
07.03.18 Quien hora és?
It was a six hour time difference from New York to Barcelona, which made walking around in daytime oftentimes feel like a waking dream. Residents from South America or Australia had a harder time, wandering around the house somewhat dazed, nursing coffees. They would be back to normal, they said, in about a day. Even though I still hadn’t gotten used to how sleep worked yet, I woke at seven to beat the morning shower rush. I stood, brushing my teeth at the sink and stared int

07.02.18 A Farmhouse in El Bruc
Sunsets here are long and lusty, and the air becomes balmy and slow. The light makes beautiful work of the cliffsides, barren save for the occasional spray of gigantic aloe fronds–a cool, powdered green against red clay. Cypress trees, full of clusters of young pine cones stand erect over the tops of of bent crabapples. Here, the air is fresh, full of the smell of tall, dried grass, trodden down to hay. The farmhouse sits situated beneath the hilltop village of El Bruc. It is