We left the beach shores and headed to Valladolid, a pittoresque small town one hour drive from Tulum.
We arrive at central square, surrounded by colonial buildings and feels like landing directly into genuine Mexican life, with colored dressed people and a Mexican food smell that pulls us quickly in the closest hacienda style restaurant.
Every time I come back to write here is like turning to a quiet lover that waits indefinitely to a busy me that once had promised to write here often (the first and most important request for whoever attempts on blogging). But then life happened in so many ways and that “often” became a broken promise. My Indian Balinese guru had told me: “You have the wind as your element. You go everywhere fast and travel a lot with your mind and body. You’ll struggle for stability and regularity always but being windy is also so beautiful.”
White seagulls are flying in circles and when they get closer to the ocean they start reflecting its shades and become turquoise flying beings.
There’s a fantastic chromatic palette, as every color match every color and the locals ebony skin suits every shade. At sunset tall and black men dressed in masai are walking the beaches that seem to belong to them since ages. Amazing red scarves on blue background on just another Zanzibar eye paint.
Nyhavn is the postcards canal bordered by colorful houses. I arrived there early in the morning on my way to the mermaid. The strong wind was shaking the boats, mixing the moving masts sounds with its blows. The terraces were empty like on a film stage before the main action. Which I guess here unfolds during summer time.
I’ve been walking some awesome paths lately, from the lush jungle of Bali to the warm golden lights of Marrakech sun, than into the evenings perfume of Saint Tropez and lately on the white Sardinian shores. Quite a year so far and it didn’t end yet.
I slowed down on writing because my eyes didn’t want to look at any keyboard while they had in front beautiful world patterns. They kept on registering but now’s the time to empty the tape a bit.
The city is both stunning on its indoor tracks as it is on the outside: where the streets have a name.
I started the search for details on Via Giulia, born some five centuries ago to be the first street in Rome crossing in straight line the other “vicoli”. During about one kilometer walk, its past is trying to come out at almost every angle, inviting me for example to have a seat on a bench amazingly undefeated by the time or by the palace built over it.