Ghosts in The Attic

On every corner, nestled in every building there are neat little shops selling all kinds of wares. I feel the need to walk into each of them and see what they might be selling, whether it’s the 15th farmacia I’ve visited for all the random things I realize I have forgotten, to little bodegas selling the most random of products, unfortunately, none of which seem to be a replacement AirPod pro tip which I had to break down and order on Amazon.

I meander into each shop looking for new drinks to try or different foods, then I squirrel all of them away in my book bag; becoming ever more so weighted down by each stop. Yesterday I went to Denia by bus and carried my normal shoulder sling laden with all manner of crap I’ve accumulated, plus a tote of beach items and a whole picnic I managed to procure at a local Mercadona. I carried this lug of 20ish lbs up to the top of a 12th century fort, to the foot of the ocean, then all the way back to the bus stop, wrecking my back and my legs, but becoming a pro at it more and more each day.

I see so many people here carrying heavy objects around not only nonchalantly, but at a quick clip, one that makes my lackadaisical meander look like a snails pace. I am constantly being passed by others swiftly moving by. Sometimes I wish I could keep pace, but others I am content to soak in the sights, look at every tree, and my recent hobby, documenting the country’s vibrant graffiti scene.

As far as traveling to Denia, I can say of the many places I have seen in my life, it was the greatest thus far maybe besides the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. It met my requirements, mountains and ocean and it did not disappoint. The view from the fort was a sight to behold and I am so glad I went.