I was lost in Barcelona. I barely spoke Spanish. Definitely not Catalán. I had no map and no phone.
. . . their progress so slow it was imperceptible, in their venerable two hundred-year-old shells, as our car sped past to the airport. To them, we were nothing but a passing blur. Gone in a flash.
When we arrive in Santa Elena the wind has been already been blowing for 24 hours, downing trees and sending roofs sailing all over town.