After trekking through the treacherous olive fields and weathering the daunting paved and unpaved roads of the Camino, we arrived in Cordoba. The light at the end of our tunnel, our flower in a dried up flower bed, our Harry to our very lonely Sally. We had found our salvation. We were saved.
Dramatic sighs of relief exchanged and many cups of Joe drank, we pressed on, running blindly through the streets of Cordoba– a surprisingly extensive and arduous run when one misplaces one’s map, a traveler and his map becoming (only on this trip) a man and his dog, partners forever in life, perhaps even soulmates if we’ll venture that far into semantics, though with the loss of one’s precious partner (a map) new opportunities present themselves such as ruins whose memories linger even centuries after creation. A chance encounter with the neighbors– a non-profit NGO working with immigrants to Spain– resulted in newfound friends. And there were also old ladies who slip sly hands into the pockets of unsuspecting tourists.
Though these are not the only gems that bless the city of Cordoba, this ciudad is also home to the Andalucian stallion. We enjoyed our time here.
A short ferry ride across the Straits of Gibraltar brought us to Morocco. Upon arrival in Morocco we met Franklin the Moroccan house tortoise, also known as ‘Voldetort,’ and love is in the air.
Thank you and have a nice day.