Of Pyrenees and People

I’m 35,000 feet over the Pyrenees. Out front, clouds rise above the Bay of Biscay. Is that Bilbao in the distance?

Back home, I know Late Winter Despair must be settling in. So, it must be time for a travel post from my 500-mph chair in the sky.

These last two weeks have swept me from a windy work conference in seaside Malaga, Spain to the steep hills of Lisbon, Portugal with a few stops along the way.

Here’s what I saw.

Malaga, Spain:

Quaint beach city with beautiful Spanish center. I quickly realized, however, that living on the Cote D’Azure last year has spoiled me for life as far as beach towns go.

Granada, Spain:

Quiet mountain city with snow-capped Sierra Nevada backdrop. People go here for the Al Hambra craftsmanship and are not disappointed. The stonework will boggle your mind.

Algarve (Southern coast of Portugal): Picturesque and cliff-lined beach resort region on the edge of the old world. Its people are noticeably kind and this was the perfect place (with free hotel nights!) to relax after an intense conference.

Lisbon, Portugal: Is this hilly, tiled city the hottest spot in Europe right now? Maybe. For whatever reason… I found it underwhelming.

It struck me as dirty and only “generically” European feeling. For me, the tiled exteriors couldn’t compete with the iconic vibes of a France, Italy or Germany. Finally, any remaining traces of affordability or “undiscoveredness” seemed to have drifted to sea by the time I showed up. I was glad I came, but was ready to leave by the end.

Sevilla, Spain:

I finish with this city because it blew me away. The crown jewel of Southern Spain is endless winding streets of riverside beauty on a surprisingly large scale. Add the quiet, the parks, and the pedestrian-friendliness and you’ve got an eminently livable city that may warrant a return.

History Below My Feet

One thing that set this trip apart from others was the unshakeable weight of history that seemed to emanate from the bumpy Spanish cobblestone. I sensed it on sunset walks through the breathtaking Plaza de Espana. I felt it as I made my way deep into the heart of Alhambra.

Was it the ghost of Columbus, who once made his world-shaking pitch for a few ships on this very spot? Was it memories of Peru, and the gravity of standing where Pizarro once embarked from on his way to bringing Atahualpa and the entire Incan empire to its knees?

In slower moments, I meditated on the reality that these streets once unleashed the most prolific explorers and brutal conquerors of all time.

From Cortez and Columbus in Spain, to every Portuguese sailor ever waved off by the king from Belem Tower, how could this tiny corner of the Iberian peninsula have rewritten the tongues of every man, woman, and child, from northern Mexico to the southern tip of Chile? (short answer: Guns, Germs, and Steel).

Maybe it was the reflection-inducing solo nature of my travel, my growing appreciation for history, or perhaps some secret ingredient in the acorn-fed jamon iberico, but my “N” mind couldn’t help wandering beyond the tapas in front of me and into the distant past. This place deeply shaped the world we know today - and the significance of it was in the air.

Finally, the best aspect of my trip wasn’t pasteis or cathedrals, or any thing in Andalucia itself.

Jobs and Friends

It had been three years since I had seen my coworkers. Three years. Finally, from the desert of isolation, I emerged to drink from the firehose of human connection.

Of course, there was the expected death-by-powerpoint which you’ll get at any work conference. But between sessions, there was ample time to dig deep with old friends, yak it up with Frenchmen and Aussies alike, and discuss life in Tokyo with Japanese companions.

So far, the Great Resignation hasn’t shaken me loose from the “company of my youth”. Twelve years in with my current place of employment, and I know that there’s probably more money out there and certainly novelty and excitement in the world of other tech careers.

But I wonder. Where else can I reminisce with people who knew me as a 23-year-old kid? At what company can we laugh about the old startup days, working from a cheap container behind a little church in southern California?

I haven’t ruled out a career change. But staring out at the darkened Mediterranean sky, dusting off memories piled up over the years with old friends from far reaches of the planet - wasn’t it clear that there are some things that money can’t buy?

Maybe what I’ve got at my job is special - or maybe I’ve just been drinking the kool-aid for too long. For now, the plane is touching down in dreary Amsterdam. With sun-kissed sea in the rear-view, and the place they call me “dad” approaching, all I know is that I’m grateful. And maybe, for now, that’s enough.