Memories are what we are: our lives, our moments, our truths, our beloved ones, our friends and our times; the air we breathe, the mountain tops we see, the books we read, the people we meet. I never thought I wanted to forget anything or anybody, be they as bad as they could get, because one way or another, it is all part of my life. Forgetting or pushing anything aside would be like deleting a part of me. I love my memories and every now and then, I enjoy remembering. It helps me think of what I miss or how far I´ve come.
For now and this Sunday afternoon, I miss my travels. I miss the discovery feeling, the tiredness and the lack of sleep, the joy of writing of it all, the interviews, the travel mates and the infinite talks we had, the huge amount of life stories I heard… and the happiness.   
Roughly a year ago, I was happy because in little more than three days, I got to visit three different regions and I climbed up to a castle, I knew the sole inhabitant of a town that still remembers the tragedy of the civil war and I got the chance to go hiking and discover a beautiful landscape, apparently not yet touched by industry. 

I also had the voluptuous feeling of wondering what it would be like to live in a centennial village where everybody knows you or inside the walls of a castle. I tasted wine, jamon and olive oil and I can personally testify that a certain region in Spain does exist. So this is what I saw and this is what I remember. This is what I enjoyed so much roughly a year ago and this is what I miss. This is what I´ll always enjoy.