This weekend I leave the city behind for a little break in the national park of the region. In El Bosque I find a nice hostel and in the morning I go to the tourist information office. They tell me that the starting point of the short trekkings in the park is Grazalema, a village about 17 kilometers away. I decide to hire a bike: 17 kilometers isn't very impressive, especially for a Dutch girl with quite some experience with both cycling and rain, and cycling in the rain. Or so I think. And I smile politely to the woman who wishes me "fuerza" when she gives me a bike and a helmet; yet I'm on my way to Grazalema. After thirty minutes uphill in the first gear, I start wondering how long it will take ... read more

Cádiz, a city full of dreamers who wait patiently for the day that the Levante will bring them the realization of their dreams by blowing it right into their arms on an ordinary tuesday afternoon. Where the mayority of the macho-men still live with their mom. Where you mean “at least not today” when you say “mañana” and where even the patience of other Spaniards is challenged all the time. Where the bridge is not a symbol for the connection that she forms, but for the separation that makes her necessary. Where rules are guidelines and prohibitions are challenges. Where consonants standing between an “a” and an “o” are not pronounced, even if that means that after leaving out the last “s” of the word and swollowing the first syllable, only the “a” and “o” remain. ... read more