Ein Vogel am meinem Schulter

I am in the most splendid Cordoba, surrounded by so much beauty and the memory of the times when Cordoba was by far the most thriving city in the whole of Europe, a most amazing center of culture, a ray of light in the dark Middle Ages. It was Muslim Cordoba, the capital of the Ummayad Caliphate, unparalelled and proud, spectacular and bustling. I will get back to this special place later, as now I cannot actually leave Madrid...

Louise Attaque in the background, some guitar accords by Luis, breakfast talks with his mom about Guernica and Franco, talking about nationalism and regionalism with his father over moules ( which make any Belgian counterparts remarkably insignificant and humble...) and etwas mit arroz ( very good, but its name totally escapes me, in the sea of names and words in castellano that invaded my mind, from ayuntamento and cocher to cercania and Zurbaran), tapas and then sangria in one of Madrid's literary cafes with Iulia, Stephanie and friends ( who turned out to be one an old friend of Alex Romero and Elise from Midd, the other with Clara from Sciences Po... Yeah, I've heard it before that the world is small) , Luis' treat ( he always tricked me in the discussions about paying for things...as I said to his mom, this hospitality should have its own rubrica in the dictionary...), the most brightest of days with Luis in Toledo, and our very natural, flowing heartfelt conversations in an ondulating German -becomes French -becomes Castellano ( with severe outbursts of Italian from my part)... This is the climax of my trip, as the wonderful things I've seen here are more than doubled with emotions and I cannot get over that.

Chamartin, Plaza de la Republica Argentina and somoe more will take their place in the sound enchanting array opened by the beloved Solferino-Bellechasse, Denfert-Rochereau, and more recently Urquinaona and Passeig de Gracia...

But I have to actually get back to Tarragona. I will try to do that on a less melancholic-turned day...