I don’t know how I got here. Not in the lost sense—my house is ten minutes away—but in the bigger, weirder, “what exactly happened to my life?” kind of way. One second you’re living in a flat in Hackney where the neighbours complain about the noise of your kettle, the next you’re in a village …
I only went for bread. That’s how these things start, isn’t it? You tell yourself “just bread” and then an hour later you’re holding a woven basket full of things you don’t remember paying for and talking to a woman who may or may not have just given you a goat cheese marriage proposal. Órgiva …
You can live somewhere your whole life and never feel the ground under you. I don’t mean that in a poetic way—I mean really feel it. Like your weight, your noise, your breath pressing into the dirt. I didn’t get that until I started walking the trails above Pampaneira. Not strolling. Walking. With purpose, or …
Fixing up this old place in Pampaneira wasn’t some romantic idea—I didn’t arrive with a toolbelt and a vision board. I just walked in, saw the cracked beams and sagging doors, and weirdly thought: yep, this is it. It didn’t make sense then, and it still doesn’t, not really. The floors were all over the …
Pampaneira feels like a place time forgot—but in the best possible way. First time I stepped off the bus, I knew. Something clicked. Not just because it’s beautiful—though, God, it is. But because of the quiet. Not the eerie kind. The full kind. A kind of calm that breathes around you. The streets wind like …
I didn’t mean to move here. Not a destiny‑story, just… didn’t think it through. Saw a photo of the Sierra de Almijara in late winter, needed out of London, and—well, I booked a flight before I could overthink it. It was odd at first. Too quiet. Proper quiet. Not the peaceful kind but the “hear-your-own-breathing” kind. …