A river mirrors the sky and a strip of life sits in between the middle of the blues I was reminded that my internal world…
A screech of, “GET ME IN THAT FUCKEN POOL!” rattles the oven air. Through the haze of red wine fumes baking off my body and…
It was my first day of a month in Spain. There I was, sitting at the Carmel Bunkers in Barcelona: a viewing point where the…
I am absolutely besotted with him. We went for walks together and he pointed out all the hydrangeas on the hillside. And I knew that…
Buenaventura Bravo’s main job during the Spanish Civil War was getting his goats out of the village and into the mountains. This was no top-secret…
Stickiness glues every inch of my clothes to me. Blaring sun blinds me from all directions. Wine fumes leave no room for fresh air on…
A seductive siren, San Sebastian sings to me. Headphones in and jammies on, I tell her to shush. Outside is the reason I am here…
I see them on my way to the Prado Museum. Tents — an assembly of bright red tents, maybe 20 or so, pitched in the…
Spain’s relaxed nature towards its lifestyle, including alcohol, is terrifying to the sober daughter of an alcoholic. To have a childhood coloured by the not-so-parental…
Like many young women who’ve watched the Abba-inspired Mamma Mia! films, I was recently struck by the urge to relocate to Europe and have unprotected sex…
My previous portero died unexpectedly. One day he was there – a fat and jovial man, bald, glasses, head pushed a little forward giving way…
A love letter to my she-wolfpack This is an ode to the 29 women whom I just travelled with. 29 babes. The 29 femme fantasies,…
