I felt the familiar hum and energy of a friendly metropolis with open arms. Madrid was gorgeous. Lush green parks, edifices laced with intricate relief, and rows of pristine shops.
It was a five hour whirlwind exploring Madrid. We ate, drank, and saw as many sites as our legs could carry us to. Our Portuguese-Spainish-English language hybrid allowed us to communicate, albeit elementary on our end. A giddy thought kept running through my mind, sometimes out loud: WE ARE IN MADRID! WE ARE IN SPAIN! Just a year ago, I had no inkling in the next twelve months I would be living in Portugal, and visiting France, Italy, Vatican City and Spain. Feeling giddy and marveling at the surprises of life, we continued to walk around the gorgeous streets of Madrid.
Our time in Madrid was short and sweet, with some intrinsic core memories. But, alas, it was time we returned to Trevejo.
Trevejo, Spain sits high up in the Sierra de Gata mountains, with a spotting of crude stone homes topped with orange tiled roofs hidden in the hills. Precariously placed upon the highest tip of Trevejo sits the ruins of Castelo de Trevejo; a castle built in the 12th century. Our rental home was cozily nestled at the foot of the crumbling castle. This micro village is charming with its narrow stone laden streets, and kittens emerging from every door seeking a scratch behind the ears and meowing for breakfast. Even in the pouring rain, this town is charming.
As we had only packed bags of chips and coffee, we had stumbled across a random restaurant in the neighboring village just the day before. We had made reservations for an early dinner at 8:30pm (Spanish eat dinner at 9:30pm!), not knowing what to anticipate. In this postage stamp town, we were served a delicious seven course meal. Unexpected and ever so appreciated, we ate until we couldn’t fathom eating another bite.
Our waiter was was also a traveler, like us, who was from Peru, but living in Spain to become aquatinted with the Spanish and the neighboring Portuguese cultures. When we finished our meal, he left us with a benediction in the little English he knew:
I wish you to travel the world, and see everything, with just one life.
The magic of these charming Spanish towns carried us through the rain, and when we had to regretfully leave, we took our time. Monsanto, Portugal was on the way back, and we decided to stop there for lunch. We timed it wrong, and were only able to track down espresso and cold pastries. This left us plenty of time to explore the ancient cliff top town laced with mist and fog. The ruins were hauntingly gorgeous, and we were the only idiots to attempt climbing the slick steep streets in the rain. We were rewarded with the romantic foggy ruins to ourselves.
Our fourteen year anniversary ended up being sweeter than anticipated. Albeit, there was bad weather and a child vomiting at my parents house upon our return. Some cosmic jokes turn out to be repetitive, and quite funny.
(The child in question has recovered nicely, incase you were wondering.)
As our new friend said:
I wish you to travel the world, and see everything, with just one life.
Until next time.
x. Mandy in Portugal
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