She said I was unable to understand what was so beautiful about the skies of Spain, the rundown buildings of Spanish cities and most importantly the men and women who always seem to be madly in love and not afraid of showing their emotions in the bustling streets of Madrid. I visited Spain last month for the first time and I attended a seminar in a small city of Toledo, that was an half hour away from Madrid by high-speed train. Perhaps it was her who wanted me to see Toledo in this period; they celebrated Corpus Christi and fireworks exploded in the blue ocean of the heavens; children painted their faces with Spanish yellow and red; concerts were held in the main square of the city and everyone smiled, laughed and looked happy; streets were blocked for the parade and people stood on each side of the street, the smallest ones trying to see as much as possible; I drank in the castle with people who I had known only for six hours and still I felt like I had known them forever; huge cathedrals rose out of nowhere and the city seemed to be a manifesto of Christianity; liters of Sangria were bought, spilled and drank; the truth about Spain was revealed.
My stay in Toledo included every-night drinking in a parking lot of the cattle; climbing up terribly hills in order to get to the city (and later on to find out that there were escalators to the city); sharing secrets; finding out that Spain was nearly as beautiful as she had been telling me.
Yet there seemed to be something missing constantly -
my love who was in Croatia.
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