Alicante, where the sun spends the winter.
Alicante – Notes on a week’s walking and seeing.
Alicante offers a rich vein of reflection on stories and people. As I walked through the city of Alicante I realised that I watched people as if I could identify them. I have no idea who they are, but a feeling of delving into the passing figure as I walked along the streets, cut through corners, left the big broadways and dipped down side streets into a more authentic Spain.
The side streets in Alicante reveal an identity that is unmistakably Spanish, but the type of Spanish that has a long history going back to the moors and rolling along into the 15th century until it finally stops at 21st century shops and electronic digital signs.
When I watch a person, who I presume to be Spanish, maybe South American, walk along La Avenida General Marvá towards La Luceros monument and I see them dip down a side street in Alicante, into the wonderful bricked and rough-hewn architecture that represents an older solidity than today’s high rise, flat faced buildings that we can see all over modern Europe, this person who I am watching, casually, their gait, their gestures, how they cross a road – with caution or abandon – I see them meld into a connecting piece of this older architecture. They are Spanish. They are at home in their Mediterranean environment. They fit well amongst the warm stones, and the low windows, the doorways that lead to cool marble floors and brightly patterned blue tiles.
It’s not that I am so naive that I believe that Spain is full of Spaniards. It isn’t, as Berlin is not full of Germans. Neither London nor Paris populated only by English or French.
Cities are places of the heart. They are vibrant playgrounds for young souls to come and seek their destiny, or test it to their demise. To discover, at least, who they might be and what they are capable of.
The lure of the city is like gold dust in the wind. It sparkles like the sand in the sun. To grasp at it is to chase dreams. Yet, many a newling city dweller believes with their heart that to be in the city, finally, will put them on the footing of a contender for life’s prizes. What those prizes are is often ambiguous ideas of love and happiness.
The battlefields of modern cities leave worn and tired ones sitting at windows, watching. Others pass along the street, At a guess, they are going to a techno club, or to meet friends in a bar. Often, they are single, new to the city and in search of companionship. Their heart yearns for friends – just one. A friend who can listen and be listened to. A buddy, a mate, a laugh and a joker, a person who they can talk about to others and finally talk of their BF who lives down-town.
They want to drown out the rush of the city. The traffic, machines, beeping mobiles, flashing street crossings, lit scooters demanding unwarranted attention with big green lights and emitting noises that were once considered a nuisance.
A friend is all they really want. Maybe a good job and a cool flat with marble floors, too, and a terrace, and a bedroom balcony,
A friend is good starting point. Friends tell us things about who we are, or who they think we are. Whether we admit it or not, we search all the time. Our souls are never still. If another person can tell us, or hint at an aspect of personality that we didn’t know we had, but they see in us, then maybe that’s the key to our future.
A flat with marbled floors, and a terrace that points out towards the great Mediterranean. The sea winds of Alicante to wake us, the African breeze to warm our souls and remind us how wonderful it is to wake up each day.
