Leaving behind the bustle of Cusco, heads dizzy from a wifi overdose, the highlight of our Sunday routine is the prospect of returning to Almeria. Sure it might mean trading in grinding traffic for howling perros, and conversations with interesting travelers for quiet dinners with an old friend, but I’m completely drawn to the pace of this place. It’s intoxicating and I start to crave it after a whirlwind Saturday crammed with catch-up emails, uploads, posts, photos, logins, research and correspondence.
Here time clings to the backs of tradition and routine, willing it forward. In the states, time bathes in weekend plans and spontaneity, but remains elusive, only indicating its existence through pencil scratchings in calendar squares. This pace is so foreign that it grates on my distinctly American drive to do, do, and do more! I tend to shy away from free time — unless it’s duely deserved — but here it seems free time is expertly interwoven into our day-to-day, and looks you square in the face, waiting to be taken advantage of. Ironically only time will tell how we’ll choose to spend it.