![]() ![]() ![]() It was quintessential Andalusia, presented to her in a way no postcard or tourism website had ever done so. There was something so awe-inspiring about the sun setting in a pool of purples, oranges, and yellows behind the twinkling lights of dozens of square, white homes lining the hillside. It was her new favorite view and, she didn’t know it at that moment, but she would return to that spot on numerous occasions in the coming years to take in its beauty again and again. Surely, it was one that the locals would pass by without noticing and also one the tourists knew nothing about. With gruesome details of a cold case whispering in her ear, she traveled up an unknown inclining road and stopped short when she reached the top, taking in a brand new view. She enjoyed living in the in-between and getting lost in her own world. She enjoyed that each group likely viewed her as ‘other’-to the locals, she was clearly foreign, but to the travelers she had an air of local to her. She enjoyed moving briskly through the crowds of locals on the main business street and up into the winding roads of the white village where mainly tourists went. She enjoyed this opportunity to get lost in the ease of listening to a story in English and drown out all the Spanish around her. Her Spanish and her friendships with Spaniards were strong but she also recognized that her British tendencies ran deep. She would soon be coming up on a decade of living in Andalusia. Laura had her doubts about whether or not this was ‘healthy’ or ‘helpful’ for her. She loved where she lived and she lived for these moments of connection with the city, while simultaneously disconnecting with the world around her. Half past six was still three hours before the evening meal and so it felt early, as if the day were still full of possibility.ĭeciding that she didn’t have anything urgent to get home to, she texted her husband Antonio to let him know she was “out for a wander,” selected a true crime podcast on her phone, popped in her headphones, and headed out with intention, but no direction, into her beautiful city. Particularly in the south of Spain, where she had resided for the past eight years, half past six was the time for an “afternoon coffee,” or a cafecito as the locals referred to it. Back home, it was a time to have supper and settle down for the night, but not in Spain. Growing up in England, Laura had always regarded this hour as the evening. ![]() It was half past six in the evening-or the afternoon, depending on how you looked at it. The air was crisp, but the sun was still warm as Laura exited the unassuming building where she worked. For this reason and because we were already talking about the experience of living in Spain under lockdown this week, we thought you might like to read an example of the sort of short stories Dani’s been writing. Although her fictional writing will not always be related to topics of Spain, her most recent submission to the Reedsy Prompts weekly writing contest was. Earlier this month, Dani started sharing about her recent career transition and how she is now working as a full-time writer. ![]()
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