It’s a strange narrative to tell; a drive from the sunny beaches of Brighton to the London fog. To land in Dublin, to have a day there. Then, abruptly, Madrid at night. From seas of strangers to the dearest of friends. To hear English in so many variations, then absolutely nothing but Spanish. The only constant seems to be a desire for sleep, and perhaps a laundromat. But it is beautiful. It is stunning to surrender to the rhythm of a new city every day. I’m so grateful to the people who make this trip possible.
[St. Valentine was not only real; his remains are in that casket, that case.]
Tomorrow we fly to Vigo… updates on the horizon, perhaps by the time we reach Berlin.