The sun comes out in Granada and we get talking.
In which I catch a glimpse of my youth.
Memories of a favourite picture book, and more besides.
And it shone from the face of a man a long way from home.
Why, you might wonder, were we standing on the side of the road, in the country-side, at night?
“The beauty of travel, as of love or terror, is that it regularly turns all your ideas on your head and reminds you that you really know nothing at all.” Pico Iyer
How strange were the ways of the Castilians—just by saying something was so, they believed that it was.