Written by Teresa Buzo Salas.
Cádiz, salty clarity ... Granada, Hidden water that cries. Romana and blackberry, silent Córdoba. Malaga, cantaora. Golden Almeria ... Silver Jaén ... Huelva: the shore of the Three Caravels. And Seville. Manuel Machado
While waiting for him at the airport I imagined that a decrepit and somewhat dazed old man would appear. To my bewilderment there was a stocky individual with a silver hair who wasting an extraordinary dynamism wasted by the most enthusiastic of hugs. Without further ado we set off that same day, since he argued in a perfect Castilian not wanting to waste a minute on his adventure.
The first place he decided to visit was the province of Seville, so we got up early to cross the spectacular Sierra Norte. When we reached the first hill we parked the car in front of a walnut tree. When I got out of the car I closed my eyes to inhale with all my lung capacity the fresh aroma that the wet grass gave off. When I opened my eyelids, I contemplated on the horizon wide flat meadows alternated with voluptuous forests of ancient oaks. Numerous orchards stood out on a brown mountain offering a whole range of green tones, permeating the stately mountains with sweet aromas. We got back into the car and drove at low speed due to the vertigo caused by the multiple precipices of the mountain system. Suddenly we stopped to delight in the touching vision of elegant brown deer drinking from the Rivera del Huesna. Then we continue driving towards the capital, leaving behind an idyllic horizon of olive hills, dotted with whitewashed villages that rested peacefully on the slopes of the mountains.
We arrived in Seville, a city endowed with a historical-artistic heritage of incalculable value and capital in its day of the noble Al-Andalus. We start the morning walking through the labyrinth of the narrow streets of the Barrio Santa Cruz. In the afternoon we enjoy a nice coffee in a beautiful corner called “Plaza de Santa María la Blanca”. While we were walking through the streets I realized that they were full of orange trees, which scented with orange blossom the softness of the atmosphere. The historic center was charming, although the multiple bridges over the Guadalquivir River, whose banks divide the stately neighborhood of Triana from the rest of the city, were no less so. In the first morning I fell in love when contemplating from Mateos Gagos street and under a gypsy moon, to the most haughty and distinguished of the monuments, the mother and lady of Seville La Giralda!
After the Hispanic capital we went to travel from end to end the entire Andalusian coast, where we enjoy both extensive golden beaches, as we get excited to discover lonely coves hidden behind the rocks. In picturesque fishing villages we were advised to visit the surrounding prehistoric caves, and not leave without enjoying the waste and luxury that Puerto Banús boasts.
After crossing the coast we set off to go to the Moorish city of Granada. I remember that as a child I had visited the Alhambra, however I did not remember having climbed the twisted and cobbled streets of the Albahicín neighborhood. Upon arriving at the Mirador de San Nicolás, we contemplate the magnificent palatial fortress with our eyes full of tears. His honorable walls reigned proud, wearing the golden galas that the sun offered him with every twilight.
Those wanderings dazzled my soul in each section, culminating in ecstasy with the greenish vision of the Sierra de Cazorla. Its prodigious karst landscape played to create complex and unreal human formations in the rocks. We park the car next to an impressive salgareño, and we enter the valley to put our five senses at the mercy of the charms of the forest. After circumventing numerous potholes and streams we managed to reach a wide plateau filled with a diverse coniferous vegetation.
With a heavy heart and hundreds of unlikely photographs to reveal we ended our journey. However, it is in my soul where the image of the numerous fountains and squares will always be engraved, or the blush of the sea breeze accompanied by the whining of a guitar. I can never forget the romantic bays of Almeria. In my retinas the unusual images of the Huelva marshes have infiltrated, and my heart was impregnated with the marine shades, both of a bluish Atlantic and a greenish and terracotta Mediterranean. And how to forget the roasts of the white villages of the Cádiz mountain range! Oh, that “pescaito” that we tasted in the popular tasquitas of the coast!
At the end of the tour I have realized that I am a true ignorant of the heterogeneity and beauty of my own region. Now I understand why you always insisted that I should know in depth my land. However, the most unusual of this trip Lucia, has been that after finishing that distant relative left without a trace. Many have been attempts to get in touch with him, but all have been in vain. Something that is not erased from my mind is the passion he showed for storks. He used to repeat again and again that he would love to be one of them to enjoy from the sky such a beautiful panorama. Yesterday, when I was waiting for you at the door of the church, I watched one of them circle over me longer than usual. Then you appeared, shining as always and wearing a volatile white dress. I surrounded you with one arm your slender waist while with the other I pointed to the sky to show you the bird in question, but for some reason I did not understand suddenly disappeared. However, he left me the precious gift of an albino feather that I found caught in your hair.
While your lips were drawing a subtle smile you asked me how the trip had gone, to which I responded with a sigh from the depths of my gut. For this reason I write this letter, to tell you through paper and pen what the voice and throat have not been able to do.
And Lucia is this is a land of enchantment that enchants the light of the walker, region of colors and aromas where the goblin lives at night and is revealed until dawn. That is Andalusia, place of a thousand corners and flavors, thief of the spirits of those who adore it.