Toasting to 30 in a Spanish Pueblo
It seems only fitting that after turning 20 living in Spain when I studied in Sevilla, I would ring in my thirties living the Spanish life once again.
My dear Madrid gifted me with a warm and sunny weekend. I can’t remember a March 1st so perfect. After a night of celebrations, Filippo and I headed about 45 minutes out of the city to the little town of Chinchón. After adventuring through hundreds of villages along the Camino de Santiago, I have quite a weak spot for a good pueblo.
Chinchón was just that. We carved out a simple, relaxing afternoon for ourselves basking in the sun in the main square. Pivotal to this town’s ability to sweep me off my feet were it’s signature donkeys. Between bites of patatas bravas and chorizo, I would look up and there they were in a string of viral cuteness, little Spanish kids fixed to their backs parading around the plaza.
As I toasted to turning 30 with a glass of cava sparkling in the sunlight in this dusty plaza, I reflected on a decade of choices and paths that led me back to Spain. I can’t remember a happier birthday than this one, celebrating a dream fulfilled.