Written by Guadalupe Herrero.
A splendid day, a restful meal, its cobbled streets welcoming the visitors' steps with the calm of a town without traffic and without haste. The walls, the Jewish quarter, its narrow streets limited by neighborhood claims, the museum of the original painter that turned out to be an unexpected impact for me by recognizing his work a few centimeters from my eyes.
Gone are also the reflections on the dozens of trips and excursions made to very distant destinations that always seemed to me more appealing perhaps because of their remoteness. And my firm intention to start enjoying, with the Jerte, a list of places to which I would have gone, surely, if they had been more inaccessible to me; This is how we humans are, contradictory and dominated by desires that, by their own definition, cease to be as soon as they are fulfilled.
The railings of the balconies and the walls of their courtyards dotted with exaggerated pots full of geraniums; balconies completely covered by overflowing flowers. The mosque!
While I was there I felt that the world had stopped moving; I found myself “at home” at the same moment that I went through the walls.
The enjoyment of that day erased from my memory the sad aftertaste of the loss of physical activity that had become distressing to me.
I could not forget the lush Cordoba in many days.
For a few weeks, for the first time in many months, I didn't remember the photos of the Jerte cherry trees.
There will be more springs; They wait for me next time.