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About Zaragoza

Me head’s spinnin’ with it—part o’ me wants to plant her a garden, give her somethin’ green to tend, not this rot. Exaggeratin’ maybe, but I’d make it a bloody jungle, thorns and all, to keep the wolves out. She’d be queen o’ that patch, not some street shadow. Thou reckon that’s daft? Mayhap, but I’m a dreamer, ain’t I?

La Riera, el Cor de la Vila

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I often take my break on a wooden bench by the Matassa River. C'mon, it's not a river, it's a whispering flow of life. I sit there watchin' the water and think, "Eh, what's up with that?" No rush, just moments of pure calm. Duuude, it’s like I can feel the past swirling around me, almost like I'm massaging centuries of worn-up energy away.

Inside the Catalan town that says it has already left Spain